"They ain't gonna hurt you, honey," Jack told her, hoarsely. "I always wondered if them snakes grew together if you pulled them apart."
He walked a few paces inside the door. "If you snakes can read my mind, you know what I'm gonna do if you don't clear outta here pronto. An' readin' my mind ain't gonna help you against my good right arm."
Grey felt sick. A brawl on the last night.... There was a stray thought in his mind that he and Joe would make a good fighting team if the two of them could coordinate fast enough.
"No," Joe's reply came to him instantly. "This isn't your fight. We'll handle this."
"The hell you say!" Grey attempted to stand—found himself limp as a rag. He could suddenly smell his own perspiration as he strained to move, and as he looked about the room he saw that the other Terrans at the tables were remaining there, their expressions startled and anxious.
The Canopans had risen, and were slowly making their way between the tables to the front of the room. The band was still playing a slightly mad background to the picture which consisted of the smoky room with the dim lights, the Terrans sitting paralyzed at their tables, the Canopans moving in on the Fleetmen at the door ... who stared in disbelief, began to swing their bottles, and collapsed quietly on the floor.
The girls, without time to shriek, collapsed just as quietly, and lay there in an unmoving heap.
Grey abruptly was stone cold sober. He wanted out, as fast as possible. The idea of going up for murder appealed to him not at all.
"Forget it," Joe flashed at him. "They're not dead. But we'll have to get rid of them. We'll be back in a minute."