Panting, he crawled up a crumbling stair, searching the skyline for some glimpse of the silver prow to guide him.
Then there it was, off to the west.
Craig's jaw tightened. That slim silver craft represented the strength of the whole Federation. One word from it, and a fleet would come roaring down upon Lysor.
But first, that word must be spoken.
He phrased the message in his mind: "DETAILS LACKING BUT NO DOUBT OF ZENAOR AGGRESSIVE INTENTIONS AS SHOWN IN ATTEMPTS TO KILL ENVOY...."
He started to turn, to make his way back down the stairs.
But in that instant the sky went suddenly bright with a blaze of light ... a light so dazzling that it left Craig blind and shaking.
A light that centered on the starship.
Craig clapped his hands across his eyes. A wave of sudden panic gripped him.
Grimly—desperately, almost—he fought it down.