"Stand off, you fool, or take the consequences! I'll give you five seconds to get away."
"Wait," said Petersen. "Why don't you—" Then he gasped, as his plans crumbled. The psycho's ship had winged over with terrible speed and was heading for his ship nose-on. "Stop!" he shrilled into the mike, his hand on the throttle. Then he sent his own plane into a loop that made his bones bend, and streaked for altitude, with the demon plane and its demon pilot on his tail. "I warned you," ground out of the speaker. "You'll do well to tell the world that there's one man alive who's not afraid to kill or be killed to achieve his ends. Spread the word, friend!" And, when Petersen looked around, the plane was a vanishing speck in the north, as he watched it reach the blending point and vanish in the sky.
Handel, gibbering in a corner of the traffic ship where the last loop had flung him, cried, "What happened to it?"
"I don't know," said the pilot soberly. "Did you get HQ?"
"Yes, but the loop smashed my set. What do we do now?"
"Fly back, but fast," said Petersen, giving his ship the gun.
"Pete," said Handel.
"Yeah?"
"What do we do with a thing like that? I mean how do you finally get rid of them?"
"I don't know," said the pilot slowly. "Lock them up once you catch them, I suppose."