olish, as he saw that she'd merely let him
deceive himself. And, finally--as it came home to him that this girl had
followed him of her own choice into exile and great danger--a new and
quite unaccustomed feeling flooded in on him, a queer sense of humility.

"I'm sorry," he said confusedly. "I didn't--I don't--understand."

She breathed in a barely audible voice, "You said I was beautiful....
And _you_ hadn't the drug."

From far away, from around the vast, mysterious buildings, came mournful
hooting sounds, a sighing and a sobbing as of some mythical monster in
torment.

Dworn was rudely recalled to realization of where they were--and of the
fact that, as the spider-machine stood poised here on the cliff-edge, it
would be starkly visible from over there, seen against the setting sun.

He gave up trying to unsnarl the tangle of his own feelings. He said
hurriedly, "But you should go back. There's no time--I _have_ to go on.
But there's no reason you should die."

Qanya's face was drawn and determined. "No," she said flatly.

"I don't know what you're talking about. But I won't leave you now...."

The distant sighing rose to a whining roar.

"Quick!" cried Dworn in desperation. "Find cover. I think we've been
seen!"

* * * * *

The girl reached for the controls and the spider's engine raced up. But
it was already late. Off yonder, along that one of the radiating runways
that stretched toward them, something was moving, racing swiftly and
more swiftly outward with its long shadow following it.

All at once the moving thing left its shadow behind, and Dworn
recognized it for an aircraft taking off.

Then he had to snatch for a handhold as the spider-machine lunged into a
dead run. At full speed on the level ground, it could make good time;
the ground outside skimmed past at fifty or sixty miles an hour.

Qanya had spied some rocky outcroppings, which might furnish a modicum
of shelter, about a mile away and some distance from the brink of the
cliffs, and she was heading for them. But the terrain nearer at hand was
implacably flat--and the enemy was airborne, a vicious winged shape
growing at terrifying speed. Its whistling roar swelled and grew
deafening.

Qanya shouted something inaudible and pointed. Dworn understood, and,
holding on for dear life in the pitching cabin, clawed his way within
reach of the fire-controls. Wrestling with the unfamiliar mechanism, he
fought to