Ten or fifteen minutes later, Garlock felt Lola's half-excited, half-frightened thought. "Clee, do you read me?" "Loud and clear." "There's something coming that's certainly none of my business--maybe not even yours." "Coming," and with the thought he was there. "Where?" She pointed a thought, he followed it. Far away yet, but coming fast, was an immense flock of flying tigers! Lola licked her lips. "I'm going home, if you don't mind." "Beat it." She disappeared. "Jim!" Garlock thought. "Where are you?" "Observatory. Need me?" "Yes. Bombing. Two point four microgram loads. Focus spot on my right--teleport in." "Coming in on your right." "And I on your left!" Belle's thought drove in as he had never before felt it driven. Being a Prime, she did not need a focus spot and appeared the veriest instant later than did James. "Can you bomb?" Garlock snapped. "What do _you_ think?" she snapped back. A moment of flashing thought and the three Tellurians disappeared, materializing five hundred feet in air, two hundred feet ahead of the van of that horrible flight of monsters, drifting before it. Belle got in the first shot. Not only did the victim disappear--a couple of dozen around it were torn to fragments and the force of the blast staggered all three Tellurians. "Damn it, Belle, cut down or get to hell out!" Garlock yelped. "I said two point four _micrograms_, not milligrams. Just kill 'em, don't scatter 'em all over hell's half acre--less mess to clean up and I _don't_ want you to kill people down below. Especially I don't want you to kill us--not even yourself." "'Scuse, please, I guess I was a bit enthusiastic in my weighing." There began a series of muffled explosions along the front; each followed by the plunge of a tiger-striped body to the ground. Faster and faster the explosions came as the Operator and the Primes learned the routine and the rhythm of the job. Nor were they long alone. The roaring, screaming howl of jets came up from behind them; four Arpalones appeared at their left, strung out along the front. Each held an extraordinarily heavy-duty blaster in each of his four hands; sixteen terrific weapons were hurling death into the flying horde. "Slide over, Terrestrials," came a calm thought. "You three take their left front, we'll take their right and center." As they obeyed the instructions, "_They_ don't give a damn where the pieces fly!" Belle protested. "Why should we be fussy about their street-cleaning department? _I'm_ starting to use fives." "Okay. We'll have to hit 'em harder, anyway, to keep up. Five or maybe six--just be damn sure not to knock us or the Arpalones out of the air." Carnage went on. The battle-front, while inside the city limits, was now almost stationary. "Ha! Help--I hear footsteps approaching on jet-back," Garlock announced. "Give 'em hell, boys--shovel on the coal!" * * *