"Back." He swung on us. "Back aboard!"
"What's wrong?" We were stunned, "She's your wife—"
"Aboard! Instanter!"
We obeyed his deadly voice.
"Help—" she whispered faintly behind us in the mud. "Survivors—need astro-pilot-to plot our way home—"
The clanging lock cut off her voice.
Angrily we turned on Lance Llandark.
"Hold it!" he snapped. "I'm not crazy—the planet is. Come along to the micro-probe. I'm probing a seed from the plant we found by Lilith's bones. It puzzled me. So much of it was—"
In spite of the tension, he had to grope for a word to express meaning.
"Arbitrary! Those shapeless leaves, twisted stalk, that sterile seed. The copper and arsenic in those needless links. Too many genes had no function. No use at all!