Zakheim's sprawled figure was only three steps away from her now. She wrenched her way through the congealed air, panting with the exertion. Her muscles ached from the effort. She knelt beside Zakheim. Ignoring the blood that stained her skirt she took up one of his outstretched hands, felt for a pulse. Nothing. Now, she recognized the marks on his jacket. They were bullet holes. A machinegun burst had caught him across the chest. He was dead. She thought of the big garrulous red-head, so full of blooming life only minutes before. _Poor foolish Zak._ She put his hand down gently, shook the tears from her eyes. A terrible rage swelled in her. She sensed Ohashi nearby, struggling toward her, heard him gasp: "Is Zak dead?" Tears dripped unheeded from her eyes. She nodded. "Yes, he is." And she thought: _I'm not crying for Zak. I'm crying for myself ... for all of us ... so foolish, so determined, so blind...._ "EARTH PEOPLE!" The voice roared from the spaceship, cutting across all thought, stilling all emotion into a waiting fear. "WE HAD HOPED YOU COULD LEARN TO COMMUNICATE!" roared the voice. "YOU HAVE FAILED!" Vibrant silence. * * * * * Thoughts that had been struggling for recognition began surging to the surface of Francine's mind. She felt herself caught in the throes of a mental earthquake, her soul brought to a crisis as sharp as that of giving birth. The crashing words had broken through a last barrier in her mind. "COMMUNICATE!" At last she understood the meaning of the ultimatum. But was it too late? "No!" she screamed. She surged to her feet, shook a fist at the ship. "Here's one who didn't fail! I know what you meant!" She shook both fists at the ship. "See my hate!" Against the almost tangible congealing of air she forced her way toward the now silent ship, thrust out her left hand toward the dead figures on the sand all around her. "You killed these poor fools! What did you expect from them? You did this! You forced them into a corner!" The doors of the spaceship opened. Five green-skinned figures emerged. They stopped, stood staring at her, their shoulders slumped. Simultaneously, Francine felt the thickened air relax its hold upon her. She strode forward, tears coursing down her cheeks. "You made them afraid!" she shouted. "What else could they do? The fearful can't think." Sobs overcame her. She felt violence shivering in her muscles. There was a terrible desire in her--a need to get her hands on those green figures, to shake them, hurt them. "I hope you're proud of what you've done." "QUIET!" boomed the voice from the ship. "I will not!" she screamed. She shook her head, feeling the wildness that smothered her inhibitions. "Oh, I know you were right about communicating ... but you were wrong, too. You didn't have to resort to violence."