"Not hamburger," rasped O'Day, withdrawing reluctantly, "just a reasonable facsimile thereof. He's the louse who said he wouldn't mind making a play for Penny himself!"
Gary said, "Never mind that now. Somebody's going to make worse than a play for Penny if she and Nora are ever taken before Borisu. You know what that means, don't you?"
Lark nodded grimly. "Taps for the bunch of us. He's the one person in Khundru who could recognize any of us beneath our disguises. And by the time the gals get tidied up—Well, what'll we do?"
Gary said, "I've got an idea. You're about that guy's build—" He nodded toward the prostrate figure. "Scramble into his uniform, quick. Before somebody happens along this way. And while you're dressing, I'll roll him into your rags."
"O.Q."
The shift was made. Finally a "slave" lay prone in the middle of the corridor floor, and a handsome young kraedar of the Magogean guard towered above him.
"O.Q.," repeated Lark then. "What next, director?"
"You must have something on you," figured Gary, "with which to call help. Find it."
Lark pawed the unfamiliar paraphernalia with which his uniform was draped, finally discovered a small whistle. He looked at it distastefully. "You mean I have to put this in my mouth and blow it?"
"Yes. Go ahead."