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Updated: May 25, 2025
"I've been trying to figure for the last hour what the devil I would do to stop him if he decided to come here," Berkhammer said. "He's not here then?" The sheriff shook his head. "Not a sign of him. We've gone over the place three times." Jordan settled back in relief, sitting down in the open doorway of his ship. "Good," he said wearily. "Good!" the sheriff exploded.
Abruptly the picture switched to that of a stout red-faced man wearing the brown uniform of a county peace officer. "You're the galactic man?" the sheriff asked. "Yes. My name is Tom Jordan," Jordan said. "Mine's Berkhammer." It must have been warm in California because the sheriff pulled out a large handkerchief and mopped his brow. When he was done with that he blew his nose loudly.
"They've got artillery and tanks all around the place." Jordan jumped down out of the ship. "Let's see what you've got set up here. In the meantime, stop fretting. I'd rather see you fired than vaporized along with fifty million other people." "I guess you're right there," Berkhammer conceded, "but I don't like to have anyone make a fool out of me."
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