CHAPTER XIX
Deadlock
"Borisu!"
There is a limit to which human impassivity can be constrained. Gary Lane had now surpassed his ability to play the ignoramus. The name burst from his lips with explosive force. "Borisu!"
O'Day echoed the cry. "Borisu! But my God, Gary, that means—"
In his dismay Lark spoke in English. Their captor had been startled enough at Gary's cry, but upon hearing speech in a foreign tongue from the lips of a supposedly uncultured slave, his eyes opened wide in astonishment. He demanded, "What is this? Whence came you twain that you speak a language I do not know?"
And his hand reached for the ray gun at his belt. But it never got there. For Lark O'Day called signals in a language the Magogean could never possibly understand. He cried sharply:
"All right, Gary, punt formation.... One, two ... Hep!"
And simultaneously the two Earthmen converged on their guard, one high, one low. Gary, taking his cue from Lark's quarterbacking, made no effort to wrest the weapon from the Magogean's grasp, but kicked straight and true at the young lieutenant's wrist. The gun flew high, and by the time it clattered to the paving Lark had smashed the young kraedar to the ground and battered him into unconscious submission.
Gary tugged at his friend's shoulder. "O.Q., Lark, that'll do. You don't have to pound him into hamburger."