In Wrail's forehead was a tiny, neatly drilled hole from which a single drop of blood oozed.
"Murdered!” exclaimed Russ.
"Yes, murdered,” said Greg, and there was a sudden calmness in his voice.
Russ grasped the televisor control. Ranthoor's streets ran beneath them, curiously silent and deserted. Here and there lay bodies. A few shop windows were smashed. But the only living that stirred was a dog that slunk across the street and into the shadows of an alley.
Swiftly the televisor swung along the streets. Straight into the screen clanked a marching detail of government police, herding before them a half dozen prisoners. The men had their hands bound behind their backs, but they walked with heads held high.
"Revolution,” gasped Russ.
"Not a revolution. A purge. Stutsman is clearing the city of all who might be dangerous to him This will be happening on every other planet where Chambers holds control."
Perspiration ran down Russ's forehead and dripped into his eyes as he manipulated the controls.
"Stutsman is striking first,” said Greg, calmly… far too calmly. “He's consolidating his position, possibly on the pretense that plots have been discovered."
A few buildings were bombed. A line of bodies were crumpled at the foot of a steel wall, marking the spot where men had been lined up and mowed down with one sweeping blast from a heater.