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Lupe cried out, shook under a second impact as the Red fired an automatic with his other hand. Travis dropped his bow, returned to the most primitive weapon of all. His hand closed around a stone and he hurled the fist-sized oval straight at the helmet so clearly outlined against the rocks below.
But then there were more blips, in greater numbers. Fist-sized chunks flicked through their vehicles almost simultaneously. Air puffed out. Their rings collapsed under them the sealer was no good for holes of such size. At once, the continued spin of the bubbs wound them, like limp laundry, into knots.
"The needler has no effect on them," he reported. "Stones do but I don't know why." They searched about them in the crevices for more ammunition, laying up a line of fist-sized rocks, while the lights gathered in, spreading farther and farther down the shores of the islet. Hume cried out suddenly, and aimed his ray tube below. The lance of its blast cut the dark as might a bolt of lightning.
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