Shann shook his head at the incoming rattle of code. The Throg with the translator was holding the other head set close to his own ear pit. And the claws of the guard came down on Shann's shoulders in a cruel grip, a threat of future brutality.
The rattle of code continued while Shann thought furiously. This was it! He had to give a warning, and then the aliens would do to him just what the officer had threatened. Shann could not seem to think clearly. It was as if in his efforts to contact Thorvald, he had exhausted some part of his brain, so that now he was dazed just when he needed quick wits the most!
This whole scene had a weird unreality. He had seen its like a thousand times on fiction tapes—the Terran hero menaced by aliens intent on saving ... saving....
Was it out of one of those fiction tapes he had devoured in the past that Shann recalled that scrap of almost forgotten information?
The Terran began to speak into the mike, for there had come a pause in the rattle of code. He used Terran, not basic, and he shaped the words slowly.
"Warlock calling—trouble—sickness here—com officer dead."
He was interrupted by another burst of code. The claws of his guard twisted into the naked flesh of his shoulders in vicious warning.
"Warlock calling—" he repeated. "Need help——"
"Who are you?"
The demand came in basic. On board the transport they would have a list of every member of the Survey team.