It was Alla Narova.
"What is the way?" Tropile demanded, curiously alarmed.
"I shall go with them, trace the areas the Pyramids are attempting to
isolate, place my entire self--" by this she meant her "concentration,"
her "psyche," that part of all of them which flashed along the neurone
guides unhampered by flesh or distance--"in the most likely point they
will next cut loose. And then I shall cause the propulsion units on the
severed sections to force them back into circuit."
Tropile objected: "But you don't know what will happen! We have never
been cut off from our physical bodies, Alla Narova. It may be death. It
may not be possible at all. You don't know!"
Alla Narova thought a smile and a farewell. She said: "No, I do not."
And then, "Good-by, Tropile."
She had gone.
Furiously, Tropile hurled himself after her, but she was quick as
he, too quick to catch; she was gone. _Foolishness, foolishness!_ he
shouted silently. How could she do an insane, chancy thing like this?
And yet what else was there to do? They were all ignorant babes,
temporarily successful because there had been no defense against them,
for who expects babes to rise up in rebellion? They didn't _know_.
For all they could guess or imagine, the Pyramids had an effective
counter for any move they might make. Temporary success meant nothing.
It was the final decision that counted, when either the Pyramids were
vanquished or the men, and what steps were needed to make that decision
favor the men were anyone's guess--Alla Narova's was as good as his.
Tropile could only watch and wait.
Through a great many viewpoints and observers, he was able to see
roughly what happened.
* * * * *
There was a section of the planet next the severed chunk where the mind
and senses of Alla Narova lay coiled for a moment--and were gone. For
what it had accomplished, her purpose succeeded. She had been taken.
She was out of circuit.
The overwhelming consciousness of loss that flooded through Glenn
Tropile was something outside of all his experience.
Next to him in the snowflake, the body which he had learned to think
of as the body of Alla Narova twisted sharply as though waking from a
dream--and lay flaccid, floating in the fluid.
"Alla Narova! _Alla Narova!_"
There was no answer.