Free 19 - The Power Cube Affair by John T. Phillifent Page A

said, pushing away from the table. They followed her out on to the little balcony. She indicated the stones; then with a smooth movement she drew one of her guns.
    "Target practice," Kuryakin guessed. "You're not giving yourself much of a mark to shoot at, are you?"
    "You two said you'd seen weapons like these before, but have you used them at all? Care to show me?" She offered one gun to Solo, who put up his hands in rejection.
    "I'm no expert. I've handled one, yes."[1]
    Miss Perrell sat on the top step, braced her forearm on a knee, took careful aim, and fired. There was a quiet pop and then the delayed whip crack sound far ahead of the muzzle. Down there a chip of concrete sprang away in dust by the side of the center stone, close enough to stir it.
    On her second shot it leaped away into the sunshine with a howl. She opened her palm and handed the gun to Solo.
    "Let's see you," she said. He took it, shrugged as he examined it.
    "I said I'm no expert, and this thing isn't intended to be accurate. The slugs are miniature rockets, which throws the customary trajectory all cockeyed. For one thing, they take off slow but accelerate past the sound barrier within the first few feet. The real virtue of the thing is the hitting power. As you know, the impact value derives from half the mass times the square of the velocity, so there's quite a clout at the far end. Still, if you insist!"
    Kuryakin, elbowed on the balcony to one side, hid his grin. He knew what was going to happen next. Solo wrapped his hand around the weapon gently, gazed at the patient row of stones, and took seemingly casual aim. The gun spoke softly but fast—six snap cracks of sound—and from the end of the line six stones sprang smartly into the air, spraying dust.
    "Not bad at all," he said, handing it back to her, "once you get the hang of it."
    He thought he had never seen before such naked hate as was in her eyes at that moment. She took the gun and smacked it into its place.
    "Don't I get a try?" Kuryakin complained, and she wheeled on him.
    "All right, so you're both pretty smart with guns. But there are other things. Come on inside!" She led the way with hard angry steps. The two men shook their heads at each other and followed. She seized the table, sent it rolling away from the center of the room with a vigorous shove, then turned on Kuryakin again.
    "Your turn," she said, "and this time we'll see how good you are with no weapons at all." She put fingers over her head to a button or two, grasped her hem and hoisted, took the dress up over her head and off.
    "Goods in the window," Solo murmured, moving to the table and hitching his hip on it.
    "You said one tends to lean on gadgets, to get fat and slow." She peeled off the holsters, laid them on the table, then stared at him. "Fat and slow?"
    "I was quoting John Guard," Solo defended. "And he had a point, but it didn't refer to you. Just what are you trying to prove?"
    "That I am not the weak and defenseless female you think I am." She wheeled away, trod to the center of the room and faced Kuryakin. She kicked off her sandals and now was wearing only a sheer body clinging garment of some kind in black cobwebby stuff. It left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He saw her chin come up and out as she challenged his colleague, and seeing the pair of them like this he realized there was very little difference between them in height, weight or reach. The difference was entirely in the arrangement of adipose tissue.
    "You can have me," she said flatly. "All you have to do is come and get me—if you can!"
    Illya was wary. "Suppose I don't want you?"
    "Then I am going to get you. I mean it!"
    "You're a fool. This is a stone floor. You'll get hurt."
    "Save the excuses for when you need them." She crouched and spread her arms in readiness. Kuryakin sighed, unbuttoned his coat and half-turned to shrug it off. She sprang instantly, one arm flashing up and down in a neck chop that should have finished him