"Well, the engine was running, wasn't it?" "I didn't notice." "Fine thing." "You must have heard." "Who hasn't. Come on, Billy. A little more soup. I know that pair and they won't waste time." Thompson poured more power into the car and it increased in speed. The way was cleared for him, though it took some expert driving to cut around and through the traffic, stopped by the demanding throat of the official siren. Thompson roared up the main road to Mojave, sent the guard-rail gates flying dangerously over the heads of onlookers, and sped out onto the tarmacadam. The dust of the rough landing was just starting to rise as Thompson slid into the outskirts of the circle of ships. His car skidded dangerously on locked wheels, and he used the deceleration of the vehicle to catapult himself forward. He landed running and disappeared into the circling dust. He could be certain that Lane and Downing would be at the center of this whirling mass. * * * * * Lane blinked. Downing shook his head in disbelief. Both recharged their modines and-- "That's about enough!" snapped Thompson, coming through the dust. "You pair of idiots." They whirled. "No, you didn't miss, either of you." He waved his own modine. The aperture was wide open. "But I've got a job to do and you aren't going to spoil it on the first try. I'd hate to report to Co-ordinator Kennebec that I'd failed--doubly. And that all there were to his plans were two hardly scarred corpses." He tossed his weapon on the ground and nursed his hand. "You're the fool," said Downing. "Don't you know you can't absorb the output of three on one of 'em?" "I did," snapped Thompson. "Though I'd rather use a baseball bat on both of you." "We didn't intend to hurt anybody," explained Lane. "Good. Now that that's over, you might play sweet for a while, doing penance for burning my hand." "You mean we're going to work together?" asked Lane in disbelief. "And you're going to act as though you liked it." "I won't like it," scowled Downing. "Just make it look good. You've got a job to do, and once it is done you can go rivet-cutting for all I care." "It's an idea." "All right. But listen, you pair of fools, Patricia is coming through this haze you kicked up. Take it easy." "Pat!" it was a duet. "Yeah, though you should both call her Miss Kennebec after this performance." "You leave her out of this," snapped Lane. "After one more statement. You fellows can fight all you want to, but remember, if you're fighting for Pat, just consider how she'd feel to A, if as and when A chilled B to get rid of B's competition. Now let's behave ourselves--and if you're asked, this was a fine shindy; a real interesting whingding." Clancey saw the four of them emerge from the aura of dust and he held his head. "Look at 'em, chief. It ain't goin' to last. I know it ain't. Mis's Kennebec holding an arm of each of them and Mr. Thompson chatting to all three from behind."