No. That was silly. The bible was a beautiful piece of literature and some people believed it inspired. But the great good men who wrote the bible had little scientific knowledge of a sword. They would simply describe the weapon as a modern fiction writer would describe a blaster--without knowing any more about one than that it existed and was a weapon. Surely the ISC's weapons expert could be trusted to know his swords. * * * * * "Go on home," Mills pleaded. "You're shot and you know it. You said yourself this isn't our show." "You go home, Bob. I'm all right." "George ... you're acting strange. Strange as hell." "I'm all right. Leave me alone," snapped Harrison becoming irritable. Mills watched silently as the haggard man slipped a tablet into his mouth. "It's all right, Bob," smiled Harrison weakly. "I know how to use Benzedrine." "You damn fool, you'll wreck yourself...." But the engineer ignored him. He continued paging his way through the book--the bible, no less. George Harrison and the bible! * * * * * Mills was awakened by the telephone. Reaching in the dark for it he answered almost without reaching consciousness. It was Harrison. "Bob, listen to me. If an angel were to look at us right now, what would he think?" "For God's sake!" Mills cried into the instrument. "What's up? You still at the office?" "Yeah, answer the question." "Hold on, George. I'll be down and get you. What you been drinking?" "Bob, would he--she--think much of us? Would the angel figure we were...." "How the hell would _I_ know?" "No, Bob, what you should have asked is 'how the hell would _he_ know.'" * * * * * In a daze Mills heard the click as the other hung up. * * * * * "Mr. Harrison, your assistant is looking for you." "Yes, I know, Kirk. But will you do it?" "Mr. Harrison, we only got one of them. If we screw it up it'll take time to make another and today's the day, you know." "I'll take the blame." "Mr. Harrison, you look kind of funny. Hadn't I better...." Harrison was sketching a drawing on a piece of waste paper. He was working in quick rough strokes, copying something from a book. "They'll blame us both, Mr. Harrison. Anyway, it might hold up somebody who's got a real idea...." "_I_ have a real idea, Kirk. I'm going to draw it for you." The metal worker noticed that the book Harrison was copying from was a dictionary, a very old and battered one. "Here, can you follow what I've drawn?" The metal worker accepted it reluctantly, giving Harrison an odd, almost patronizing look. "This is crazy." "Kirk!" "Look, Mr. Harrison. We worked a long time together. You...." Harrison suddenly rose from the chair. "This is our one chance of beating this thing, no matter how crazy it seems. Will you do the job?" "You believe you got something, eh," the other said. "You think you have?" "I have to have."