"Out of the frying pan into the fire," he thought grimly. He glanced back toward the house, although the Arabs couldn't possibly come through the room until they'd procured a fan and blown the fumes clear.
An ISP patrol boat was gliding slowly up the street behind him. It was manned by two men and was traveling just above the surface traffic. A shallow, heavily armed and armored craft, it reminded Vickers of a giant ray as it floated lazily through the air.
He jumped to the edge of the pavement, waved the patrol boat down frantically.
It gave a low moan on its siren, swung in to the curb. The door opened.
The two men inside wore uniforms—smart blue breeches and blouses trimmed in gold with the ISP insignia—three interlocking worlds representing Earth, Venus and Mars—emblazoned on their shoulders. They were both young and clean cut. Only their eyes looked old and hard.
"What's the trouble?" the officer nearest Vickers asked shortly.
"I saw him!" Vickers sounded excited. "I saw him!"
"Saw who?"
"The mutant!"
The ISP agents exchanged glances. At that instant Vickers hit the one on the outside in the temple. He hit him with the handle of the atomic knife. The man slumped forward, bumped his head against the slanting windshield. Vickers was already sliding in beside him.