The guard's gun came up swiftly.
"Don't, you fool!" I said, my hand clamping on his wrist. "He's got a shield!"
"I know that," said the guard, whom I suddenly recognized as the corporal who had led his men to investigate the blast in the upper corridor. "I'm only going to disable the ship!"
"No," Baxter called. "If the ship goes, then so do this creature's eyes!"
The corporal looked at me, wavering. "It's—it's only a sugarfoot," he said, uncertainly.
"Only a—!" I shrieked. How could I tell this idiot what I felt for Clatclit! "You'll shoot over my bloody corpse!"
"We can't let Baxter get aloft in that thing!" the corporal said beseechingly. "If he does, we're all dead!"
I was trembling with fear and frustrated rage. Baxter was backing toward the ship, taking the weakened Clatclit backward with him. They were only a few feet from the entry port, now.
Then my hand went out, and I took the corporal's collapser from him. He stared at me confusedly, but let me take it.
"Everybody hit the dirt!" I said, lifting the weapon and taking careful aim. Guard, girl and Scouts took a dive.