"Have a seat," Browne said, waving a big hand toward the chair.
The alien shook his head negatively.
Browne gave Fitzgerald and me a quick glance, inclining his head forward. We promptly accelerated our advance.
"Look," Browne said, his dark face intense, "we know you're not what you pretend to be. We know you're not of our country, not of our world, not even of our solar system. Sit down in that chair!"
He lunged forward, grasping with his big hands, as we leaped at the alien from either flank.
The alien didn't just move—he streaked, shooting between Browne and Fitzgerald, heading unerringly toward the open passenger shaft—into it!
Browne leaped to a console and punched the roof-lock button. A split second later we heard a riveting machine burst of what was obviously Centaurian profanity coming down the shaft as the alien found the exit closed. Browne's fingers darted on the console, locking all the upstairs windows.
"Browne," I said, "what good will that do? If we do manage to corner him, just how long do you think we can stand up against him? With his speed he could evade us until doomsday, to say nothing about beating our brains out while we tried to land one, solid punch!"
Fitzgerald said, "If we can keep him on the run, maybe he'll get tired."
"Yeah, maybe," I said. "What if that's his normal speed? And who's likely to get tired first? I'm dragging as of now."