shocked and silent, the four were led to a courtyard outside. as they walked, john switched on his pocket transmitter with a casual, almost unnoticeable gesture, and murmured a report to the ship.

"i'm sorry, john," said the commander, his voice tense with emotion. "there's no possibility of rescue, and i know it's small satisfaction to you that your deaths will be avenged."

the quartet's hands were bound behind them and they were lined up against a wall. the third sarge, attended by a good-sized retinue, stood at ease nearby, smoking a cigar, to direct the execution personally.

"'power weapons' to them apparently mean regulation heat-guns," remarked phil, almost jocularly. "that's what the fellow has."

a soldier was standing square in the center of the courtyard, a pistol dangling from his grip. at a signal from elfor, he lifted it.

"looks like i'm first," said john, bracing himself. "be seeing you, somewhere."

he gritted his teeth for the wave of unbearable heat that was sure to come. instead, there was a silent explosion in the midst of the courtyard and the soldier who had held the gun writhed on the ground, incinerated.