Earth! Earth we know.
Immortal world where Solar dreamers go
To sleep among ice-peaks and sunlit snow.
Earthman I! Wanderer of space and sky.
The chorus was a swelling, deafening thunder of defiance in the towering expanse of corridor. Alarms clanged confusion in the background. Doors opened on the many tiers above Venard and Larson. Glaring lights swept frantically in sporadic circles. Marties appeared in hundreds of openings with H-guns poised, nervously, uncertainly; anxiety mucous flowed from pulsing pores.
"Sing!" laughed Venard wildly. He didn't feel quite sane, and he didn't care. "Earth isn't dead. Not while you can still sing, you're not dead, and your song will live forever!"
His wild laughter rang carelessly and madly up the towering heights of the partly-repaired corridor, down the lengths of it both ways, through the open oval door beyond which torture flames still glittered and shadowed, dehumanized bodies curled.
A thunderous moan spread up and outward. Chains clanged as awakened hope and honor and returning sense of dignity burned again in withered hearts. Then a number of H-guns burst suddenly into spontaneous, nervous slaughter.
"Sing!" Venard heard his voice echoing for the last time. He drew back the arm which held the memory-crystal. A beam of crackling power burned his side. Seared flesh was nausea in his face. He dodged, dancing in his gauntness and flapping rags like a grotesque clown.
On Earth, of Earth we die!