Far ahead came the sound of rending steel and crashing structure as the Prowler ripped the plant apart to get at the juice. Stiffy gained Meek's side and panted at him. "Cripes, they'll crucify us for this. We got to get him out of there." "How?" asked Meek. "Danged if I know," said Stiffy. One side of the plant was a mass of tangled wreckage, surrounding a hole out of which protruded the Prowler's hind quarters. Terrified workers and maintenance men were running for their lives. Live wires spat and crackled with flaming energy. IV Meek and Stiffy halted a half block away, breath whistling in their throats. The Prowler's tail, protruding from the hole in the side of the plant, twitched happily. Meek regarded the scene with doleful thoughts. "I wish," Stiffy declared, "we'd stayed out there and died. It would have been easier than what's liable to happen to us now." Feet thumped behind them and a hand grabbed Meek's shoulder, grabbed it. It was Andrew Smith, a winded, apoplectic Andrew Smith. "What are you going to do?" he shouted at Meek. Meek swallowed hard, tried to make his voice even. "Just studying over the situation, Mr. Smith. I'll figure out something in a minute." "Sure he will," insisted Stiffy. "Leave him alone. Give him time. He always does what he says he'll do. He said he'd round up Blacky for you, and he did. He went out single-handed and captured the Prowler. He ..." "Yeah," yelled Smith, "and he said the Prowler would stand without hitching, too. And did he stand? I ask you ..." "He didn't say that," Stiffy interrupted, testily, "I said that." "It don't make a bit of difference who said it," shrieked Smith. "I got stock in that plant there. And the Prowler's ruining it. He's jeopardizing the life of this whole city. And it's all your fault. You brought him here. I'll sue you, the both of you, so help me...." "Ah, shut up," snapped Stiffy. "Who can think with you blabbering around?" Smith danced in rage. "Who's blabbering? I got a good mind to...." He doubled up his fist and started toward Stiffy. And once again Oliver Meek did something he never would have thought of doing back on Earth. He put out his gloved hand, deliberately, and pushed Smith in the face. Pushed hard, so hard that Smith thumped down in the dust of the street and sat there, silenced by surprise. Without even looking back, Meek strode purposefully down the street toward the Prowler. What he meant to do he did not know. What he possibly could do he had no idea. But anything was better than standing there while the crowd screamed at him and men shook their fists at him. Why, they might even lynch him! He shivered at the thought. But men still did things like that. Especially when someone monkeyed around with the very things they depended on for life out here in naked space. Maybe they'd turn him out on Juno with only an hour or two of oxygen. Maybe they'd....