![]() ![]() I'm doing you a favor." Pop lifted his hands in an instinctive gesture of futile protection as the blaster erupted flame. "Space takes care of its own." "You're in a bad way, old timer," Kane said, "and you haven't much sense. "Afraid, old man?" "I'm a space pig," Pop said. You shouldn't have done that to my boy." "Is that all?" Pop nodded slowly. "I just wanted to hear you say it." He looked at the impassive face of the killer. "But not too much." "That boy-that boy you killed in Marsport. "But first, I want to say something to you." "Talk, old timer," Kane said. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat. The blaster muzzle was six inches from his belly. Presently, he let the wheel slow and then stop. Like you, Pop." Pop spun the flywheel in silence, listening to the soft whir. "I can handle a landing and maybe a takeoff, but the rest of it I leave for the boatmen. "I told you I'm no space pig," Kane said brusquely. Turnover Point - Alfred Coppel Please enable JavaScript to view the full PDF ![]()
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