Their world was dark. Their Machine-God was dead. Savage hordes threatened to overrun them, smash them. What, then, was Flane doing out in the desert, alone with the wreck of a spaceship--and a strangely-wrought sword? The spaceship fled like a silver bullet across black nothingness. Rows of round windows stared outward from its curved sides. Beyond the windows whirled clouds of interstellar dust. An occasional lump of meteoric rock rebounded from the metal hull.…
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