Surprise froze them as the figure came tumbling out of the blackness, rolling over and over in the sand. Jake was the first to respond, snap-shooting, the slug kicking up sand near a brown shoulder — and then Martha was in front of him, right in the line of fire, screaming, “No, don’t!” as she ran toward the figure on the sand.
The black oblong had canted over to a strange angle, a rectangle standing on one point. With a roar that covered the sound of the sea, with a long upreaching tongue of white flame that dimmed the sun, the oblong disappeared.
The man lay still. Jake recognized him as Quinn French. He said, “‘Get out of the way and I’ll give him one in the head. I can see him breathing.”
“Hold it!” Henry snapped.
Martha sat and pulled the man’s head into her lap. She stared defiantly at them. “You’re not going to kill him!”
She looked down at him as his eyes opened. He looked up into her eyes and, before she had a chance to erect the wall she felt his thoughts in her mind. Joy at her presence, thankfulness, humility. All her doubt and fear was gone.
She said, “This isn’t one of them. This is Quinn French. I’m sure of it.”
He sat up, got unsteadily to his feet. “One of them looked just like me. I don’t understand.” He knuckled his forehead.
“They were having some sort of a war among themselves. I escaped in the excitement. I guess I got through just in time. The whole place was exploding. They were smashing their own world.”
“They’re tricky,” Jake said to Henry. “Don’t trust him.”
“Hey,” Amro said, “I’m not one of them. I’m Quinn French. Why don’t you check instead of waving those guns. Take my prints. They’ll check with the ones the Army took of me. Go get some people who have known me all my life. Have them ask me questions. I don’t know what the hell has been going on here. All I know is that it’s over. Where are Fran and Jerry?”
“They’re dead,” Henry said.
“Look. I’m burned. The blisters are coming up. Why don’t you stop all this talking and take me to a doctor?”
Martha’s hand closed warningly on his. Immediately she felt the thought of reassurance in her mind.
“Right,” Henry said, “but you’re under guard until we’re satisfied.”
“That suits me,” Amro said.
Some ten days later Martha and Amro lay on a strip of sand side by side. Three miles away scientists and a detachment of the regular army waited for the reappearance of the black oblong. The whole affair had been carefully kept from public knowledge, due to the risk of panic. “Marriage,” said Amro, “is an interesting custom. A bit primitive, of course, but I find that I approve.”
“Males,” said Martha, “no matter what world they come from, are insufferable.”
He propped himself up on his elbows. His glance was very direct. “Why did you do it?” he asked. “How did you make yourself take such a risk? You had to assume that I had grown to believe in the things you believe in — and you also had to assume that I wouldn’t suddenly stop looking like Quinn and start looking like a monster.”
“I reserve the right to be illogical.”
“Be illogical out loud. It isn’t good taste to invade your mental privacy.”
“Go ahead and invade. I’m not modest.”
She bared her mind and he reached in, tasted the strength of her belief in him, the love that was there, the perfect trust. It made him feel proud and humble. Her eyes were wet as she turned to smile at him.
“We must plan,” he said. “My people have lost the way to this world. They won’t find it again for a long time. Strada is dead. But they will find the way again from another planet, when it is habitable again, from Strada. By that time we must be ready.”
“We? I like to hear you say that.”
“You have a lot to teach me, Martha. I’m such a miserable amateur at this way of life.”
“I think you’re doing very nicely.”
He frowned. “I suppose the best thing to do would be to set up a laboratory. Some of my technical training, even though on Strada it was considered elementary, will lead to things that are new here. First we’ll have to get advanced texts so that I can see how much has been done.”
“Darling,” she said. “So much energy! Don’t think about it yet. Not for a little while.”
He stared at her and grinned. “So?”
Her blush was violent. “This mind-reading,” she said, “takes a bit of getting used to.”