"The answer's in the genes," Lance Llandark whispered grimly. "We've no other chance."
He kept the probe running on the strangest genes of all; those from the plant nightmare that had grown beside his wife. They were like nothing else on the planet. The double-stranded chains of DNA were monstrously long; many of the nucleotide links held copper or arsenic atoms.
"Queer!" Lance kept muttering. "No copper or arsenic in other plants here. I'd like to know why."
He was running when we heard the woman scream. In that stifling quiet, her cry unnerved us all. We crowded down to the lock.
Tattered, stained with blood-colored juices, she slipped through those coiled, constricting creepers. She splashed out into the open ditch, waving a filthy rag. Halfway to the ship, she fell into the mud.
Lance Llandark led three of us to bring her in. She whimpered and looked up. Tears streaked the grime on her wasted face.
"Lance!" she gasped. "My dear."
"Lilith—" But he shrank back suddenly. "I found Lilith dead!"
"I am nearly dead." She tried weakly to get up. "You see, we're all marooned out there in the bush. Emergency landing, when we tried to get off. Wrecked our astrogation gear. Need your spare astro-pilot—"