"No thanks to you, ugly-face!" Marten returned. "I'm hungry, though. Am I going to stay for dinner, or can I leave now?"
Earth and Fless had long been in communication with each other; the war had lasted for nearly five years, ever since the first treacherous Flesso sneak attack on a Terran outpost. The beings from the planet Fless were the coldest, most dangerous aliens Earth had yet encountered in its expansion to the stars.
During the war, neither side had succeeded in capturing one of the other's men alive. The ravening energies of a billion-cycle space gun tore a ship completely apart, leaving no survivors. But now Marten had been captured—and he was determined to make the most of it.
"Keep your tongue!" the toad-faced Fless snarled. "Do you know who I am?"
"Santa Claus? Uncle Sam? The Wicked Witch of the North?"
The alien's face radiated hatred. "I am Ghuvekenkh-Nathor!"
Marten whistled. Ghuvek, eh? He had really stumbled into a good one, then. Ghuvek was the leader of the Flesso legions!
"Hello, Ghuvek. The pleasure is all mine. Do I have to keep looking at your face?"
"You will surrender or die," Ghuvek said, ignoring the barb.
Marten chuckled. "Okay. Come and get me, ugly!" He reached out and snapped off the communicator decisively.