"Knowledge, boy, the acquiring of knowledge."
The green man made as if to get up. Trace shoved him back. The creature came away from the floor at him like an enraged panther, striking up with little skill but immense strength at his head and chest. Trace dodged through the perfunctory guard and belted him on the nose, then, as his struggles merely increased, let him have a left cross high on the cheek, just grazing the rim of the eye. The alien cringed and held up his hands in supplication.
"Lousy fighter," said Bill.
"If you think so, I'll time the two of you for a couple rounds," said Trace savagely. "He's scared of his eye being touched; it must be sensitive as hell. Besides, we've got two of those pistols of theirs now, and he's no fool."
"Allow go," said the man on the floor. "Not keep."
"First you talk," said Trace, trying to keep basic English. "How many of you are there?"
"How many? Ah," the thing said, giving a curious one-eyed frown. He had no hair on his head and only a bald ridge for an eyebrow. "How many indicating number?"
"That's right."
"Not knowing word for how many. More than you," he said, "more on voyage than you, and more more at home."
"Home? Where's home?"