The Aab fell, exhausted.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. The wind blew. The hot Martian sun transformed the desert into a sea of glittering scarlet. A mist of sand settled on the inert body of the Aab, camouflaging it.

How many minutes more till the arrival of Stardust Luke? It must be close to noon. There'd be perhaps five more hours. Sixty minutes in an hour, and five hours—

The Aab stirred. It began to rise.

Monk concentrated on the thought: "You can't move. I've got you. You can't rise."

The Aab stopped rising.

Monk licked the perspiration from his upper lip in a futile effort to quench his thirst. But there was nothing to worry about. Nothing at all—

His head jerked back.

The Aab was rising again. It was defying his last command.

Monk bit his lip. Of course. His mind was tiring just as muscles tire. He couldn't hope to hold the Aab here all afternoon. The Aab, somehow, must be disposed of. But how?

Out of the heat, out of his fear and desperation, came a plan. It was simple and direct. It gave Monk his only chance for survival. He quickly pressed it into the depths of his unconscious mind so that the Aab would not detect it.

"Come here," he said. "I won't hurt you."

You will hurt me. You will dispose of me.

Monk cursed. Aabs weren't intelligent, but they possessed some reasoning power.

"No, I won't hurt you," he telepathed. "Come here. Let me see what you look like."

I am afraid. You have a plan.

This time Monk relaxed. He tried to emanate only thoughts of love and friendliness.

"I won't hurt you. I promise."

The Aab hesitated.

"I command you to come here. You will not be hurt."

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