Mike the Angel his hand in his pocket, his thumb on a little plate that was set in the of the small that was therein. As he the door, the little plate to vibrate, making a which only be felt, not heard. Mike to himself. Vibroblades were all the this season.
He pushed open the door and inside. It was just what he’d expected. His saw and his brain recorded the whole in the of a second he moved. In that of a second, he took in the situation, it, planned his strategy, and into his plan of action.
Harry MacDougal was at his workbench, near the of the that the shop when he was in the lab. He was over a little, his small, at Mike the Angel from shaggy, brows. There was no in those eyes—only confidence.
Next to Old Harry was a kid—sixteen, maybe seventeen. He had the JD on his face: a look of cold, hard that the and beneath. One hand was at Harry’s back, and Mike that the kid was a at the old man’s spine.
At the same time, the against his thumb told Mike the Angel something else. There was a much nearer his than the one in the kid’s hand.
That meant that there was another him.
All this took Mike the Angel about one of a second to assimilate. Then he jumped.
Had the been adults, Mike would have the entire in a different way. Adults, unless they are or retarded, do not or like children. Adolescents can, do, and must—for the very that they have not yet had time to learn to as adults.
Had the been adults, and had Mike the Angel the way he did, he might have died that night. As it was, the had a chance.
Mike didn’t to the of the him. He leaped, instead, for the kid in the dead-black suède who was the against Harry MacDougal’s spine. And the kid as Mike the Angel had hoped, prayed, and he would.
The kid himself.
An adult, in a where he has one enemy at his and is being by a second, will put the out of the way in order to himself free to with the second. There is no in your wide open just to oppose a attack.
If the kid had been an adult, Harry MacDougal would have died there and then. An adult would have his through the old man’s and it to on Mike the Angel.
But not the kid. He jumped back, widening, to his in an open space. He was no coward, that kid, and he how to a vibroblade. In his own unwise, way, he was perfectly of himself. He out the point of that metal shaft, to any that Mike the Angel might make.
If Mike had had a himself, and if there hadn’t been another at his back, Mike might have taken of the kid that way. As it was, he had no choice but to use another way.
He himself full on the point of the vibroblade.
A is a weapon. Originally designed as a surgeon’s tool, its special moves in and out of the at from two hundred to two thousand second, on the size and the use to which it is to be put. Make it eight long, add serrated, diamond-pointed teeth, and you have the man-killing vibroblade. Its is in its power; that can cut through flesh, cartilage, and with almost no effort. It’s a knife with power steering.
But that of power can be a as well as a strength.
The little that Mike the Angel did more than just the operation of a vibroblade. It was also a defense. The a high-density magnetic on any that came six of Mike’s body.
In that field, the couldn’t move. It was as though it had been in a vise. The no longer vibrated; it had nothing more than an knife.
The trouble was that the power unit in the wouldn’t accept the that the was immovable. That power unit was in there to move something, and by heaven, something had to move.
The and in the kid’s hand, taking skin with it. Then it to and under the overload. The plastic and copper and out of it. The kid as the metal his hand.
Mike the Angel put a hand against the kid’s and shoved. As the boy backward, Mike to the other boy.
Only it wasn’t a boy.
She was gold lip paint and had her blue, but she how to a at least as well as her boy friend had. Just as Mike the Angel turned, she forward, for the small of his back.
And she, too, as she her in a of heat.
Then she for something in her pocket. Regretfully, Mike the Angel the of his hand against the of her in a paralyzing, but not deadly, punch. She dropped, senseless, and a small gun out of the pocket of her and across the floor. Mike paused only long to make sure she was out, then he to his opponent.
As he had anticipated, Harry MacDougal had taken charge. The kid was on the floor, and Old Harry was a gun in his hand.
Mike the Angel took a breath.
“Yer are on fire,” said Harry.
Mike as he the heat, and he at the where the metal from the had his clothing. He wasn’t afire; modern doesn’t up—but it can when you liquid copper on it.
“Damn!” said Mike the Angel. “New suit, too.”
“You’re a fast thinker, laddie,” said Old Harry.
“You don’t need to me, Harry,” said Mike the Angel. “When an old like you a man if he’s some scotch, the man’s a if he doesn’t know there’s trouble afoot.” He gave his leg a final and said: “What happened? Are there any more of them?”
“Don’t know. Might be.” The old man at his panel. “My are workin’ again!” He at the floor. “I’m sure how they did it, but somehow they managed to blank out ma just long to inside. Their mistake was in not lockin’ the door.”
Mike the Angel was the two kids. He looked up. “Neither of them is any in their clothing—at least, not anything that’s self-powered. If they’ve got into the cloth, there must be more of them outside.”
“Aye. Likely. We’ll see.”
Suddenly, there was a soft ping! ping! ping! from an on the bench.
Harry at the screen that was with the of that were around the area of his shop. Then a came over his small face.
“Cops,” he said. “Time they got here.”
