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 and 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.
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