IV
From the collapsing roof tons of debris poured into the underground gardens and spread over the floor like advancing mountains. Dust choked, Torry staggered blindly before it in panic to avoid being caught and buried. It was like a swift, deadly race with an engulfing landslide.
Free of the confusion and deafening tumult, he turned to look about for Sen Bas and the girl. In the dust cloud it was impossible to see anything. Masses of masonry and fused glass from the collapsing cavern roof continued to detach themselves and crash down in random uproar. Cautiously, Torry picked his way over the mounds of rubble, searching.
A feeble cry led him to Sen Bas. The aged Martian looked like a tattered bundle of red rags. Half buried under a hillock of shattered stone and twisted steel, the old man showed little sign of life, save for still-glittering eyes and husks of sound emerging from bloodless lips. Spreading stains of red seeped from beneath the prisoning blocks.
"If I can lift the stones, can you drag yourself out?" asked Torry.
"Don't—think—so!" gasped Sen Bas.
"Where can I find help?"
"Don't try. Go—quickly. Save yourself. The alarms—police—maybe union killers. Go—"
"Not yet," snapped Torry. "We'll worry about the rest after I get you out."
The old man protested. "I'm—old. Does not matter. Get to—transmitter. My people must have—"