t the future. On the floor Skop
groaned but did not move. "Those are two ways," Meta said. "What is the
third?"

"The third possibility is my own pet scheme," Jason smiled. "And I hope
I can find enough people to go along with me. I'm going to take my money
and spend it all on outfitting the best and most modern spacer, with
every weapon and piece of scientific equipment I can get my hands on.
Then I'm going to ask for Pyrran volunteers to go with me."

"What in the world for?" Meta frowned.

"Not for charity, I expect to make my investment back, and more. You
see, after these past few months, I can't possibly return to my old
occupation. Not only do I have enough money now to make it a waste of
time, but I think it would be an unending bore. One thing about
Pyrrus--if you live--is that it spoils you for the quieter places. So
I'd like to take this ship that I mentioned and go into the business of
opening up new worlds. There are thousands of planets where men would
like to settle, only getting a foothold on them is too rough or rugged
for the usual settlers. Can you imagine a planet a Pyrran couldn't lick
after the training you've had here? And enjoy doing it?

"There would be more than pleasure involved, though. In the city your
lives have been geared for continual deadly warfare. Now you're faced
with the choice of a fairly peaceful future, or staying in the city to
fight an unnecessary and foolish war. I offer the third alternative of
the occupation you know best, that would let you accomplish something
constructive at the same time.

"Those are the choices. Whatever you decide is up to each of you
personally."

* * * * *

Before anyone could answer, livid pain circled Jason's throat. Skop had
regained consciousness and surged up from the floor. He pulled Jason
from the chair with a single motion, holding him by the neck, throttling
him.

"Kerk! Meta!" Skop shouted hoarsely. "Grab guns! Open the locks--our
people'll be here, kill the grubbers and their lies!"

Jason tore at the fingers that were choking the life out of him, but it
was like pulling at bent steel bars. He couldn't talk and the blood
hammered in his ears.

Meta hurtled forward like an uncoiled spring and the crossbows twanged.
One bolt caught her in the leg, the other transfixed her upper arm. But
she had been shot as she jumped and her inertia carried her across the
room, to her fellow Pyrran and the dying o