"My name's Frenchy Logrieux!" spoke the black image. "We're up ahead of you, some fifty space-ships, and every one a battler. The police won't dare come up to us, so just head your space-flyer into our middle, Doc. Look here, Doc, remember these!" Great hamlike hands were thrust before the televisor screen. Scarred and misshapen, the flesh had obviously been grafted back to the tendons.
"Venus Colony!" exclaimed Rufus Thallin amazedly. "And the leprous fang-weeds. Now I remember you, Frenchy."
"Sure you do," grinned the slit of a mouth. "And I ain't never forgot a young doc by the name of Thallin. When I hears the police broadcast, giving out that you'd kidnapped ye a wench and made off wid her, I says, now he's after yer own heart, Frenchy. I got a bit of sparkle for romance in me blood, and here's a good half hundred stout space-ships flyin' the skull and crossbones that'll see you through, Doc, till high hell freezes over."
"Okay," returned Rufus Thallin. "I'll make a run for you. Give me your position, and I'll split right through."
He sighted the cluster of dark hulks against a darker background of space, but he also sighted the police craft, moving near again and preparing to fire out their magnetic hooks. Pushing a starboard jet-throttle down, Rufus corrected his angle of flight, losing a precious bit of momentum as he did so, heading his space-flyer straight for the pirate craft.
The space police were drifting away in the rear. Temporarily, their pursuit would be ended. It was impossible that they had not noticed the large flotilla of piratical space-ships ahead. To have tried to break through would have been sheer folly.
The black spindular hulls held a rough circle formation. Rufus aimed the prow of his spacer through them and flashed beyond. Ahead of them was the dull grayness of open space.
He was hardly aware that the furtive image of Frenchy Logrieux was still on an upper panel, and that the keen piercing eyes were flashing rapidly over the interior, coming to rest at last on the motionless shape of Alyce Marshall.
"Right nice little space-flyer ye got there, Doc," chuckled the space buccaneer. "Care to join up with a bunch of me hearties?"
"No thanks, Frenchy," answered Rufus Thallin, waving farewell. "This makes us even."