Part 2

The two pressure-suited bodies bounced over the rocky surface, Snyder's mad thrashing tossing them yards into the air. When they lit the last time something snapped and Logan's arm twisted queerly.

Above them, on a projection of rock, he saw the mimic waving the knife it had acquired to imitate its insane master. Logan summoned all his strength in a desperate gamble on the creature's one virtue. "Do it! Do it! Damn it, do it!"

Snyder grinned and raised his knife for aim.

The blue-furred Moon native hesitated, uncertain, then teetered and dropped downward. It landed on Snyder's shoulder, the knife describing an awkward arc. The giant's pressure suit exploded as a six inch gash was opened behind the neck. The mad leer disappeared and the fat man gasped at the scant air. He flailed about, rolling over and over, pulling Logan with him, then lay still; his eyes pushed upward, fighting to breathe.

A shower of lights hit Logan's brain. A chant pounded accompaniment. "Can't kill 'im. Can't kill 'im. Can't--" The plastic helmet of the mad Cyclops had shattered on the rocks and he found himself hammering feebly at the loose features, tears of exhaustion streaming down his face. The mimic continued to slash with the knife and the Patrolman's suit dissolved, the left shoulder laid open. It grew very dark....

* * * * *

There was a bed and sheets and the smell of tobacco smoke when he came to. The room was in semi-darkness, but he could make out two figures.

"Cigarette?" one of them asked and held a match. The other occupant opened the shades and light filtered in. Immediately he recognized the first. The long thin face and the bright eyes belonged to General Winkham, commanding general of the Patrol.

"Sir--" He tried to sit up, but the arm cast held him.

"No need for formality, Logan." The general smiled. "The radaronics operator tracked your ship down. You were near dead when the searching party spotted that mimic." He chuckled. "They had the devil's own time disarming the little beast."

"What--what about Snyder?"

The general sobered. "You've been asleep for two days. Snyder was hanged yesterday."

The other officer drew himself up stiffly. He wore a captain's bars and was obviously the post commandant. "I think I should point out that the prisoner was assaulted, General. Charges will have to be made."

Winkham frowned. "Is that right, Lieutenant?"

"I don't know." He swallowed hard and then told it from the beginning--Johnny, Bates--everything. "I remember thinking at the last that I couldn't kill him. Maybe I hit him; I don't know."

"The situation is obvious," the captain summarized coldly. "The prisoner was already subdued and therefore the beating was unnecessary and in violation of the Conduct Code. You'll sit on the court martial, of course, General?" The inner planets were hurtfully strict on regulations.

"Get out of here," Winkham snapped. When the other had fled he turned to Logan. "I'm sorry about this, Lieutenant, but the captain is within his rights. I don't hold with these teaparty technicalities, but you can see my position. Why didn't you kill the blasted maniac? It would have been self-defense."

Logan experienced a wave of bitterness. The hell had been for nothing. Something he didn't even remember clearly had caused him to fail Bates, fail Johnny. "Bates told me he had brought in the native that tortured his mother to death," he said weakly. "I tried to show as much guts. I guess I haven't got it."

"Bates, eh?" Winkham mused and looked out the window. "I was his commanding officer then. The native was alive all right, but we always wondered how his ears got sliced off and stuffed in his mouth. We questioned him but couldn't make out his language."

"Neptunian priests all speak English," Logan contradicted.

"I know, but none of us did," the General returned with a wry grin. "And I don't think anyone on this post will either. Even if I have to break a captain to a hangar-monkey." He got up and paced the room. "Bates says you want to start a space line. Says you're a good man with ideas--"

There was a growing spot of warmth in Logan's abdomen as he smoked and listened to the famous "Winks". It was pride at belonging with men as great as Bates and Johnny and Winkham. He could say it to Johnny, now, softly. "Don't worry, kid. I'll pick up the pieces...."