A scraping sound from the speaker. Vale's voice, frantic.
"_That ... exploring party. It's here! They must have picked up our
beams. They're looking for me. They've sighted me! They're coming_...."
There was a crashing sound as if Vale had dropped the communicator.
There were pantings, and the sound of blows, and gasped
profanity--horror-filled profanity--in Vale's voice. Then something
roared.
Lockley listened, his hands clenched in fury at his own helplessness.
He thought he heard movements. Once he was sure he heard a sound like
the unshod hoof of an animal on bare stone. Then, quite distinctly, he
heard squeakings. He knew that someone or something had picked up
Vale's communicator. More squeakings, somehow querulous. Then
something pounded the communicator on the ground. There was a crash.
Then silence.
Almost calmly Lockley swung his instrument around and lined it up for
Sattell's post. He called in a steady voice until Sattell answered. He
reported with meticulous care just what Vale had said, and what he'd
heard after Vale stopped speaking--the roaring, the sound of blows and
gasps, then the squeakings and the destruction of the instrument
intended for the measurement of base lines for an accurate map of the
Park.
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