or they'll suffocate."

"But that would only take a few men," Johnny said. "As soon as
the generators went out, they'd look for us, and if we were
missing ... well, they'd have the whole crew beating the bushes for us.
It wouldn't be long before somebody thought of the ventilators."

"But we've got to do something, and do it fast," Tom said.

"I know." Johnny chewed his lip. "It's a good idea, but we need more
than just the generators. We've got to disable the ship ... throw so
many things at them so fast from so many different directions that they
don't know which way to turn. That means we'd need to split up, and we'd
need weapons." He hefted the guard's Markheim. "One stunner between
three of us isn't enough."

"Well, we have this." Tom unbuckled Roger Hunter's gun case from his
belt. "Dad's revolver. It's not a stunner, but it might help." He tossed
the case to Johnny. "I can give you both a rundown on how the shafts go.
We could plan to meet at a certain spot in a certain length of time...."

He broke off, looking at Johnny. The big miner had taken Roger Hunter's
gun from the case, and hefted it in his hand, started to check it
automatically as Tom talked. But now his hand froze as he stared at the
weapon.

"What's wrong?" Tom asked.

"This gun is wrong," Johnny said. "All wrong. Where did you get this
thing?"

"From Dad's spacer pack, the one the Patrol brought back. The Major gave
it to us in Sun Lake City." Tom peered at the gun. "Is it broken or
something? It's just Dad's revolver...."

"It is, eh?" Johnny turned the gun over in his hand. "Whoever told you
about guns?"

"What's wrong with it?"

There was an odd expression on Johnny's face as he handed the weapon
back to Tom. "Take a look at it," he said. "Tell me whether it's loaded
or not."

Tom looked at it. Except for a few hours on the firing range, he had had
no experience with guns; he couldn't have taken down a Markheim and
reassembled it if his life depended on it. But he had seen his father
take the old revolver out of the leather case many times before.

Now Tom could see that this was not the same gun.

The thing in his hand was large and awkward. The hand-grips didn't fit;
there was no trigger guard, and no trigger. Several inches along the
gleaming metal barrel was a shiny stud, and below it a dial with notches
on it.

"That's funny," Tom said. "I've never seen this thing before."

Greg took it from him, balanced it in his han