He looked up into Zeeth's eyes. Blood smeared the Venusian's fat face, but he was smiling wanly.
"Hello," Vanning said, sitting up.
Zeeth nodded. "The others are all right. Still unconscious."
"The crash—"
"Hobbs has a broken arm, and I cracked a rib, I think. But the ship's hull was tough."
Vanning stood up. His eyes was caught by the movement on the visi-plate, which had incredibly survived the shock of landing. He moved forward, bracing himself against the back of the pilot's chair.
The city of the Swamja lay spread beneath him. The ship had lodged itself high on one of the towers, smashing its way into a sort of cradle, and then rolling down till its bow faced north. In the distance the jagged metal of the tube stood up forty feet above ground level. The rest of it wasn't there, though gleaming, twisted plates of metal lay here and there in the streets.
And through the avenues shapes were moving. They were the Swamja, and they moved like automatons. They moved in one direction only—away from the ship.
As far as Vanning could see the Swamja were pouring through their city.
Zeeth said softly, "You are very clever. I still do not understand—"