They wanted
him to use the blast bombs. And one part of him _was_ calculating the
best places to set his two remaining bombs for the wildest possible
destruction. That part of him could accept the logic of Dalgard's
reasoning. He doubted if the aliens could repair the globe if it were
damaged, and he was sure that much which they had brought back from
the eastern continent was irreplaceable. The bombs had not been
intended for such a use. They were defensive, anti-personal weapons to
be employed as he had done against the lizard in the arena. But placed
properly--Without thinking his hands went to the sealed pocket in the
breast of his tunic.
Dalgard saw that gesture and inside him some taut cord began to
unwind. Then the stranger's hands dropped, and he swung around to face
the colony scout squarely, a scowl twisting his black brows almost
together.
"This isn't my fight," he stated flatly. "I've got to get back to the
flitter, to my spacer--"
What was the matter? Dalgard tried to understand. If the aliens won
now, this stranger was in as great a danger as were the rest of them.
Pages:
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273