Trexel raised the gun, pointed it full in Ricker's face and laughed. Ricker could see his fat knuckle whiten as it squeezed the trigger.
Molly Borden screamed, flung herself in front of him. The Martian jerked her aside. Ricker's good left arm came up. Then it halted in mid-air.
To his ears came a sound like bubbling water to a man dying of thirst. He didn't believe it at first, paused, lips parted, listening. Then his eyes danced with a wild light.
Trexel heard it too. His face was like chalk. He stood there with the gun still poised, a great bear-like statue. It was the hum of rockets! Not the rockets of Trexel's ships, the jets of the Stellar Patrol. It was! The Patrol had gotten through!
Trexel stood like a man of stone. For a full ten seconds he didn't move.
Ricker knocked the woman aside, dropped to the floor. The gun flamed. Trexel pulled the trigger wildly. Ricker snatched the glass table from the floor beside him, hurled it up into the man's ghastly face. His thick mouth burst into a red spray as glass crashed. He fought to get rid of the table, its jagged edges cut into his arms and face. Ricker hurled a chair. It hit the man's head like a pole striking cement. Trexel's gun fell from his hand, thudded on the floor. He sagged down beside the wall.
The Martian didn't pull his gun. He stood, staring, listening to the cries, the sound of the planes and the guns outside. He didn't appear to see what was going on in the room. Suddenly he whirled, bolted to the door.
In the heat of his fury, Ricker flew after him.
Vanger dashed down the corridor, Ricker ten feet behind. He went through the door, started out upon the field. As Ricker reached the door, he saw Vanger stop suddenly, look up. The din of the Patrol boats was thunder in the echoing hollow. The air was filled with them. The field was littered with men running, falling and lying still. A boat swooped down toward the lone Martian standing there, fell like a bird of prey. Vanger started to run back toward the building. Tat, tat, tat! A long flaming line followed him, slowly, like a curse. Little puffs of dust spurted around him. The puffs stopped. The Martian halted. He stared at Ricker in the doorway and his face was puzzled. He coughed and his chin, his shirt became cherry-red. Then he crumpled to the ground.
Ricker turned, walked slowly back to the room.