Then, in a matter of minutes, Dave was wearing the dead workman's shirt and trousers and was plying the tools on the television camera deftly. Dave had not wrecked the thing, he had just swung his weight against its moorings and displaced it. The problem was simple, and was handled by a couple of adjustable end-wrenches. It could have been done by sheer strength, but not with the desired precision. So Dave loosened the nuts that held the flexible couplings and slid the camera back into its original perfect registry with the camera in the real world. He was tightening the nuts again when he heard the helicopter returning. Dave stooped and packed the tools back in the kit, folded the collapsible ladder and stowed it atop the tools, and then stood up and waved at the pilot. The helicopter landed. The pilot got out and called, "Have you seen him?" This was in a foreign tongue that Dave understood, and could speak acceptably. "He jumped me," called Dave, pointing with his toe at the inert figure on the floor beside him. The pilot looked and scowled. "Dead?" "No!" grunted Dave, turning his back on the pilot, who was approaching. He scooped up the tool kit with his left hand and walked rapidly to get out of range of whatever loudspeaker system the enemy had in the laboratory. He strode thirty feet towards the pilot, who also came towards Dave about the same distance. Then-- "You're not--" "Up!" snapped Dave, dropping the tool kit and pulling the captured revolver out of its holster. The pilot snarled and made a side-swinging fadeaway motion, bringing the rifle up from its under-arm position. The pilot fired and the slug snapped past Dave's head. Dave fired and winged the pilot in the right shoulder, spinning the man around and dropping him to the ground. Then Dave raced forward, made a long leap, and landed, kicking the rifle away with one heel and planting the toe of the other foot cruelly in the armpit of the wounded shoulder. Pain crazed the pilot and he writhed on the ground, half-conscious. When he came to, Dave had his knees and ankles trussed with friction tape and was winding his free arm against his body with more tape. The pilot mouthed some unprintables. "Shut up!" snapped Dave. "Bah!" Dave backhanded the pilot across the face. The face writhed in pain and the eyes half-closed again. Dave tore the sleeve from the shirt and bound the bullet wound crudely. "Now," he said harshly, "you'll live if you behave. It ain't painless, but you'll live--if you want to." "You can't get away with this." "No?" "We'll get you sooner or later--" "Think you'll live to see it?" "Yes." "You're wrong again, chum." "Bah! We know your kind, all of you. Self-centered and egotistical, not one of you would care to die for his fellow man. We--"