"What's the best ship here?" Rusty demanded of the tight-lipped Martians. There was no answer. What did one do when one had a gun, wanted a man to speak and he wouldn't?
Spike entered the room. "I'll make 'em talk!" he said. He picked up a fallen gun, and before Rusty could stop him had fired into the group.
Four men died to show Rusty what one did.
The answers of the remaining three were as specific as they were hasty.
"Shall I finish 'em off?" asked Spike, amused. Rusty moved to stop him.
"Shall I finish you off?" said a voice at the door. "Don't turn around! Stay where you are!"
The missing man, thought Rusty. His heart did not leap at the sudden voice. He had grown to expect these things. Would he soon laugh at death as did Spike?
The Martians inside smirked, bent for their guns.
Rusty was looking at Spike. What would he do? And Spike was not slow in acting. His gun was still leveled at the stooping men. His face did not change as flame shot from the barrel. In utter bravado, Spike rayed them down. Darted swiftly back against the wall out of the line of fire.
The gun hissed outside, missed and struck into the bodies of his own fellows. He would fire again.