Sean nodded and slapped the sandal against the palm of his hand again.
* * * * *
Afar off at first it was, that curious scraping sound the thighs of
Kraks make as they walk. The thirteen men tensed, their palms sweating
against the leather soles of the sandals they gripped so tightly.
The excitement had deadened the pain of Sean's bruises and he was
waiting just as tensely as the others.
The other Earth people packed into the huge cell were staring at them,
some licking their lips, some with questions fighting through the
despair in their eyes--all of them dejectedly looking.
The cry was in Sean's mind: Oh, to destroy their despair that they
might see once more with eyes of hope!
The scrape-scrape came closer. It halted outside the heavy metal door.
Smaller bits of metal rattled; then the door opened inward.
Sean, being closest to the opening portal, swung his sandal first. It
made a curious spatting sound. Forgetful of the wrenching pain, he
leaped, wrapped an arm around the Krak's neck and lashed out with the
sandal again and again.
The Krak reached up one powerful arm, ripped the red-headed Earthman
from his perch. The other dozen Earthmen leaped on him then, their
sandals flailing.
Sean, flung against the wall, tried to move, but his muscles were tar
and wouldn't respond. He watched the battle, trying desperately to move.
Of a sudden then, he was biting his lips, and tears of chagrin were
blinding his eyes. For the Krak still towered there, impassive and
invulnerable, smashing the Earthmen down with his huge fists. One of
the thirteen, Bill Hawkins, lay on the deck of the prison, his head
split open like a ruptured muskmelon.
Another moaned on the floor, helplessly trying to move both his broken
arms. Mike fought to the last, but even his driving fists were stopped
when the Krak pounded him on the side of the head and drove him to the
floor.
The Krak looked around the prison room impassively, his bald head
moving slowly, effortlessly.
Then he went out.
The tar that was his muscles finally set and Sean could move. He
crawled to where Mike lay spread-eagled on the floor, took the
black-topped head in his lap, rocked with it. "Oh, Mike, I'm sorry. I
was so sure."
Tiny fists pounded on his bruised back. Sean started to turn. Then
fingers were entwined in his red hair, yanking, bringing painful tears
to his eyes.
"Get away from him, you beast." Sean saw tiny, blonde Marcia, her soft
face twisted into harsh lines, pulling him away from Mike. He let
Mike's head drop gently to the deck. Then he stood up. Instantly Marcia
was beside Mike, touching him, talking to him softly.
Sean looked at Bill Hawkins lying dead there on the floor, the dark
dead stuff smearing the polished surface. He looked at those others
there. Despair was still there in their eyes, but something else, too.
They looked away from him, deliberately avoiding his eyes. The soft
moaning of Jack Wilson turned him around.
"I'm sorry, Jack. It's my fault. I was so sure that was the vulnerable
point."
Jack's pain-filled eyes looked down on his broken arms, then fastened
on Sean.
"I wouldn't mind so much," Jack said through tight lips, "if it had
worked." Then he looked away.
Sean turned to Mike and Marcia. Mike was sitting up now, shaking his
head dazedly.
He saw Sean.
Mike said just one word before he stood up and walked away with Marcia.