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Three-Gun Max Finds A Friend* * * * * It was after I'd made the city safe for Venus (began Max, as the Cyborg de Milo snorted contemptuously). I set my ship down a few hundred miles away, ready to take out a small alien army all by myself. But before I did, I figured I owed myself a meal, since wiping out all those aliens figured to burn up a lot of calories. I was sitting there outside my ship, cooking some steaks over an open fire, far enough from the aliens so their sensors wouldn't be able to spot me, when I felt the muzzle of a screecher pressed between my shoulder blades. "Raise your hands," said a thickly-accented voice, which I knew had to belong to one of the aliens. "If I do, I'll burn the steaks," I said without turning around. "So what?" asked the alien. "If you're going to kill me anyway, it doesn't make any difference what I do with my hands ... but if you're _not_ going to kill me, then it's be |
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