"Now, hold on a moment, Brandy. Let me finish this. I been thinking, maybe the Martians'd like to own him, too. Maybe they'd like to be around when he starts talking."
Brandon made a fist. "You heard what I said."
Logan put his hand behind him. "I just want to talk peaceable with you, Brandy. I don't want trouble. But all we'll get for finding this stiff is a kiss on the cheek and a medal on the chest. Hell!"
Brandon was going to hit him hard, before he saw the gun in Logan's fingers, whipped out and pointing.
"Take a look at this, Brandy, and don't lose your supper."
In spite of himself, Brandon quailed. It was almost an involuntary action. His whole body plunged back, aching, pulling with it.
"Now, let's march up to the radio room. I got a little calling to do. Get on with you. Hup!"
In the radio-room, Logan touched studs, raised a mike to his lips and said:
"Beam to Mars. Beam to Mars. Morgue Ship of Earth calling. Mars Beam answer."
After an interval, Mars gave answer. Logan said: