Close to Critical by Hal Clement

ducked, barely in time. Those behind him were in a close-packed wedge whose central members were unable to dodge quickly enough, and howls of pain arose in several voices as the torches struck and scattered burning coals in all directions. The chief ducked backward to just beyond spear's length, resuming his attack stance. "Half circle!" he snapped. The warriors obeyed with speed and precision, forming a thin line centered on Nick. "Now, all at once - get him!" The semicircle contracted, and the spear points came toward the door. Nick was not too alarmed. None of the attackers was in a position to deliver the upward thrust which would get under scales; stone points were more likely to push him back than to penetrate. If he were pushed back against anything solid, of course, it would be a different story; the real danger at the moment, though, was that several of the fighters would get within knife range at once, and so occupy him that a spearsman could get close enough for long enough to strike from below. For just an instant he hesitated, wondering whether he should throw or strike; then he made up his mind.
    "Short ones!" he ordered to the helpers behind him.
    Nancy already had several foot-long sticks with their ends in the fire; she had them in his hands instantly, and was lighting others. For perhaps ten seconds Nick did his best to emulate a machine gun. More than half his projectiles missed, but a good many didn't; and after the first three or four seconds another factor complicated the fight. Still burning torches and fragments of glowing wood were being more and more thickly scattered before the doorway, and the attackers were getting involved with these. Feet were even more sensitive to the fire than were scales, and the effect was distracting, to put it mildly. Swift, to do him justice, stayed with his men and fought as hard as any; but at length even he had had enough and withdrew a few yards, limping slightly. Nick laughed aloud as he went.
    "Better get your own firewood, Swift, my friend! Of course you won't find any within an hour's walk of the village; we've used it up long ago. Even if you know where the best places to get it are, you won't be able to get there and back through the rain. You needn't worry, though; we'll take care of you when you go to sleep. I wouldn't want anything to eat you, friend Swift!"
    It was almost funny to watch Swift's fury. His hands tightened on the spear shafts, and he rose to full height on his walking legs, shaking all over with rage. For several seconds it seemed an even bet whether he would hurl the spears or charge the door across the scattered coals. Nick was perfectly ready for either, but was hoping for the latter; the mental picture of Swift with burned feet was! a very attractive one. But the chief did neither. In the midst of his fury he suddenly relaxed, and the spear points dropped as though he had forgotten them for a moment. Then he shifted the j weapons backward until he was holding them near their centers of gravity, in "carry" position, and turned away from the hut. Then, seemingly as an afterthought, he turned back and spoke to Nick.
    "Thanks, Chopper. I didn't expect that much help. I'd better say good-bye, now; and so had you - to your Teacher."
    "But - you can't travel at night."
    "Why not? You did."
    "But how about Fagin? How do you know he can?"
    "You told me he could do anything you could. You also said he'd agree to do what we said. If he forgets that, or changes his mind, we can thank you for showing us what to do. Do you suppose he'll like the touch of fire any better than we do?" Swift chuckled and strode swiftly back to the main group, bawling orders as he went. Nick began shouting at least as loudly.
    "Fagin! Did you hear that? Fagin! Teacher!" In his anxiety he forgot the tune it always took the Teacher to answer, and drowned the robot out for a moment. Then its answer became audible.
    "What's the matter, Nick?" It was not possible to tell from the