"I can feel the blood in your neck," Snyder gloated. "You're not clever, Logan. You're not strong. Your brother could fight."
The giant was master all the way. Mike could feel his face swell, lights dancing, as the sausage fingers tightened. Somewhere a foot found purchase. He lashed out with the other. The toe cut the edge of a small eye, momentarily relaxing the hold and he squirmed free. Chains crunched as Snyder lunged after him and was jerked back. He pulled himself to his feet, blaster in hand.
He lashed out with his foot, somehow fought free.
"Shoot," Snyder commanded him. "I tried to escape."
Instinct tightened Logan's finger on the trigger. Then he leaned against the hull and swore to the end of his strength while the giant laughed with crying eyes. The mimic imitated him with cracking little screeches.
At eighteen hours sunward he fed his prisoner. A stern locker opened into a compact kitchen and produced Earth meat and beans. He handed a plate and a dull spoon to Snyder, took one himself and sat on a stool. He wasn't hungry.
"You don't understand me, do you?" Snyder said wistfully.