"So? What news?"
"Wessell's massing the Earth Fleet. In thirty-six hours they'll be out here to meet you. He'll never allow you to land on Earth!"
"So. Hear that, Kueelo?" He addressed a second Martian who was busy at work over a bank of levers.
This man looked up and grinned, and Ric liked him even less than the one crowding him. He especially didn't like the eyes. They were strange and colorless, not quite Martian.
"Yes, I heard. Take care of him, Luhor; we haven't much time!"
Luhor surged forward, bringing the gun up. Ric swayed to the right, his hands darted out and caught the man's free wrist; with the same motion he twisted, and brought Luhor sailing across his body to crash into a metal beam, where he slumped and lay still.
Kueelo had whirled, muttering an oath that certainly wasn't Martian. Now he leaped for the free gun. Ric reached it a second faster, kicked it out of reach. He parried Kueelo's fist—then sent a left to the Martian's stomach and crossed with a right. The man was huge, and stood his ground.
Ric danced back as Kueelo came boring in. He realized joyously that this lesser, artificial gravity was an advantage. He sent a boxer's left, long and weaving, to Kueelo's face, then a second and third, that set the Martian off balance. Ric stepped in with a crashing right-cross. Kueelo's legs went rubbery. Another smashing right and the Martian's face lost contour; he whirled half around and slumped across the bank of levers. Ric rolled his body away and stood looking down.
There were thirty of those levers, all numbered. They were large and heavy, but just now they were all pulled up from their contacts, revealing masses of coils and wires. Ric frowned, wondering what it meant. He thought he knew!
Those wires could be easily fused or cut. Ric recognized sabotage when he saw it....