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and the men tensed. Foyle rolled on his belly, tucked his legs under him, and
leaped.
"Now!" shouted Cranston. At his words the paddlelike projections of several
warrior plants stiffened as several things happened at once. The crew, along
with Dione, bellowed out a mighty, stentorian roar that reverberated
throughout the arena. Even as the roar rose in a forceful crescendo a crewman
howled with genuine pain and fell to the ground, holding a leg pierced by
darts. One of the aliens had managed to get off a
salvo. Cranston glanced at the rows of plant creatures. Their tentacles had
shuddered at the deep roar he and the crew had sounded. Now, they were stiff
and unmoving, the aliens seemingly frozen in position. His guess about the
noise's effectiveness had been correct.
Foyle's leap had carried him high in an arc and on top of one dwarf.
The crack of a lasegun was practically in-audible amidst the caterwaul of
sound the crew was then making. The dwarf had been aiming at Foyle's torso but
even so the charge caught his foot. For another man the searing pain would
have been disabling; for Foyle, the shock stimulated his anger.
He grabbed the dwarf by the hair, holding on as they bowled over. Quicker than
a cat, Foyle was on his feet, the tiny man held in front of him as a shield.
Small teeth bit into his arm. Foyle punched. The dwarf grew limp.
The dwarves were momentarily confused by the attack on the plants.
They had been ready for an assault but not for the deafening roar. The three
seemed unsure of what to do. Still shouting two other crewmen attacked the
remaining armed and confused dwarves with their improvised weapons. The
slingshot pulled back and snapped forward. One dwarf, in a paroxysm of
movement, dropped, his lasegun and flung his hands to his head. The
three-pronged, false molar struck. One other dwarf was struck by a bearing
launched from the sling.
The crew had scattered even as their roar faded, following Cranston's
instructions. One crewman, his weighted belt swinging, headed for the fourth
dwarf. The heavy buckle landed on headbone as the lasegun cracked. The man
doubled over and the stench of burning flesh was proof he would fight no more.
A high price to pay for the now-wailing dwarf, the lasegun fallen to his feet.
"Get the laseguns, lads," Baldy shouted, leaping toward the first two disarmed
dwarves. They were recovering fast. The one hit with the bearing, one hand on
his eye, had snatched up his weapon and was now taking an unsteady lead on
Baldy. Baldy dove, his fingers clawing for another fallen weapon, and
rolled all in one movement. The dwarf's lasegun cracked and a huge, searing
hole appeared in the turf where Baldy had been a fraction of a second before.
Baldy fired and the dwarf disappeared in a red ball of fire, his small frame
vaporized out of existence.
Then it was over. The three dwarves still alive were held as hostages, all now
kicking and screaming.
Then another sound filled the arena. It wasn't a shout of anger, nor a bellow
of frustration. Rather, it was a sharp, keening wail that ebbed through the
room. The crew suddenly became silent. Ohm, like some majestic statue come to
life, was shrieking lamentations over his lost dreams. His arms flailed
wildly, looking like the broken wings of a giant bird. Tears streamed down his
long face. Then the angular arms bent and his two massive hands slapped to his
eyes, as though to hide the vision of his defeat. Ohm moved forward and one
bony leg stumbled over Victor who, still faithful to his master, stood stonily
in front of him. Ohm tried to catch himself, his arms twirling anew, the long
sleeves of his robe a whirlwind of motion. His waist hit the balcony's
railing, his torso continuing the fall.
Ohm tumbled with an eerie caterwaul that ended in mid-note as he plunged onto
one of the warrior plants below. The sharp spiked tip of the alien pierced
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Ohm's back and grew from his chest like a dagger. Ohm's limbs writhed in slow
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