Then he staggered suddenly, lost his footing, and went sprawling. It was as though somebody had pushed him with a strong hand. When he tried to get up it pushed him again, hard. The golden glare from the fissure was steadier now, and very bright. The trail of little man-things bent suddenly in a long whipping bow, and Lundy knew what was the matter. There was a current rising in the city. Rising like the hot white winds that used to howl in from the sea, carrying the rains. "_They ride the currents that go between the hot cracks in the mountains and the cold deeps. They eat. They destroy._" The Others. The Others, who were cannibals.... _She_ led the bright trail of plant-men between the towers, and there was a current rising in the streets. Lundy got up. He balanced himself against the thrust of the current and ran, following the procession. It was clumsy work, with the water and his leaded boots. He tried to gauge where _It_--or _She_--was from the focus of the plant-men's eyes. The hot light flared up brighter. The water pulled and shoved at him. He looked back once, but he couldn't see anything in the shadows between the towers. He was scared. He shook the net out, and he was scared. Funny that _It_--or _She_--didn't see him. Funny _It_ didn't sense his mind, even though he tried to keep it closed. But he wasn't a very big object down there in the shadows under the walls, and creating an illusion for that many minds would be a strain on anything, even a creature from outer space. He'd had the breaks once before, when he caught up with Farrell. He prayed to have them again. He got them, for what good it did him. The current caught the procession and pulled it down close to Lundy. He watched their eyes. She was still leading them. She had a physical body even if you couldn't see it, and the current would pull it, no matter how tiny it was. He cast his net out, fast. It bellied out in the black water and came swooping back to his pull, and there was something in it. Something tiny and cylindrical and vicious. Something alive. He drew the net tight, shivering and sweating with nervous excitement. And the plant-men attacked. They swooped on him in a brilliant cloud. Their golden eyes burned. There was no sense in them. Their minds shrieked and clamored at him, a formless howl of rage--and fear, for _Her_. They beat at him with their little green fins. Their coronals blazed, hot angry splashes of colored flame against the dark water. They wrenched at the net, tore at it, beating their membranes like wings against the rising current. Lundy was a solid, muscular little guy. He snarled and fought for the net like a wolf over a yearling lamb. He lost it anyway. He fell on his face under a small mountain of churning man-things and lay gasping for the breath they knocked out of him, thankful for the vac-suit that saved him from being crushed flat.