"Anybody that wants to win as much as this guy does, is going to win, and I want to have him on my side!"
Astro merely grunted as he turned toward the water cooler.
"Maybe," he called back. "But he ought to read a book of rules first!"
When he came back to the mat with the water, Roger was sitting up, biting the knots of the laces on his gloves. Tom helped him, and when the soggy leather was finally discarded, he stuck out his hand. "Well, Roger, I'm ready to forget everything we've said and start all over again."
Roger looked at the extended hand for a moment, his eyes blank and expressionless. Then, with a quick movement, he slapped it away and lurched to his feet.
"Go blow your jets," he snarled, and turning his back on them, stumbled across the gym.
Tom watched him go, bewilderment and pain mirrored on his face.
"I thought sure this would work, Astro," he sighed. "I thought he'd come to his senses if—"
"Nothing'll make that space creep come to his senses," Astro broke in disgustedly. "At least, nothing short of an atomic war head! Come on. Let's get you cleaned up!"
Putting his arm around Tom's shoulder, the big Venusian led him across the floor of the deserted gym, and as they disappeared through the automatic sliding doors, a tall figure in the uniform of the Solar Guard stepped out of the shadows on the balcony above. It was Captain Strong.