Closer to the house, there was a hollow in the earth, a scar from some long-forgotten skirmish. Over the years, rain and wind had worked on it, softening its once harsh outlines. Grass had grown in, to further mask the crater, till now it was a mere smooth depression in the ground. From the edge of this depression, rose the slender rod of a speaker, a small, directional loud-speaker blossoming from it. Michaels grinned and turned aside for an instant. "Just like the big broadcasts, Pete," he remarked. "Feel important? You're going to have a big audience." "Kind of like it better if I were making a personal appearance. Be a lot nicer if I could talk to them--and they could see my face." "They can't let you do that," Don grinned. "You don't look enough like any of those guys they're supposed to be hunting. Spoil the whole effect that way." Pete looked at him thoughtfully. "You know, they always tell people to throw their weapons out and come out with their hands in the air. What would happen if someone took 'em up on it--like the wrong someone--like me, for instance?" "Good question," Don told him. "Saw a guy come out in one broadcast. Someone vaporized him. No way of telling which direction the spray came from, of course. No tracer on the beam." He shrugged. "Somehow, I don't think it would lead to a long and happy life." "No." Pete nodded. "I didn't suppose it would." He looked at the long target rifle in Don's hands. "You could have gotten several of them with that, while they were getting into position, couldn't you?" "Suppose so," Don nodded. "But I'm saving it for a while. Got an idea, but it's a one-shot and I'll have to wait before I try it." He paused as a head appeared close to the base of the loud-speaker stand. "Well, the show's about to start," he added quietly. "Here's the man with the serenade." [Illustration] The speaker disintegrated in blazing fury and Pete turned away from the glare, to look back at the house. "Took your father years to get this place built the way he wanted it," he remarked. "Shame you're going to have to lose it this way." He glanced over at his companion. Don was stretched out in the prone position, his sling tight on his arm, the rifle extended. "Yeah," he said. "But maybe we won't lose it--not just yet." He rolled, forcing his elbow further under the rifle. "Look, Pete, I think I'll wait till these guys are ready for the last act, but you better go ahead and take cover. They've committed themselves now. I'll duck later, if I have to, but I've got an idea that just might work out." He laid his cheek against the stock, concentrating on his sights. The barrel moved up and down with his breathing, then stopped. Pete examined him curiously, then looked out of his port.