And then—hold your hats, folks!—and then Runt Hake's soft mouth began to twitch! Yes, twitch! It pursed up like the mouth of a kid, his eyes wrinkled, and he began to blubber!
"Hurt them?" he complained. "Me hurt them? Why, I wouldn't do a thing like that! I love them! They're my pals." And he tossed his pierce gun away, reached out and patted Biggs' cheek!
Beside me I heard Lt. Todd whisper hoarsely, "Good gods of Greece, what is this!" I myself was stunned for a moment. But I had sense enough to stoop down and get Runt Hake's gun before this crazy interlude had passed. "He's blown his fuses!" I squalled. "Grab him, Todd! Mr. Biggs, come with me! You and I will round up his crew—"
But Biggs said quietly, "Take your time, Sparks. There's no hurry. See?"
He stepped to the wall; flicked on the visiplate that showed the interior of the mess hall. And there, where a moment before, a grim-faced score of space pirates had maintained watch over our crew, now our crew were standing staring with blank, uncomprehending faces at twenty men who looked and acted for all the world like affectionate puppies!
They were hugging each other, patting each other's arms and faces, murmuring soft words of endearment. It was stupefying. More than that—it was embarrassing! Off in one corner a bearded, one-eyed outlaw dandled a companion on his knee. Another burly bruiser, big enough to tear a man in half with his bare hands, was playing piggy-back with a buddy!
I gulped and stared and gulped again. I choked, "But, what—what—"
Biggs said suddenly, "Sparks! You didn't give the Skipper a piece of that pepsin!"
"I didn't get a chance. But how—"