I plucked my heat-cylinder from my belt, and fired without taking aim. My tiny heat-beam flashed. I must have grazed Miko’s hand. His roar of anger and pain rang out over the turmoil. He dropped his weapon; then stooped to pick it up. But Moa forestalled him. She leaped and seized it.
“Careful! Fool––you promised not to hurt him!”
A confusion of swift action. Rankin had turned and darted away. I saw George Prince stumbling half in front of the struggling Miko and Moa. And I heard footsteps beside me; a hand gripped me, jerked at me.
Over the turmoil Prince’s voice sounded: “Gregg––Haljan!”
I recall I had the impression that Prince was frightened; he had half fallen in front of Miko. And there was Miko’s voice:
“Let go of me!”
And Moa: “Come!”
It was Balch gripping me. “Gregg! This way––run! Get out of here! He’ll kill you with that ray––”
Miko’s ray flashed, but George Prince had knocked at his arm. I did not dare fire again. Prince was in the way. Balch, who was unarmed, shoved me violently back.
“Gregg––the chart-room!”