"Now that we have that settled, I guess we know what we can expect," said Murphy.
"That's right," said Drake silkily. "We are going to aim the bomb right at the center of your little beer plant. Where's your partner?"
We looked at each other. Then we turned back to Drake and shrugged.
"No spikka da Inglish," we said.
Drake's voice hardened. I didn't like the sound of it.
"Where did he go? Come across or you'll be here to watch that bomb go off."
The two pleasant customers he'd brought with him didn't even bat an eye. I guess they were pretty used to his dealings.
I was beginning to get hot. That's a habit with me. I started to jump up and down, as well as I could with no gravity for the down.
"Dirty Dudley, you dastard—" I started but that was as far as I got. He stepped forward and slapped the side of my helmet with the butt of a paralyzer he pulled out of his belt. In the close confines of the plastecele casing it sounded like all the tail plates in Space Port One had dropped on me all at once. When I recovered and got up, Drake was covering Murphy carefully with the paralyzer and the other two guys were getting ready to jump back to the ship. For the bomb, I guessed. Drake turned to me.
"A couple more cracks like that and your ears won't be much good," he told me. "Better take it easy with your tongue."