It was Garr Symm’s voice.
Ramsey did not know if he should stop Margot himself, or fight Symm’s men. Although they couldn’t use their weapons on this world, they could still hurt—possibly even kill—Margot. Ramsey turned and waited for them.
The strange, mystic vision was gone. He saw only three space-suited figures, saw Margot walking steadily toward the box. Either she was moving very slowly or the box retreated or it was further away than it had looked at first. For she hadn’t reached it yet.
Ramsey met the space-suited figures head-on.
There were three of them, but they were awkward in their suits, cumbersome, incapable of quick responses.
Ramsey hit the first one in the belly and darted back. His fist felt contact with the soft bulk of the insulined suit, then with the harder bulk of the man. He struck again, harder this time.
The scaly green face of the Irwadi within the space-suit grimaced with pain. He doubled over and fell, his helmet shattering against the ground at Ramsey’s feet.
Then an incredible thing happened. The Irwadi opened his mouth to scream. His face froze. He lost his air. His face bloated.
And he died.