"You've been successful, we see," replied Barry Ford, ignoring his accusation.
"So?" demanded Ackerman.
"I might point out that you happen to be working for us."
"Interesting. I have other ideas," returned Ackerman testily. "Since I happen to be responsible for all of you, I happen to think that I have the right to do as I damn well please."
While speaking, Ackerman had been remembering that he had no freedom. He would have preferred to work alone. And if this decision was to rest as it seemed upon him, he should be permitted to make his decision unaided—or untrammelled. The idea of trying to select which one of two worlds had a better right to the future was no problem to ponder while being badgered.
Furthermore, this outfit had little more to offer than the Blaines.
Ackerman nodded inwardly, then turned the projector and snapped the reversing switch.
Barry leaped forward. His brother Louis shouted angrily. Tod Laplane lifted his gun, and Joan cried out in alarm. Tod Laplane fired, aiming for the heart of Ackerman's projector.
The bullet—passed through.
Then the Laplane-Ford faction, wraithlike already, faded from view, leaving Ackerman alone.