CHAPTER XIII
The war rockets from Avis' home system of Aurelia stretched through space like a thin, red string. There were more than a hundred there, Stan thought, but he knew without asking that they were hopelessly outnumbered by the Thuscan ships.
The small rocket maneuvered over the lead ship—a hatch slid back—and the rocket settled slowly through the opening.
A moment later and Stan was in the main cabin, facing half a dozen tired looking men wearing the same dull blue uniform as the man on the screen. They were supposed to be fighting men, Stan thought, but they didn't look the part.
They looked more like frightened civilians who had been drafted.
The man Stan had seen on the screen introduced himself as Elal and smiled wryly.
"We're not the professionals you've associated with until lately, Martin. Fighting is something new for us. It will be a while before we achieve the hardened look of the warrior race."
His voice was soft and tired. The voice of a man who had lost his spirit, who had ceased to hope.
"What's the situation?" Stan asked.
Elal shrugged. "You should have been able to size it up quickly. We are outnumbered—about ten to one, I would say. We had been hoping until the last minute that perhaps Avis would succeed, that she would be able to prevent the subversion of the planet."