But it had all been so unnecessary, Rynason thought.  The ancient Outsiders brain, computing from insufficient evidence probably gathered during a brief touchdown on Earth, had undoubtedly been able to give only a tentative appraisal of the situation.  But the proto-Hirlaji language was not constructed to accommodate if’s and maybe’s, and the judgments of the brain were taken as law by the Hirlaji.

Now the Earthmen for whom this race had deadened itself into near-extinction would complete the job ... because the Hirlaji had learned their mistake far too late.

Rynason shook his head; there was a sickness in his stomach, a gnawing anger at the ways of history.  It was capricious, cruel, senseless.  It played jokes spanning millennia.

Suddenly there were sounds on the stairs below him.  Rynason’s head jerked up and he saw five of the Earthmen climbing the stairs, moving as quickly as they could from level to level, crouching momentarily at each beneath the cover of the steps.  He raised one of the disintegrators, feeling the rage building up within him.

There was a humming sound by his ear; the beam of one of the stunners passed by him, touching the rock wall.  The wall vibrated at the touch, but the range was too great for the beam to have done it any damage.  They were close enough, though to stun Rynason if they hit him.

He dropped flat, looking for the man who had fired.  In a moment he found him:  a small, lean man slipped almost silently over the edge of one of the step-levels and rolled quickly to cover beneath the next.  He had got further than Rynason had realized; only three levels separated them now.  He could see, from this distance in the near-dark, the cruel lines of the man’s face.  It was a harsh, dirty face, with wrinkles like seams; the man’s eyes were harsh slits.  Rynason had seen too many faces like that here on the Edge; this was a man with a bitter hatred, looking for the chance to unleash it upon anyone who got in his way.  And the enjoyment which Rynason saw gleaming in the man’s eyes chilled him momentarily.

In that moment the man leaped to the next level, sending off a beam which struck the wall two feet from Rynason; he felt the stinging vibration against his body as he lay flat.  Slowly he sighted the disintegrator at the top of the level under which the man had crouched for cover, and waited for his next leap.  Within him he felt only a bitter cold which matched the wind whipping above him.

Again the man moved—­but he had crept to the side of the stairs before he leaped, and Rynason’s shot bit into the stone beside him as he rolled to safety.  Now only one level separated them.

Further down the stairs, Rynason saw the others moving up behind the smaller man.  Still more were moving out from the other buildings and darting to the stairs.  But he had no time to hold them back.

There was silence, except for the wind.