"Come on back to our cabin and we'll talk this over, pal."
The redhead squeaked and shrank aside. A meaty hand closed on Ray's arm and dragged him half off his feet. Dyann bristled, one hand clapped to her sword. "Are these men annoyin' you, Ray?" she asked.
"No, we just want a quiet little private talk with our friend," said one of them. "Just come along easy, Ballantyne."
"Dyann, I think they are annoying me," said the engineer, the words rattling in a suddenly dry and tightened throat.
"Oh, vell, in that case—" She smiled, reached out, and grabbed a collar.
There was a minor explosion. The man catapulted into the air, hit the ceiling, caromed off a wall, and bounced on the floor. Sheer reflex sent knives flying into the hands of the other two.
"Ormun is good!" shouted Dyann joyously. She gave the nearest gambler a fistful of knuckles, tossed him into the air, clutched his ankles as he came down, and whirled him against the wall.
The third was stabbing at her back. Blindly, Ray grabbed his arm and pulled him away. He snarled and lunged at the engineer, who tumbled backward clutching after the nearest weapon. It happened to be Colonel Roshevsky-Feldkamp's massive briefcase. He grabbed it free and brought it down on the gambler's head. It hit with a dull thwack and the fellow lurched. Ray hit him again. The briefcase burst open and papers snowed through the air. Then Dyann got the enemy from behind and proceeded to tie him in knots.
The redhead had already departed, screaming. Ray sank to one shaky knee and looked up into the colonel's livid face.
"I'm terribly sorry, sir," he gasped. "Here, let me help—"