From the corner of his eye Rip saw Dowst’s heavy space boots and knew the
private was right with him. As they drove down, one of the Connies stepped
a little distance away from the others, probably to get a better look at
Santos. The Connie sensed something and turned, just as Rip and Dowst
flashed downward on his two mates.
Rip’s boots caught one Connie where his bubble joined his suit, and the
impact drove the man downward to the unyielding surface of the asteroid
with a soundless smash. Rip threw up his arms to cushion his helmet as he
struck the ground beyond his enemy. He threw the air bottles away. He
fought to keep his feet under him and almost succeeded, but his knees hit
the ground and pistol and knife bit into them painfully.
Two figures came into his view, locked tightly together, arms flailing. It
was Dowst and the second Connie. He got to his feet and was moving to the
Planeteer’s aid when Santos’s voice shrilled in his helmet. "Sir! Look
left!"
Rip whirled. The Connie who had stepped aside was advancing, pistol in
hand. His light caught Rip full in the face.
The young officer thought quickly. The Connie hadn’t fired. Why? Suddenly
he had it. The man hadn’t fired for fear of hitting his friend, who was
battling with Dowst. Rip was in front of them. Quickly he dropped to one
knee, reaching for his own pistol. The Connie wouldn’t dare fire now. The
high velocity slug would go right through him, to explode in one of the
struggling figures behind—and the wrong one might get it.
The Connie saw Rip’s action and tossed his pistol aside. He, too, knew he
couldn’t fire. He reached into a knee pouch and drew out his space knife.
He leaped for the Planeteer.
Rip pulled frantically at his pistol. It was stuck fast, probably caught
in the fabric by his knee landing. The space knife wouldn’t be caught. It
was smooth, with no projections to catch. He shifted knees and jerked it
out.
The Connie’s flying body hit him, and a powerful arm circled his waist.
Rip thrust upward with his knees, one hand reaching for the Connie’s suit
valve. But the Connie had one arm free, too. He drove his glove up under
Rip’s heart. Rip let go of the valve and used his elbow to lever away just
as the Connie pressed his knife’s release valve. The blade slammed
outward, drove into the inside of Rip’s right arm just above the elbow.
Pain lanced through him, and he felt the blood rush to the wound as air
poured through the gap in his suit. He gritted his teeth and smashed at
the Connie with his own knife. It rammed home and he squeezed the release.
The blade connected solidly. He was suddenly free.
He pressed the wounded arm to his side, stopping the outpouring of air.
The cut hurt like all the devils of space. With his other hand he
increased the air in his suit, then looked swiftly around. The Connie was
on his knees, both gloves pressed tightly to his side.
Dowst was just finishing a knot in the safety line that bound a second
enemy’s hands. The Connie Rip had rocketed down on was still lying where
he had fallen. And Corporal Santos, the enemy’s pneumatic chattergun at
the ready, was standing guard.
Rip turned up the volume in his communicator. He tried to sound calm, but
the shakiness of triumph and excitement was in his voice. "All Planeteers.
We have the Connie snapper-boats. Koa, bring your men here."
He felt someone working on his arm and turned to see Corporal Pederson,
his face one vast grin in the glare from Dowst’s belt light. "Koa didn’t
need me," he said.