naturally the voice had
told me it was out of the question--much too difficult and besides they
wanted us on a known course so they could plan better for the drop and
recovery. (I think maybe the voice would have given me some hints--and
maybe even told me more about the steel cubes too and how much danger we
were in from them--if it hadn't been for the second voice, which
presumably had issued from a being who was keeping watch to make sure
among other things that the first voice didn't get soft-hearted.)

So there I was being a front gunner. Actually a part of me was getting a
big bang out of it--from antique Banker's Special to needle cannon (or
whatever it was)--but at the same time another part of me was disgusted
with the idea of acting like I belonged to a live culture (even a smart,
unqueer one) and working in a war (even just so as to get out of it
fast), while a third part of me--one that I normally keep down--was very
simply horrified.

Pop was back by the door with the box and 'chute, ready to make the
drop.

Alice had no duties for the moment, but she'd suddenly started gathering
up food cans and packing them in one bag--I couldn't figure out at first
what she had in mind. Orderly housewife wouldn't be exactly my
description of her occupational personality.

Then of course everything had to happen at once.

The voice said, "Make the drop!"

Alice crossed to Pop and thrust out the bag of cans toward him, writhing
her lips in silent "talk" to tell him something. She had a knife in her
burnt hand too.

* * * * *

But I didn't have time to do any lip-reading, because just then a
glittering pink asterisk showed up in the darkening haze ahead--a whole
half dozen straight lines spreading out from a blank central spot, as if
a super-fast gigantic spider had laid in the first strands of its web.

Wind whistled as the door of the plane started to open.

I fought to center my sight on the blank central spot, which drifted
toward the left.

One of the straight lines grew dazzlingly bright.

I heard Alice whisper fiercely, "Drop _these_!" and the part of my mind
that couldn't be applied to gunnery instantly deduced that she'd had
some last-minute inspiration about dropping a bunch of cans instead of
the steel cubes.

I got the sight centered and held down the firing combo. The thought
flashed to me: _it's a city you're firing at, not a plane_, and I
flinched.

The dazzl