With those beams, the great and the small, playing back and forth so close, he dared not try to climb. If he took again to wings he could well be burnt down by the lasers. In his hold the rod moved, turned of itself. He gripped it the tighter, not letting surprise rob him of what he had thought was a weapon if a very weak one. His finger caught upon one of the buttons, and his tightened grip pressed a second one.

From the opposite end of the rod sped a small projectile, or so he believed because he saw a chip appear on the wall. From where it had struck a small bead of glitter grew rapidly into a tiny hollow of fire. Farree loosed his touch on both buttons hurriedly. Whatever chance or the concern of that other winged one had brought him was far more potent than he had expected.

For the first time his anger grew to equal his sense of caution. Let them try plucking him down and he would now have some kind of an answer for them.

"Come—come—"

Out of the silence that had fallen the plea came again.

"Come—" The mind touch trailed away. Then it was back, sharp, urgent– "Go, no, go! They come with nets—"

For the second time that communication was silenced as if the one who sent it had been out down. He dared not try to search for it.

Suddenly into the very center of the great beam there winged a flyer and another behind, two, three– Behind them shot something even stranger—charging ahead, unheeding of either light or those below. It appeared to be flat platform unfitted with wings, far different in shape than any air sled. On it stood a single figure.

Searchlights caught and awoke glitter from the tight clothing the rider wore—she might have been encased in metal. Farree did not mistake the face of the one who dared test the strength of the enemy with such a disregard of their power to attack. This was Selrena.

The speed of the platform on which she rode brushed back the long streamers of her silver hair until it seemed to be a cloak stretched behind her. She held close in both hands what looked to be a twin of the strange weapon Farree grasped.

Her attendant winged ones were of his kind, save that their pinions were black and their hair was the color of a starless night sky. Each of them grasped a silvery chain such as that which Farree had taken from the dead in the underground ways. These chains stretched downward, but hung very stiff and straight, as if their other ends might be anchored. And there was something there—a mass which piled up against each chain in near invisible folds, but able to be glimpsed against the gleam of the silver.

As they came, so did the beacon swing around to keep centered on the airborne party. Laser beams cut high—but the ends of those beams veered outward, as if the firing had been aimed against the surface of a wall. Yet no wall or any construction of which Farree had ever heard could have held off a laser attack of that intensity.

It was certain, however, that the newcomers had the full attention of the attackers. Farree teetered on the edge of his ledge. If he could even reach the top of the cliff he would be better able to take care of himself. He leaped from the ledge.

For a moment he thought his wings were not going to support him. The heaviness which had weighed him down before was again a burden. He could not make it to the cliff top. Nor had he any intention of following behind that strange entourage which had already passed his ledge, skimming serenely along, as if they had nothing to fear from laser flashes which cut below, above, before and behind them, but never touched them.

There was one way he might go while those others took the attention from him—and that was out over the camp, heading still farther west. He began to believe that such a maneuver might well be a good choice. To go west and then circle north and east—

Thus he chose a path which carried him over the heads of the ship men, fighting for altitude. Their full attention was still centered on the group in the light.

Selrena broke her calm, tempest-riding stance to point to the ground with the rod she held. Farree had just time to see that her escorts were aiming their weapons downward in obedience when a strong blast against him brought him to the ground. He was angry at his own folly in trying such a reckless ploy. On wing he stood out to be picked off by any who sighted him.

He expected to be either burned or jumped when his feet touched earth. It was darker here. All the light was gathered near where the other air invaders were traveling.

Out of the dark span a loop snaked about his body at waist level and then set off tendrils to bind his arms tightly to his body. A tangler! He was indeed trapped, forced to yield to the will of the trapper as he was snapped back, losing his feet, and then dragged face down across the ground where the vegetation had been worn away. Those portions of his hands and knees which had been skinned by his cliff landing were rasped raw for the second time.

He blinked. That drag had brought him up beside one of the bubble shelters and the flap curtain closing that had been pulled aside. Out of the shadows came his captor. He was a tall man, matching one of the Darda in size, but there was nothing about him which suggested those cool and distant ones. He wore the clothing of a spacer and that was stained, grimy. From him as he moved there came an animallike smell which was like that of one of the drifters in the Limits. His skin was nearly black from space tan and he had a wide mouth which now gaped as he grinned, showing spaces of missing teeth.

Now he reached down and caught Farree by his hair and dragged him up and into the shelter with one strong pull.

"How'ya, lady? Got you a friend for now."

Farree, helpless in that hold, looked to one who was not only more helpless than he but who had suffered from her fate.

She huddled on the ground, her thin body seemingly drained of substance, curiously flat, showing bones beneath the skin, for her clothing consisted only of a few rags, and those left enough openings to display old lash marks and new. Her hair was a matted tangle and her small hands and feet nearer to claws than normal appendages. She did not lift her head nor look at the man and Farree.

The spacer took from one of the loops of his belt a thin tube. Crowding past Farree he held that over her head. She stirred and lifted a face so twisted in torment that Farree struggled vainly in sympathy and fear.

"Come on, you. Give us an invite now," her captor ordered.

She stared past Farree as if she did not sight him or understand his presence, if she did. If his mind broke full voice, filled with pain, the cry he had heard before.

"Come—come!" Around him he sensed a strange eddy, as if there were more than words in the mind plea. She moaned a little, her hands going to her head. The tall man laughed.

"You got your wish, lady. Here's a friend come to you. Not that it's going to do either of you any good."