Pendleton's voice cracked out sharply. "Let him alone, Birek! You men, down the ladder! They're going for the shockers."
MacVickers was aware of movement overhead, beyond the glass roof. Men began to drop slowly, reluctantly, down the ladder. There was sweat on Pendleton's forehead and Loris' face was as grey as his eyes.
Birek said hoarsely, "Down! Grovel! Then you can go."
"No." The ladder was beyond Birek. There was no way past him.
Loris said, in a swift harsh whisper, "Get down, MacVickers. For God's sake get down, and then come on!"
MacVickers shook his head stubbornly. The giant smiled. There was something horribly wrong about that smile. It was the smile of a man in agony when he feels the anaesthetic taking hold. Peaceful, and happy.
He struck out, startlingly fast for such a big man. MacVickers shrank aside. The fist grazed past his head, tearing his ear. He crouched and went in, trying for a fast body-blow and a sidestep.
He'd forgotten the glimmering sheathe. His fist struck Birek on the mark, and it was like striking glass that didn't shatter. The pain shot up his arm, numbing, slowing, sickening. Blood spattered out from his knuckles.
Birek's right swept in, across the side of his head.
MacVickers went down, on his right side. Birek put a foot in the small of his back. "Down," he said. "Grovel."