Marten whistled. Ghuvek, eh? He had really stumbled into a good one,
then. Ghuvek was the leader of the Flesso legions!
"Hello, Ghuvek. The pleasure is all mine. Do I _have_ to keep looking
at your face?"
"You will surrender or die," Ghuvek said, ignoring the barb.
Marten chuckled. "Okay. Come and get me, ugly!" He reached out and
snapped off the communicator decisively.
Without waiting to see what would happen next, he sprang from the
control seat. The Flesso were going to expect to find him inside the
little scout ship. Very well, Marten thought. That's the one place I
_won't_ be.
Smiling grimly, he strapped on a pair of bulky Spaulding
cutter-pistols, and headed for the escape hatch. The aliens, he knew,
would be watching the main airlock--they wouldn't be expecting a second
exit, and, if they were, they wouldn't know exactly where it would be.
Silently, Marten dropped through the hatch at the rear of the ship.
_Come and get me_, he thought. _I'm ready._
* * * * *
He found himself in a large metal room that measured well over
a hundred feet in width and twice that in length. The ceiling,
dimly-seen, was far overhead, beyond any quick estimation.
Crouching in the shadow of his ship, Marten watched a platoon of the
loathsome Flesso bring a heavy, semi-portable burner up to the airlock.
The reptilian aliens were having quite a time with the weapon; there
was much hissing and flicking of tails as they got it in position.
Finally, they managed to train the muzzle on the door, and then pressed
the firing studs. A dazzling blue-white glare leaped toward the airlock
door.
_Lovely_, Marten thought, as the bright light cast fierce illumination
in the giant room. An instant after the burner went into action, so did
Marten. He drew his Spauldings and fired.