Holding the unfamiliar weapon in a clumsy, highly unorthodox grip--something like a schoolgirl's first attempt--Garlock glanced once at Lola's upraised palm and eight shots roared out as fast as the gases of explosion could operate the mechanism. The pistol's barrel remained rigidly motionless under all the stress of ultra-rapid fire. Lola's slim, deeply-tanned arm did not even quiver under the impact of that storm of heavy bullets against her apparently unsupported hand. No one saw those bullets strike that gently-curved right palm, but everyone saw them drop into her cupped left hand, like drops of water dripping rapidly from the end of an icicle into a bowl. "Here are your pellets, General Cardeen." Lola handed them to him with a smile. "Holy--Jumping--Snakes!" the general said, and: "Wotta torpedo!" came the gangster's envious thought. "You see, I am perfectly safe from being 'shot,' as you call it," Lola said. "So I'll come down and work with you. You might have your news services put out a bulletin, though. I never have killed anyone, and am not going to here, but anyone who tries to shoot me or bomb me or anything will lose both hands at the wrists just before he fires. That would keep them from killing anyone standing near me, don't you think?" "I should _think_ it would," General Cordeen thought, and a pall of awe covered the linked minds. The implications of the naively frank remark just uttered by this apparently inoffensive and defenseless young woman were simply too overwhelming to be discussed. "Anything else on the agenda, Clee?" Lola asked. There was not, and the starship's guests were returned, each to his own home place. And not one of them, it may be said, was exactly the same as he had been. [Illustration: The deepest Gunther block was at last penetrated and Belle became conscious of a heretofore unknown mental alignment with the ship.] CHAPTER 4 "I think I'll come along with you and bodyguard you, Lola," Belle said, the following morning after breakfast. "Clee's going to be seven thousand miles deep in mathematics and Jim's doing his stuff at the observatory, and I can't help either of 'em at the moment. You'd do a better job, wouldn't you, if you could concentrate on it?" "Of course. Thanks, Belle. But remember, it's already been announced--no death. Just hands. I can't really believe that I'll be attacked, but they seem pretty sure of it." "I'd like to separate anyone like that from his head instead of his hands, but as it is published so it will be performed." "How about wearing some kind of half-way-comfortable shoes instead of those slippers?" Garlock asked. "That could turn out to be a long, tough brawl, and your dogs'll be begging for mercy before you get back here." "Uh-uh. Very comfortable and a perfect fit. Besides, if I have to suffer just a little bit for good appearance's sake in a matter of intergalactic amity...." "A matter of showing off, you mean."