He lurched to his feet and stared into the faces of a Jovian detachment, the black-clad elite guard of the dictator himself. Martin Wilder the Great huddled in their midst. Colonel Roshevsky-Feldkamp was at their head, in charge of Jupiter's home defense, Ray thought wildly, and tried to stretch his arms higher.
"Ballantyne!" The Jovian officer glared at him for a long moment. "So you are responsible."
"I had nothing to do with it, so help me I didn't," protested Ray between the clattering of his teeth.
"You brought these savages in, you and your damned faster-than-light engine. If it weren't for your hostage value, I'd shoot you now. As it is, I'll wait till later. March!"
They went carefully down the glutted hall-street. The Centaurians had been picking up souvenirs from every shop and apartment they passed. "Don't think this will accomplish anything," said Wilder pompously. "You may have driven us from our capital, but we have already called for help from the other cities—from the whole Jovian System. The fleet is on its way."
So the amazons had taken Ganymede City. And now they'd be too busy looting to think about counterattacks from outside. Ray groaned.
"We have to get out of here, sir," said Roshevsky-Feldkamp. "We don't want you to be caught in the fighting."
"No, no, that would never do," said Wilder quickly.
"There is a military airlock this way, with spacesuits. We can get out on the surface."
"I will strike a new medal," chattered the dictator. "The Defense of the Homeland Medal."