He felt something soft bump against his legs, legs so far below that he could hardly realize that they were his, and then he was falling with the relentless fingers still about his throat. As from a great distant he heard a cry of pain and the blessed air gulped into his raw throat. His eyes cleared.
He saw Altha's bound body and head. Her jaws were clamped upon the arm of the outlaw and even as he fought for more of the reeking smoky air of the cabin he saw the man's clenched fist batter at her face. Rolf swung, all the weight of his stocky body behind the blow, and the outlaw thudded limply against the opposite wall of the little cabin.
No time to ask the girl if she were injured. The patrolman flung himself into the spongy control chair's cushions and sent the ship rocketing skyward. Behind him the thin film of surface oil no longer burned and the conditioning unit was clearing the air.
"Patrolman," the girl's voice was beside him. "We're safe!"
"Everything bongo?" Rolf wanted to know.
"Of course," she smiled crookedly.
"Glad of that." Rolf felt the warmth of her body so close beside him. A sudden strange restlessness came with the near contact.
Altha smiled shyly and winced with pain. "Do you know," she said, "even yet I do not know your name."
Rolf grinned up at her. "Need to?" he asked.
The girl's eyes widened. A responsive spark blazed in them. "Handier than calling you Shorty all the time," she quipped.