He gestured blandly. "She safe. Daughter of Peters. Tollgamo wants her not injured. He will like you too, I think perhaps. You have scientific skill of Earth science?"
I would be kept alive for the knowledge I might have. "Well, maybe," I said. "Where is Peters' daughter? I want to see her. Where are you taking us? To Venus?"
"You ask too much quick questions," he retorted. His grey knuckles rapped his mailed chest. "I am Rhool, second to Tollgamo. I talk with you some else time. Maybe you teach me more the English? Eh?"
"Where is Peters' daughter?" I insisted. I was on my feet, still dizzy; and as I staggered a little, I clutched Rhool's metal clothed arm. It angered, or perhaps startled him. With a sweeping gesture, incredibly powerful, his arm flung me aside. His guttural barking command brought the woman Garga with a pounce.
I have not mentioned that I am a bit under six feet in height; slim and dark. Not very powerful; but I have, my friends tell me, a temper somewhat flaring so that in a rough and tumble fight I usually can take care of myself. But the glare in Rhool's eyes warned me that this was a time when discretion certainly was better than valor. The woman Garga towered an inch or so over me; her fingers gripped my shoulders.
"So?" she muttered. "You think to cause trouble?"
I summoned a grim smile. "I do not. I want to be taken to Peters' daughter. Where is she?"
Rhool, back at his instrument table now, barked a command; and the metal-clad Gort woman shoved me. "You come with me. I take you."
To Nereid? I hoped so. Docilely I preceded Garga along a glowing humming little metal corridor of the spaceship. She said nothing more, but flung open a small metal door after unbarring its fastenings, shoved me in and banged it upon me.
I found myself in a small metal sleeping apartment. Brilliant starlight filtered in through its single bullseye pane. A figure was in the corner on a fabric couch.