When Vesta went over the rail she did not jump to the floor below. Instead, her hands locked on the edge; her feet dug into the latticework of the apron. She squatted. Her tail flashed down, wrapping itself twice around the zwilnik’s neck. She heaved, then, and climbed with everything she had; and as she stood upright on the railing, eager hands reached down to help her tail lift its burden up into the balcony. The man struck the floor with a thud and Vesta jumped at him.
“Your fingers first—one at a time,” she snarled; and, seizing a hand, she brought it toward her mouth.
She paused then as if thunderstruck; a dazed, incredulous expression spreading over her face. Bending over, she felt, curiously, tenderly, of his neck.
“Why, he . . . he’s dead!” she gasped. “His neck . . . it’s . . . it’s broken! From such a little, tiny pull as that? Why, anybody ought to have a stronger neck than that!”
She straightened up; then, as a crowd of Vegians and the Tellurian women came up, she became instantly her old, gay self. “Well, shall we all go back and finish our dance?”
“What?” Cloud demanded. “After this?”
“Why certainly,” Vesta said, brightly. “I’m sorry, of course, that I killed him so quickly, but it doesn’t make any real difference. Zamke is avenged; he can now enjoy himself. We’ll join him in a few years, more or less. Until then, what would you do? What you call ‘mourn’?”
“I don’t know . . . I simply don’t know,” Cloud said, slowly, his arm tightening around Joan’s supple waist. “I thought I’d seen everything, but . . . I suppose you can have somebody take that body out to the ship, so they can check it for identity?”
“Oh, yes, I’ll do that. Right away. You’re sure you don’t want to dance any more?”
“Very sure, my dear. Very sure. All I want to do is take Joan back to the ship.”