"Get off him," someone growled.
A knee thudded against his back, sending showers of sparks before his eyes. "Get up!"
He was dragged to his feet. Three powerful-looking Martian policemen stood over him, fingering heavy wooden truncheons ominously.
"What's the trouble here?" one of them asked. He was a blueskin nearly seven feet tall. He must have weighed three hundred pounds, and it was all muscle.
"Someone's trying to swindle me—" Kendall began.
"Let him speak, buddy. He works here."
"This man," the clerk said, "is a former employee of Space Service. He was just notified of his discharge, and for some reason decided to take it out personally on me."
"That so? Okay, friend. Come on with us."
"No," Kendall snapped. He bolted past the big blueskin and started wildly for the door—but a hand caught him. He was dragged back. An open palm, calloused and horny, crashed into his face. Then another. Then a fist knocked the air out of his stomach. He doubled up.
"Get away from me," he muttered, lashing out with fists and feet. The three blueskins laughed harshly and closed in. Their blows descended one after another. Kendall spun dizzily, bellowing in anger and pain, and started to topple.