THAT DID IT. THE WARNING drove its way through the miner’s stupor. His head jerked up, his eyes widened, and a hand clawed at his pocket.
“What? My ekalastron? The filthy thieves—!”
His loud voice carried throughout the room clearly. Too clearly. For with a sudden fear, Chip could feel a tension tighten through the hard habitues of the bar. Nervous scrapings of feet, the frou-frou of suddenly intense voices. “Ekalastron! Eka—”
For a moment, Chip’s guard relaxed. He twisted his head to survey a new and potent danger. And as he did so, a sharp cry burst from Amborg’s lips. “Raat ‘Aran! Torth!”
Chip whirled back to face immediate trouble. Shapes were plunging down upon him. He wheeled, slipped, tumbled to one side even as the scorching burst of a needle gun seared a hissing path past his
