Johnson's eyes were centered on Unger. The zit gun in his hand was poised and aimed at the eyes of the Venusian.
"If anyone makes a move toward us, the charge in this gun will go into your eyes," Johnson said. "I suppose you know that under such circumstances the charge from a zit gun will kill."
Unger stopped his squirming. He seemed suddenly to realize that other humans were present. His round, impassive face turned toward Johnson.
"Ah, yes, you," he said.
"Call off your dogs," Johnson said. "Tell these people to permit us to leave."
"But—"
"You look at death, Dreamer!"
"I know that. Death is not important. Have you considered that these dogs are really wolves who will tear you to pieces at my nod?" Unger's shifting gaze indicated the other Venusians in the room. Out of the corners of his eyes Johnson saw that Taldero had drawn his knife again. Others were moving like jungle cats getting ready to pounce.
"True, you can have your wolves kill us," Johnson said. "But our deaths will follow yours, not precede it."
His voice was clear and firm. If there was fear in him it was out of sight. He did not know how much most of the Venusians were understanding of what he was saying but one thing they certainly understood—the zit gun in his hand.