"Yeah?" drawled Sandra sourly. "How about the rest of them? That's only speaking for yourself."
Steve Hammond called from across the room: "What he said still goes. He'd do as much for me!"
"Just a big bunch of mutual admirers," sneered Sandra. "Always sticking together in a pinch."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Why didn't you think of your wife a long time ago instead of worrying now. Fine show of nerves for the public consumption!"
"Miss Drake, as far as we are concerned, you haven't been properly treated. Somewhere in the Good Book is a reference to sparing the rod and spoiling the child. Do your parents twist their faces in anguish every time they see you? They should. Anyone who has foisted upon this solar system a stinking little, unfeeling rotter like yourself should hate to be alone with their thoughts. Now get out of here and let us alone."
Sandra moved back at the harshness of his voice. McBride looked behind her and instinctively put out a hand to stop her; but Sandra thought that the move meant violence and moved back faster. She collided with a dangling wire from the alphatron and went rigid. She toppled, as stiff as a board.
"Great Space!" exploded Hammond. "Jimmy, how much was that?"
"Nine hundred alphons," answered Jimmy, looking at the meters on the alphatron and making a quick calculation. "Not enough to harm. She's just had all of her voluntary nervous system paralyzed."
McBride stooped, picked her up, and carried her to a work-chair, which he kicked horizontal with his foot and dropped her into it. He went to the medicine cabinet and filled a hypo which he shot into her arm. Gradually her too-regular breathing became humanly irregular again and she moved to get up.