Sergeant Briggan opened the door of the sedan and stood leaning against it, holding a dispersal ray in his left hand. The Sergeant was badly wounded. His right arm was an unrecognizable, bleeding pulp; he was too weak to stand alone. So Tynia had told the truth, Tchassen thought; she actually had shot him. The Captain felt a surge of relief and hope. Perhaps he could rely on Tynia, after all. But now it was too late! The blast from the Sergeant's weapon had paralyzed Tchassen's motor control; he was helpless.
The Sergeant, obviously, assumed that Tchassen was dead. Ignoring him, he ordered Tynia to pile the canned food in the back of the sedan. She moved toward him slowly.
"You're the Earthman," she said dully. "And I thought Captain Tchassen—"
"The farce is over, Tynia. You and Tchassen made a fine game of it for a while, but I've been in the service long enough to spot a fake security officer."
"The Captain and I?" she repeated.
"Do I have to draw you a blueprint? You two are in this together. You're both natives."
For a moment she seemed to recover her self-assurance. "So that's how you're going to play it, Sergeant. Just who do you think you'll take in with such nonsense?"
"I'm through batting words around with you, Tynia. Put the food in the car. Help me push the machine out to the road."