The slaver's two aides didn't even argue about it.
The switch finished and a cap donned to hide his gashed scalp, Ross eyed his captives coldly. "How many aboard the cruiser?"
A moment of sullen hesitation. Then: "Just two—the girl, and one of us to keep track of her."
"For your sake, I hope you're not lying." Ross' words held a flat, deadly ring. "Now get this straight: you've finally captured me. But you had to knock me out to do it, so you're carrying me back to the ship." And then, to the nearest of the prisoners: "You! Put that on your hand-amp. Tell the woman about it, strong enough for her to believe it."
Eyes still on Ross' blaster, the man obeyed.
Ross smiled thinly. "Let's go."
Sullenly, his two prisoners heaved up their green-tunicked, still-unconscious chief between them and, shuffling and stumbling, carried him out of the outcrop's rocky maze to the dusty, windswept spread of sandy waste beyond. Ross moved with them, but with face averted. He maneuvered, too, to keep the others between him and the cruiser.
Then, at last, they were climbing the dune on which the ship stood ramped ... angling up the final slope and pausing beneath the shining metal hull, out of view of the open hatchway above.
Ross said, "Lie down, you two!"
"Lie down—?" Panic flared in the eyes of the man nearest him. "So you can blast us, you mean? No—"