"You—Are you Larkin?"
"Yes." He advanced with hand outstretched. "Gentlemen, it is certainly a privilege to see you. Won't you come in?" He gestured toward the temple wing that served as his store.
"Naw!" There was no effort at answering politeness in the harsh voice. "We come to get you. Come on with us."
"Come to get me?"
"Yeah. The boss wants you. Mr. Docker."
"I don't believe I know a Mr. Docker. What does he want?"
"To see you. Come along."
Larkin found himself marching ahead of the three men toward the ship that lay at the edge of the city. No Martian made a move to interfere. No Martians were on the streets, none were visible. He did not doubt that they watched him from the windows of the houses along the streets, but they made no effort to inquire what was happening.
What could they do, even if they had wanted to help him? To the best of his knowledge, the only weapons they had were knives.
What were knives against Kell guns? Why should the Martians help him, an alien among them?