"Or else he wants the whole armada assembled," added Daley.
"I could use a drink," blurted Kinkare. "You got anything in this place, Sparks?"
"Gin on the shelf," said the radioman, pointing.
Kinkare picked up the bottle. "You always leave the cap off?"
"No! Somebody's been at it."
"Where is he?" asked Pink in a whisper.
"What, Captain?" Kinkare stopped the bottle halfway to his lips.
"Where the devil is the brute? We combed the place. He can't have got through the mutiny gates. He can't have slipped past our chain. Where the hell is he?"
"Maybe disguised as one of us," said Daley slowly. "He isn't a Martian, but he imitated one to the last pore. Why couldn't he imitate us?"
"Well, I'm me," said Kinkare, and put the bottle to his mouth. Then he dropped it, screeching. Pinkham stared at him and saw his upper lip turned violent, hideous scarlet. Blood began to drip to the rug. The skin and flesh of his lip had dissolved as though sprayed with acid.