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Updated: May 13, 2025
"Thorn Hardt, you will explain it!" "They hope," said Thorn grimly, "your fleet can make gaps in the dome to shoot through. If so, they'll go out through those gaps and fight." "Foolish!" said Kreynborg blandly. "Der only weapon we haff to use is der normal metabolism of der human system. Hunger!" Thorn reached into his pocket. Kreynborg was regarding the screen absorbedly.
It swept toward the dome and dissociated into a myriad specks which were aircraft. The fliers already swirling about the invisible dome drew aside to leave a quadrant clear, and Combat-Squadron Seven merged with the rest, making the pattern of dancing specks markedly denser. "With a fire," said Thorn desperately, "they'll come! Of course! But Kreynborg took my lighter!"
Kreynborg was using a pocket-gun, one of those small terrible weapons which shoot a projectile barely larger than the graphite of a lead pencil, but loaded with a fraction of a milligram of hexynitrate. Two hundred charges would feed automatically into the bore as the trigger was pressed. Thorn gazed desperately about for weapons. There was nothing in sight.
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