“Quite all right, you old toad,” Robert answered pleasantly in English.
“What?”
“I said, ‘Quite comfortable, old chap,’” said Robert, this time in the Martian tongue, interestedly surveying a discolored lump on his captor’s right jaw where he had landed his fist that morning.
The officer’s face went dark with passion. He raised his cane as if to strike Robert. Before he could do so, however, Robert jerked up his stool to protect himself. Simultaneously the two guards sprang forward to protect their superior. But the latter’s courage failed him at the menace of the stool and he let his hand with the cane fall to his side. He contented himself for the time with a murderous look at Robert, who put the chair down, but remained standing for greater freedom of action. The guards fell back, visibly relieved.
“You shall be handled later, sir,” barked the officer. “Meanwhile, do you know the fate in store for your friends?”
“The privilege of beating hell out of your rotten army,” Robert shot back at him. He could have sworn that he saw a brief flicker of amusement in one of the other officer’s eyes as he said this.
Once more the angry officer seemed on the verge of striking Robert, but his eyes fastened upon the stool and he changed his mind. He controlled himself with an effort.
“Another day and you will change your song,” he managed to sputter. “Until then you will have the ‘privilege’ of reflecting here in comfort, while a suitable punishment is devised to repay you for your destruction of our men!”
With that he turned and stamped out of the tent, followed by the other officers.
The two guards viewed Robert with evident awe after this interview. Clearly they were unused to hearing their high officers abused so roundly and carelessly. Perhaps they were saying to themselves something to the effect that this Earth-being must be some guy.