ut they were
raiders now, laying waste defenseless worlds, picking up the wealth of
shattered cities in which no native life remained. And their hidden
temporary bases were looped about the galaxy, their need for worlds with
an atmosphere similar to Terra's as necessary as that of man. For in
spite of their grotesque insectile bodies, their wholly alien minds, the
Throgs were warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing creatures.

After the first few clashes the early Terran explorers had endeavored to
promote a truce between the species, only to discover that between Throg
and man there appeared to be no meeting ground at all--total differences
of mental processes producing insurmountable misunderstanding. There was
simply no point of communication. So the Terrans had suffered one
smarting defeat after another until they perfected the grid. And now
their colonies were safe, at least when time worked in their favor.

It had not on Warlock.

A last vivid lash of red cracked over the huddle of domes in the valley.
Shann blinked, half blinded by that glare. His jaws ached as he
unclenched his teeth. That was the finish. Breathing raggedly, he raised
his head, beginning to realize that he was the only one of his kind left
alive on a none-too-hospitable world controlled by enemies--without
shelter or supplies.

He edged back into the narrow cleft which was the entrance to the ledge.
As a representative of his species he was not impressive, and now with
those shudders he could not master, shaking his thin body, he looked
even smaller and more vulnerable. Shann drew his knees up close under
his chin. The hood of his woodsman's jacket was pushed back in spite of
the chill of the morning, and he wiped the back of his hand across his
lips and chin in an oddly childish gesture.

None of the men below who had been alive only minutes earlier had been
close friends of his; Shann had never known anyone but acquaintances in
his short, roving life. Most people had ignored him completely except to
give orders, and one or two had been actively malicious--like Garth
Thorvald. Shann grimaced at a certain recent memory, and then that
grimace faded into wonder. If young Thorvald hadn't purposefully tried
to get Shann into trouble by opening the wolverines' cage, Shann
wouldn't be here now--alive and safe for a time--he'd have been down
there with the others.

The wolverines! For the first time since Shann had heard the crackle of
the Throg attack h