And so, small things, we leave you.
From hastily chosen places of concealment and half-scooped fox-holes around the Opal Cross, a little improvised army stood up. A few scattered fliers swooped down and silently joined them. The only uniforms were those of a few members of the Extraterrestrial Service. Among the civilians were perhaps a score of Recalcitrant Infiltrants from World II, won over to last-minute co-operation by Thorn II.
The air still reeked acridly. White smoke and fumes came from a dozen areas where earth and vegetation had been blasted by subtronic weapons. And there were those who did not stand up, whose bodies lay charred or had vanished in disintegration.
The ground between them and the Opal Cross was still freshly scored by the tracks of great vehicles. There were still wide swathes of crushed vegetation. At one point a group of low buildings had been mashed flat. And it seemed that the air above still shook with the aftermath of the passage of mighty warcraft.
But of the great mechanized army that had been fanning out toward and above them, not one black-uniformed soldier remained.
They continued to stare.
In the Sky Room of the Opal Cross, the members of the World Executive Committee looked around at a similar emptiness. Only the tatters of Clawly's body remained as concrete evidence of what had happened. It was blown almost in two, but the face was untouched. This no longer showed the triumphant smile which had been apparent a moment before death. Instead, there was a look of horrified surprise.
Clawly's duplicate had vanished with the other black-uniformed figures.