They waited, and the cruiser dropped down silently out of the sky. It
was dark in the canyon, where the cliffs cut off the galactic light,
but the cruiser's ports shone brightly. Trehearne was almost glad to
see them. They were human. They were comforting, after all the night
and desolation of a dead world. The airlock opened and a vivid shaft
of brilliance shot out of it, going straight on with no air to diffuse
it, until it hit the opposite wall of the canyon, near the skiff. Men
in pressure suits began to come out of the lock. Trehearne rose. He
stepped into the bright beam and walked slowly toward the men. Edri
came after him, and Quorn.
A voice he did not know spoke over the helmet phone. "Identify
yourselves."
They gave their names, and Trehearne added, "We're unarmed. We're
through." There was a certain relief in being through. Whatever
happened from here on was out of their hands. They could sit passively
and rest, and let it happen. He looked at the ship and thought of
warmth and light and food and comfort, and most of all he thought of
sleep. Shairn and Kerrel could come later.
The men from the cruiser carried weapons, a type of shock-rifle more
deadly than the little tubes that only stunned. They came out a short
distance, toward the three bulky shapes that shuffled down the beam of
light. The first voice that had spoken gave an order, and the two men
went off toward the skiff to search it, their belt lamps bobbing. Then
it spoke again to Trehearne and the others. "Keep your hands as high as
you can. All right, that's far enough."