By CHARLES L. FONTENAY He was a living weapon of destruction— immeasurably powerful, utterly invulnerable. There was only one question: Was he human? Trella feared she was in for trouble even before Motwick's head dropped forward on his arms in a drunken stupor. The two evil-looking men at the table nearby had been watching her surreptitiously, and now they shifted restlessly in their chairs. Trella had not wanted to come to the Golden Satellite. It was a squalid saloon in the rougher section of