But so did Storm Cloud; and his heavy weapon was already out and ready. He knew what those hands were doing, in the instant of their starting to do it, and his DeLameter flamed three times in what was practically one very short blast. He had to move a little before he could sight on the fourth guard—Vesta’s furiously active body was in the way—so Joe and Bob each got a shot, too. Three bolts of lightning hit that luckless wight at once, literally cremating him in air as he half-crouched, bringing his blaster to bear on the catapulting thing attacking his boss. When Vesta went over the rail she did not jump to the floor below. Instead, her hands locked on the edge; her feet dug into the latticework of the apron. She squatted. Her tail flashed down, wrapping itself twice around the zwilnik’s neck. She heaved, then, and climbed with everything she had; and as she stood upright on the railing, eager hands reached down to help her tail lift its burden up into the balcony. The man struck the floor with a thud and Vesta jumped at him. “Your fingers first—one at a time,” she snarled; and, seizing a hand, she brought it toward her mouth. She paused then as if thunderstruck; a dazed, incredulous expression spreading over her face. Bending over, she felt, curiously, tenderly, of his neck. “Why, he . . . he’s _dead_!” she gasped. “His neck . . . it’s . . . it’s _broken_! From such a little, tiny pull as _that_? Why, _anybody_ ought to have a stronger neck than _that_!” She straightened up; then, as a crowd of Vegians and the Tellurian women came up, she became instantly her old, gay self. “Well, shall we all go back and finish our dance?” “What?” Cloud demanded. “After _this_?” “Why certainly,” Vesta said, brightly. “I’m sorry, of course, that I killed him so quickly, but it doesn’t make any real difference. Zamke is avenged; he can now enjoy himself. We’ll join him in a few years, more or less. Until then, what would you do? What you call ‘mourn’?” “I don’t know . . . I simply don’t know,” Cloud said, slowly, his arm tightening around Joan’s supple waist. “I thought I’d seen everything, but . . . I suppose you can have somebody take that body out to the ship, so they can check it for identity?” “Oh, yes, I’ll do that. Right away. You’re sure you don’t want to dance any more?” “Very sure, my dear. _Very_ sure. All _I_ want to do is take Joan back to the ship.” “QX. I won’t see you again this trip, then; your hours are so funny. I’ll send for my things. And I won’t say good-bye, Captain Nealcloud and you other wonderful people, because we’ll see each other again, soon and often. Just so-long, and thanks tremendously for all you have done for me.” And Vesta the Vegian strode away, purring contentedly to herself—tail high. _Chapter 17_ ▂▂▂▂▂▂THE CALL