This was a mistake, of course. He was only moving along at a hundred
miles an hour now. Too slow for safe shooting, particularly with the
bumpy air in the hole. But he happily disregarded this, as he pushed
open a view port and blazed away with a zuzz pistol.

Almost immediately the ship lurched in the uneven air, and he could
see the tiny thin trace of violet as it swept up and away off the
targets. One of the men went down, sliced cleanly in two. But the
others had seen him.

Mark cursed mildly, some of his high good humor gone, and pulled the
car about for another run. The chronometer pinged warningly at him,
notifying him that he was now a full hour late for Jennette's birthday
party, but the code required the second try.

There was nothing that required handweapons for this, however, and he
slipped his strong young hands around the main gun control. A single
burst of violet, and one of the men vanished in a puff of steam. Good
and clean, he told himself with satisfaction. But the last man opened
his pistol onto broad-beam, burning a red flare of general destruction
at him.

Mark veered around and bore down sharply for the last burst. He had to
get it over with and on to Jennette. But the deadly broad beam swept
below the car, evacuating the air and throwing the vehicle momentarily
out of control. Close behind, the cliff became suddenly alive as the
beam engaged it, bubbling and spewing out huge gouts of molten rock.
The aircar burst into a brief, brilliant, sodium-colored fire and
fell, with Mark burning inside of it, yelling and screaming in pain.

[Illustration:]

It took almost five seconds before the charred brain of Mark's body
stopped functioning. Then it released him.

He was conscious of the humming of his transmitter. Almost immediately
the remembered pain brought perspiration running down inside the
helmet into his eyes. He reached up and removed the headpiece with
unsteady hands, groaning softly.

It had been some decades since he had last been involved in trouble
like this. Killed, yes--but in a painless, fair fight. Being burned to
death was no joke. And that body had been one of his best, with the
finest reflex sensory system manufactured.

The machine purred softly beside him. He thought suddenly and emptily
of Jennette, and stood up.

"Damn," he muttered, crossing the floor, feeling the pleasant warmth
of the soft plastic under his feet. "Damn, damn, damn." He stopped
before the tra