a phonograph needle caught in one groove, spinning out its brief message over and over again—that was the voice. i am charlie stedman. and the ringwall might have been the record, steve thought bitterly, except that it was utterly deserted. he hadn't covered its entire rock-strewn area; an army of searchers would be necessary to do that. but he had seen enough to convince him that—

the thought fled.

coming toward him over the floor of the ringwall was a huge anthrovac, walking erect with a shuffling gait. charlie's voice grew louder.