heading for right now. He can see it ... he's got a glint in his eye ... a blood-lust.... Oh, great gods of space.... Rocky!"
The voice died in a tiny wail.
Russell needed no explanation of his agonized words. For he, too, saw the climax of that frightful action. Colossus had climbed completely over the horizon, now. There was no doubt he had spotted the city. He seemed fascinated by its twin towers. Like a destructive child experimenting with some new toy he leaned over, gripped the spire of the nearest between a massive thumb and forefinger ... and snapped it off!
From the shard of stone and metal wherein a few desperate fugitives had taken refuge dropped tiny motes, tumbling hundreds of feet to certain, dreadful doom! Rocky could not hear their screams ... but he could imagine them. One of those black fragments might have been ... could have been....
He shook his head doggedly. No! He must not think of such things! Lynn still lived. Must live!
Then another sound burst so close to him that for a moment his tense nerves shrieked in agony. A mighty hissing roar ... the explosive blast of a rotor-gun going into action. Glancing to his right he found himself beside the very gun-embrasure wherein yesterday—("Lord, only yesterday? Not a hundred thousand centuries ago?")—a jovial gunner had told "Dr. Rockingham Roswell" fabulously genial tales of monstrous beasts. Could either of them have guessed that today....
"Gunner!" he cried.
The old warrior glanced up, identified him amongst the hordes of refugees. "Oh, you, Puffessor! Come on! I'm short-handed here. Crew didn't make it afore the attack. If you're still lookin' for fab'lus monsters, here's y'r chance to git some fust-hand experience—"
Rocky needed no second invitation. A terrible rage was upon him, now. Futile to attempt to any longer buck the mob to New Boston still more than three miles away. If Lynn had been in the city, neither he nor any man could help her now. The only thing he could do was ... avenge her....
He dropped into the pit, and swung instantly into action. "What do you need here? Oh—short a prime-loader, eh? All right, Gunner—" He spun toward the charge-rheo, jazzed its fill to max, slammed home the breech of the rotor, snapped, "O.Q. Charge set!"
"Range," said Gunner mechanically, "Fire!" The beam blasted away. Then, and only
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