"Chief!" The humming increased as the plane neared again, coming in from behind. "Can you hear me? There's another ship outside. They're using impact phones and it isn't a Patrol boat. I think I'm in for trouble." The little pointer on the transmitter dial quit vibrating.
"We burned off your aerial," chattered the mechanical voice through the walls. "Open your space-door and prepare for boarding. And no tricks! We have a sight on you."
With clenched fists, Ricker gazed into the blackness a moment, then resignedly walked over and opened the lock. The Martian stepped out with a smirk of malicious triumph. The woman's face was expressionless. Of course they'd heard the voice, too, probably recognized it, and Ricker made no pretense of covering them with the pistol. Doubtless, he was the prisoner now.
The Martian coughed behind his hand. "Soon," he said, "I shall repay you for this delay."
"It's all in the game," said Ricker.
The boat trembled as the craft outside clamped to the air lock.
Ricker opened the lock when the order came and a dark, rat-like little man in gray coveralls entered the cabin. He carried a pistol of a type Ricker had never seen before. It looked like a revolver with the barrel sawed off.
"Nice work, Vanger," he greeted the Martian. He glanced at Molly Borden curiously, then with narrow-eyed admiration. Ricker waited stiffly. The Martian motioned to him.
"Watch this man, Gurren," he said. "Don't hesitate to shoot if he tries anything but I'd like to find out what he knows when we land."