"Not _their_ party," he muttered. He turned again to Birken, who still retreated toward the ship. "But he'll only get himself killed _and_ destroy the ship! Or if some miracle gets him through, that's worse! He's nothing to turn loose on a civilized colony again." * * * * * A twinge of shame tugged down the corners of his mouth as he realized that keeping Birken here would also expose a highly cultured people to an unscrupulous criminal who had already committed murder the very first time he had been crossed. "Birken!" he shouted. "For the last time! Do you want me to send them to drag you back here?" Birken stopped at that. He regarded the motionless Tepoktans with a derisive sneer. "They don't look too eager to me," he taunted. Kinton growled a Tepoktan expression the meaning of which he had deduced after hearing it used by the dam workers. He whirled to run toward the helicopter. Hardly had he taken two steps, however, when he saw startled changes in the carefully blank looks of his escort. The constable half raised his heavy weapon, and Klaft sprang forward with a hissing cry. By the time Kinton's aging muscles obeyed his impulse to sidestep, the spear had already hurtled past. It had missed him by an error of over six feet. He felt his face flushing with sudden anger. Birken was running as best he could toward the spaceship, and had covered nearly half the distance. Kinton ran at the Tepoktans, brushing aside the concerned Klaft. He snatched the heavy weapon from the surprised constable. He turned and raised it to his chest. Because of the shortness of Tepoktan arms, the launcher was constructed so that the butt rested against the chest with the sighting loops before the eyes. The little rocket tubes were above head height, to prevent the handler's catching the blast. The circles of the sights weaved and danced about the running figure. Kinton realized to his surprise that the effort of seizing the weapon had him panting. Or was it the fright at having a spear thrown at him? He decided that Birken had not come close enough for that, and wondered if he was afraid of his own impending action. It wasn't fair, he complained to himself. The poor slob only had a spear, and a man couldn't blame him for wanting to get back to his own sort. He was limping ... hurt ... how could they expect him to realize--? Then, abruptly, his lips tightened to a thin line. The sights steadied on Birken as the latter approached the foot of the ladder leading to the entrance port of the spaceship. Kinton pressed the firing stud. Across the hundred-yard space streaked four flaring little projectiles. Kinton, without exactly seeing each, was aware of the general lines of flight diverging gradually to bracket the figure of Birken.