urned short and cut north through the edge of the
brush. Morgan caught a glimpse of the truck far ahead. Hanson's hounds
were snarling about the wheels and leaping up toward the bed. The road
was soft sand to their right. Ducking low, they darted ahead until it
appeared firm enough to admit the truck.

"We want them to get past us," he hissed to Hanson. "When they do, you
stand up and show yourself. When they start piling out, I'll start
shooting. Okay?"

"Yes, suh." He patted his pitchfork and grinned. They stopped and
crouched low in the brush.

"Please, suh--don't hit my dawgs."

"I'm counting on them to help."

The truck grumbled slowly past them. The hounds were snapping
furiously as they tried to leap over the tailgate. Morgan caught a
glimpse of white faces, staring fixedly at nothing. Then he nudged the
oldster.

Hanson stood up, shaking his pitchfork and shrieking hate at the
occupants. The truck moved on a few yards, then ground to a stop.

"_Come and join us_," thundered a collective voice. "_For we are Oren,
who is one._"

Morgan could see nothing through the screen of foliage. But the old
man was still howling invective.

"_From the stars comes Oren. To the stars he goes. Come and join us._"

"Come get me, you devils. I'll kill ya!"

"_Oren is millions. He cannot die. We come._"

Hanson's foot nudged Morgan's nervously. Still he lay under cover,
waiting for their advance. Feet shuffled on the bed of the truck. The
hounds were going wild. There was something weird about sounds of
Orenian movement. It was always coordinated--so many marionettes with
one set of controls. But they could shift from parallel coordination
to complementary, dovetailing each set of movements to achieve the
common purpose.

Morgan burst forth from the brush and fired at the tight group of
bodies near the back of the truck. They were packed in a circle to
protect the group from the slashing fangs of the dogs. Two of them
fell, without outcries. He fired three times before they broke apart.
There were still at least eight of them, but the dogs had two down.

"Oh, God! Children!" Morgan bellowed. "Call off the dogs!"

"Not _human_ children."

* * * * *

"Call them off!"

Hanson obeyed reluctantly. A pair of calm-eyed child-things scrambled
to their feet and began advancing with the group of adults. The
Orenians fanned out and began closing in like the fingers of a giant
fist. Morga