Again a red rage filled Murph. He dove forward, smashed into Forsyth, and the navigator reeled backwards. As he fell back, his feet tangled in the scrubby vegetation of the planet, he reached toward his belt and his electro-gun jerked free from the holster. He saw the bull shape of Murph over him, an enraged beast, and as he fell, the twin electrodes shot out an energy stream. Fear and hatred tensed his nerves, but despite the emotion, he set the range right. The sparks arced together just in front of the great bulk of Murph. There was a crackling and the smell of burning flesh, then a surprised look upon Murph's face. The surprise turned to rage and the last thing Forsyth saw was Murph falling down on him, his clothes and his chest burned away until the ribs showed, animal rage welling from his lips.
A figure stood fifty feet away and watched this drama. Murph, blood coughing from his mouth and nose, the great muscles of his chest nothing but crisp burned meat, reached for Forsyth, picked him up, holding him over his head as an ape would a man, and slammed him again and again to the ground.
The final time Murph tried to lift Forsyth, his strength gave out. He dropped Forsyth's limp form, coughed in a final paroxysm, and fell beside Forsyth and Jamison.
The figure which stood fifty feet away turned and walked leisurely back over the rise.
Now, it was not a fighter, and it was not Jimmy, and it was not Sitra. It was a denizen of the planet and it looked like no human.
Shortly thereafter the all-wave radio in the deadly, powerful silvery needle standing serenely on the strange world blared again.
"... in accordance with Interstellar Code we have asked that we not be invaded and are warning you that according to Article 19, Section 3, fleets which invade a peaceful people become subject to unprincipled attack, even to the use of psychological weapons."