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Updated: May 22, 2025
Bernice, grinning openly now, stopped Deston's floundering. "It's high time you fellows told each other the truth. Bobby and I let our back hair down long ago we were both tremendously surprised to know that both you boys are just as strongly psychic as we are. Perhaps even more so." "Oh ... so you get hunches, too?" Jones demanded. "So you'll have plenty of warning?" "All my life.
It was; and they did; and after they had slept and had eaten "breakfast" the three men wafted themselves across a couple of hundred yards of space to the crippled starship. Powerful floodlights were rigged. "What ... a ... mess." Deston's voice was low and wondering. "The whole Top looks as though she'd crash-landed and spun out for eight miles. But the Middle and Tail look untouched."
"You didn't kill him, Barbara," Adams said. "Huh?" She raised her head from Deston's shoulder; the contrast between her streaming eyes and the relief dawning over her whole face was almost funny. "Why, I did the foulest things possible, and as hard as I possibly could. I'm sure I killed him." "By no means, my dear.
Bernice, even while shrieking the battle-cry, leaped to her feet, hurled her chair, and reached for another; but one chair was enough. That fiercely but accurately-sped missile knocked the half-drawn pistol from Newman's hand and sent his body crashing to the floor, where Deston's second bullet made it certain that he would not recover consciousness.
"You can play God when you're on sked, with a ship-full of trained dogs to bite for you, but out here where nobody has ever come back from I make my own law with this!" He patted his side pocket. "Draw it, then!" Deston's voice now had all the top-deck rasp of his rank. "Or crawl!" The First Officer had not moved; his right hand still hung quietly at his side.
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