"Well," sighed Sukune, "this may seem a little crude, my friend, but it's necessary. Earth needs the information—and, if you'll remember, you did attack an unarmed ship."
Kneeling, he laid the tips of his fingers on the prisoner's flanks. It seemed no more than the lightest touch, yet the Martian shrieked out as if in an ecstasy of pain.
"You'll talk?" prompted the torturer.
"I'll talk! I'll talk!"
"A little spot of jiu-jitsu," Sukune said to his friends, rising. "It is strange how much the Martian nerve centers resemble the Terrestrial in position and response to stimuli. Let him up again."
The Martian dropped weakly on a seat, the defiance gone out of him. Sukune produced a metal flask and unscrewed the stopper.
"Here, drink this," he told the captive. "It's Terrestrial wine, it'll strengthen you. There, feel better? All right, tell us where you came from."
The Martian licked his lips with his dark, pointed tongue. "You guessed it at once," he said. "I'm from the asteroid. I was on a lone scout, like you; got too far away from home and ran out of fuel. I thought I'd capture you and fill my tanks."
"Nonsense!" said Sukune. "That asteroid isn't as large as lots of mountains on Earth. If a body of Martians had dwellings and fortifications on it, our astronomers would have made them out. You don't mean to tell us that you've been living on it."
The captive frowned and hesitated until he saw Sukune's wiry fingers crook suggestively. Then he made haste to reply.