There was something else, too. Birds fly because they're built for it—among other things they have a huge keel-like breastbone to which their flying muscles are anchored. But bats don't, and Andreson bet that the Varans didn't either. Rodents are ancestrally ground-animals, just like Earthmen, and have to adapt for flying in some other way....
Andreson smiled crookedly. There was only one way to test the idea. He touched the belt again, and the city began to swell beneath him—
Atel glided cautiously out of the way of his fall, then closed in. The Earthman shot off laterally, turned, began a tail-chase. For a few seconds the absurd circling continued, each combatant trying to gain on the other. Then Atel realized that the levitator could drive Andreson faster than he could fly, and spun to face him with a single sweep of his wings.
Andreson made no attempt to stop. He shot directly into the Varan's arms. The vacuum-rod crashed into his injured side again. Gritting his teeth, he grasped Atel around the chest, trying for a half-Nelson. The wings fluttered—the bar thudded home once more—
Then Atel broke free. "Monster!" he gasped.
"What's the matter, Atel?" Andreson shouted raggedly. "Met your match?"
For an answer the Varan shot at him head first, like a gull-winged rocket. Andreson flung himself lengthwise and grappled once more. Atel's body, as he had suspected, was remarkably light, probably hollow boned—and his arms were not nearly as strong as his wings. They simply couldn't be!
This was the death struggle. Fiercely the two strove against each other. Andreson locked one of the flailing legs, steadily forced the great body back. He had one hand free for a split second, and he grasped the belt-control—
The garish glow of the city began to brighten at an alarming rate. Atel's hands fastened upon the Earthman's throat; Andreson pried weakly at them, but he had already lost too much blood to be able to free himself with one hand. He clung doggedly to the belt-control with the other. The city grew and grew—the blood pounded in his head, and his lungs burned like twin sacs of acid—the pillars of cold fire that were the city's towers flowed past him, blurring rapidly—
At the last instant Atel realized what was happening. A scream of terror was whipped from his mouth into the slip-stream, and he released Andreson's throat to claw frantically at the hand on the belt-control—