The captain worked the controls feverishly. His hands sought by their swiftness, by their strength, to fire those frontal jets, to stop this deadly dash through planetal atmosphere. He bit his lips and shook his head, whispering, "No use—no use!"
There was desert under the silvered belly of the ship. Heat waves glimmered up from the hot sands, distorting everything. Far in the distance lay a round yellow thing. The spaceship headed toward it, as though at the bullseye of a target.
"We're going to hit it," said the man.
"What is it, Jon?"
Yellow and glittering, it lay like a giant's plaything, half buried in the sand. It was a prism with clean, straight facets fitted together that seemed to stretch out at every angle to gather in the heat from the desert. Like a yellow diamond, it coruscated in the sunlight.
"I don't know," the man said softly. "It could be something that dropped from the skies to bury itself in this spot, or it could be the—the work of intelligent creatures!"
Their trajectory of flight shortened. The nose of the ship fell lower, aimed at the prism. The noise of its passage startled two white birds that ran on the sand. The birds ran faster, blurring along on the amber desert.
From behind the amber prism a two-legged thing came running. In his hand there was a flash and glitter.
"It's a man!" the woman shrieked, a red-nailed hand to her lips. "And he has a sword in his hand."
"Poor devil," sighed the captain. "We're heading right at him. He can't get away."