_Lovely_, Marten thought, as the bright light cast fierce illumination in the giant room. An instant after the burner went into action, so did Marten. He drew his Spauldings and fired. One--two--three--four-- Four quick, silent spurts of flame, and four of the aliens lay dead, charred through by the noiseless, almost invisible energy of the Spauldings. The unfortunate aliens had had no way of knowing where it had come from, that death that had hit four of their number in as many seconds. The burst of light from the semi-portable burner had blanketed every trace of the faint radiation from Marten's pistols. Huddling low, Marten ran for a nearby girder, taking advantage of the fact that the aliens' attentions were still directed toward the airlock of his ship. Naturally, they wouldn't notice a figure running from the rear. He took a position behind the girder and, aiming carefully, picked off four more of the aliens. He tried to put his shot just back of the oversized, toad-like heads of the Flesso, though it didn't matter much where the beam landed. The result was the same. The survivors were conferring hissingly and evincing great confusion. Apparently they still thought the fire was coming from somewhere within the ship, but they were unable to figure out where. There were eight of them left. Marten picked off one of them with his ninth charge, then held fire. He had one charge left, and then there would be a thirty-second delay while the Spaulding's recharged themselves. He didn't want to leave himself defenseless even for thirty seconds. He counted off. Ten, fifteen, twenty--one gun was charged. He raised it, readied to fire, when he heard a sudden tell-tale hiss from behind him. He whirled, but it was too late. A searing beam of energy cracked into him, hurling him backward. He clung to consciousness an instant, then blacked out as the beam shorted his neural circuits. * * * * * When he awoke, Marten opened his eyes, blinked, closed them again. "Ugh," he said. He felt a savage poke in the stomach. "_Open your eyes!_" "Do I have to?" "_Open them!_" With visible reluctance, he opened his lids and stared into the bulging, lidless eyes of none other than Ghuvekenkh-Nathor himself. The Flesso leader was even uglier than usual. "Very clever, Earthman," he said coldly. "For that little trick, you'll die--slowly. After we have extracted all the information we need from you, that is." "Trick?" asked Marten blankly. "Yes. Getting out of the ship and shooting down my men." "Dear me," Marten said innocently. "I thought that was the smart thing to do, in view of your hostile attitude. I didn't realize you'd be so stuffy about it, but I'm sorry that you're so stupid you--" "_Silence!_" A heavy, clawed hand smashed across his face, slamming his head to one side. The enraged alien leader turned to a henchman at his side. "Get the brainprobe, Captain Yknor." "At once, Commander."