Wilding turned to Concor. "Is that in the rules--to fight one after another like this?" "There are no rules," said the wily Martian. "In that case--" Wilding snatched a blaster pistol from the spring clip on Tiny's belt. He jammed the muzzle hard into Credus' side, but not before Credus had drawn his own gun and thrust it at Wilding. Neither could miss, but it was deadlock. "I'll bargain with you, Credus," suggested Wilding. "Unless you want to chance pulling that trigger." "What bargain?" asked Credus sourly. "Meet me here again in two Earth-weeks. I will fight you then without a gun, or turn the asteroid over to you." Credus shrugged. "I am not a fool, halfling. But be here, or I will find you and kill you." Credus stalked darkly from the arena, followed in silence by a full third of the assembled prisoners. With his departure, the cheers for Wilding were less enthusiastic, as if the throng disapproved of Wilding's trickery. Tiny, the Amazon, was kneeling beside Tichron, who was conscious now, but breathing heavily. "She was a nurse on Earth," explained Concor. "Before she got the habit of strangling her fretful patients." The woman looked up and smiled brightly. "That gun of mine is loaded with alternating blanks," she observed. "I kept wondering if Credus would call your bluff." Wilding met her glance. "So did I," he admitted. "And I remembered about those blanks. Can you do anything for Tichron?" "Better kill him," advised Grouth impatiently. "It is your right." "Let him live," said Wilding, frowning. "I may have some use for him." The girl Amyth sneered unpleasantly. "The man has a mania for utility. Have you some use for me, halfling?" "Halfling, yourself!" replied Wilding, with anger rising in him. "Perhaps, I have--when I have less important things to manage. But I'll let you know. Don't rush your luck." A slow flush crept into her cheek, but she swallowed a corrosive retort. After all, Wilding was boss, and her arms were brittle. Wilding turned to Grouth. "Who are the technicians? I'll want all kinds to get that lighter in shape for space." Grouth laughed bitterly. "Time enough. Concor can help you select the technicians. He's one of them, and a spaceship wrecker has to know many technical trades. But you'll need more than men, you'll need miracles." Concor broke in. "He's right, Wilding. We have skilled labor to work with, but no materials. Metal is scarce here, but we can junk some machine tools for part of what we'll need. The real lack is fuel. You can't process metal without heat, and you can't power a space-lighter with non-existent chemicals. They leave only enough chemical fuel each time to power the lighter for the next pickup. I will back your play, but I'm no good at working miracles. I've even forgotten how to pray, and I doubt if any known or unknown gods would heed a prayer from me." "I don't pray for miracles. I arrange them. Can't the lighter be converted to use atomic power?"