Instead, there was laughter ... ghoulish, obscene laughter, laughter Haral had heard before.
A chill shook the blue man.
He wished he could be sure it was only his wound.
Again the laugh echoed; again. It came from the staircase, swelling louder and louder with each passing second.
And then, there were more Pervods, more Thorians, more Malyas and Martians and mutants. There, too, was Gar Sark's famed Uranian riding-chair sweeping into view on its anti-gravitational direction beam.
There was Sark.
He leered at Haral. Never had the menace stood out in his fat face more sharply.
"Burn you down—?" He repeated the blue man's words as if he liked their flavor. "No, no, you starbo. I'd not do that. Not now; not ever. It's far too quick a way for you to die."
"You'll do your worst, so do as you like." Haral forced himself to shrug despite the pain.
Sark smirked. "Of course. But first there's another task we must attend."