By Gardner F. Fox, John Brunner
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The men died there in its blast, eyes wide. He swung toward Peganna but he could not fire for fear of hitting her. The beam from an a-gun is needle-thin but the Lyanirn were moving this way and that as they dragged the girl backward, and her legs kicking out in futile anger blocked his aim. More warriors were moving in, now. They held no a-guns, only stunners. Bran guessed that their orders were to take him alive. Their bluish beams came at him from all angles. Where those beams hit, they packed the wallop of a mule.
Worn out! Drained of its ancient metals, its chemicals, its loams and vegetation. " He swung about, put both palms on the tabletop as he glared down into the upturned face of Alvar Drexel. "Peganna has failed her people, Commander. I shall not fail. " "As a subject people only," the uniformed man pointed out. "Liable to tribute payments and forced conscriptions. Not as equals. " "The other is enough," Gron Dhu nodded. "From such a beginning, we may hope for more. Peganna was too proud to accept the role of subject people.
It may have been explored by them, perhaps marked for colonization. But for some reason the Crenn Lir never got around to it. " "Miranor? It's a dead planet. Worn out. Bathed as are all the Crenn Lir worlds by some deadly radiation. We have to take medipills two or three times a day to ease its effects on our bodies. " Bran wondered. Peganna only shook her head and allowed Bran to take her by the hand and lead her into the tele-door. She was no longer afraid. Whatever force had gripped the Wanderer and held him upright would also support her.