Suddenly the ground leaped and bucked beneath Meek's feet. The power
plant reeled before his startled eyes and then, somehow, he was on his
back, watching the dome wheel and weave above him.
Fighting for breath that had been knocked out of him, he clawed his way
to his knees, tried to stand erect, but the ground still was crawling
with motion.
It was like an earthquake, he told himself, startled that he could even
think. But it couldn't be an earthquake. Juno didn't have earthquakes,
there was no reason for Juno to have earthquakes. The little planetoid
eons ago had cooled through and through, each rock, each strata had
found its place. Juno was dead, dead as the reaches of space itself,
and earthquakes don't happen on dead planets.
Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the Prowler had backed out of the
hole in the power plant, was standing with four legs spread wide,
bracing himself. His long neck was stretched high in the air and the
ugly, toothy head had the look of quick alertness.
Meek gained his feet, stood tottering, keeping upright by some fancy
footwork. The Prowler started toward him, legs gathering speed, heading
down the street.
With a hoarse whoop, Meek steadied himself, half crouched and held his
breath, leaped, leaped so hard he almost vaulted over the beast's broad
back. Sprawling, he scrambled into position astride the running robot,
saw Stiffy leaping at him. Quickly he shot out a hand, grasped Stiffy
and hauled him aboard.
Ahead of them the crowd rushed for safety, leaving a broad avenue for
the storming Prowler and his two riders.
"Get the locks open," yelled Stiffy. "Here we come!"