Tight-lipped, a step at a time, his arm about Veta, he drew back to the far end of the narrow room.
Fumbling in her shoulder-bag, the girl brought forth her vocorn pipe. Without a word, she began to play a strange, wailing tune.
As if by magic, the gulfers' wave-patterns lost their erratic touches. Now they moved smoothly, in a sort of hideously-rhythmic dance.
Beyond the barred door and the wheeled cage, Cheng laughed harshly. "That's it!" he jeered. "See who lasts longer, the girl or the gulfers! There's plenty of time!"
Veta's face paled. The smooth flow of her music grew ragged.
Instantly, the gulfers once again moved forward.
Ross drew back yet another step; threw the girl a quick look.
Her fingers, her hands, her whole body was shaking. Horror crawled in her eyes—but not for an instant did she lift them from the advancing gulfers, even though she swayed as if on the verge of fainting.
Ross held her close; braced her. But she only shook harder. Her piping had lost all traces of pattern, of rhythm. Far from halting the gulfers, it now seemed to draw them, incite them.
Beyond the barred door, Cheng laughed again in fierce, sadistic triumph.