"Want you! I never wanted anybody so much in my life! Come in, Mase—quick—please!"
Diffidently enough, he came; but at the first inkling of the girl's news all thought of diffidence or of privacy vanished.
"Jack! Spud! Mr. Kinnison! Mr. Samms!" he Lensed sharp, imperative, almost frantic thoughts. "Listen in!"
"Steady, Mase, I'll take over," came Roderick Kinnison's deeper, quieter mental voice. "First, the matter of guns. Anybody except me wearing a pistol? You are, Spud?"
"Yes, sir."
"You would be. But you and Mase, Jack?"
"We've got our Lewistons!"
"You would have. Blasters, my sometimes-not-quite-so-bright son, are fine weapons indeed for certain kinds of work. In emergencies, it is of course permissible to kill a few dozen innocent bystanders. In such a crowd as this, though, it is much better technique to kill only the one you are aiming at. So skip out to my car, you two, right now, and change—and make it fast." Everyone knew that Roderick Kinnison's car was at all times an arsenal on wheels. "Wish you were in uniform, too, Virge, but it can't be helped now. Work your way—slowly—around to the northwest corner. Spud, do the same."
"It's impossible—starkly unthinkable!" and "I'm not sure of anything, really ..." Samms and his daughter began simultaneously to protest.
"Virgil, you talk like a man with a paper nose. Keep still until after you've used your brain. And I'm sure enough of what you know, Jill, to take plenty of steps. You can relax now—take it easy. We're covering Virgil and I called up support in force. You can relax a little, I see. Good! I'm not trying to hide from anybody that the next few minutes may be critical. Are you pretty sure, Jill, that Herkimer is a key man?"