"Hell, he was telling the truth," the leader finally said in disgust. "No trace of a wallet or anything that'd hold that kind of cash." He backhanded Jason, almost casually. "You've been one hell of a lot of trouble, Jason, for no return. Want to try convincing us we shouldn't kill you for it?" "You can't kill him!" Dana exclaimed, horrified. "He's-- You just can't!" She took a deep breath; these men would need more than her emotions to discourage them. "Jason Interstellar's Security people wouldn't quit till they found you, and they'd make sure you were punished." One of the two holding her fondled her roughly. "Maybe have some fun with the fem before we kill both of 'em, Ca--Boss?" Dana was too angry to be frightened; she twisted to give him a scornful look, then glared at the leader, who gave her a frightening smile before he pointed to two of his men. "You, you--knock him out, then tie him to a tree; he'll be found before he starves." Dana took comfort in the knowledge that he would be; the Torrance hunting party should find him the next day, before he even got really hungry. Then the designated ones did as they were told; Jason slumped under an expertly-applied baton to the base of his skull, then was secured to a small tree. Dana had time to wonder at the use of a baton--criminals didn't normally use that sort of weapon--before the leader approached her, holding another one. He looked at her consideringly, then nodded. "I've seen better, but you're not too bad. I like redheads, they tend to be spunky." He grabbed her jaw, forced her mouth up for a rough kiss. She took advantage of that; as soon as he was within reach, she bit him. He swore, backhanding her, then signaled the two holding her to let go. "Spunk's one thing, lady, but you've just bought yourself more hurt than you've ever had. Fight if you want to; that'll just make it more fun." Dana moved back, licking blood from a split lip as she dropped into an awkward protective crouch. She really should have paid more attention to the unarmed-combat lessons Chief Hanson had insisted she at least watch . . . but it was too late now, facing the leader's feral grin and twirling baton. Fear was a coppery taste in her mouth, and sweat trickled down her back under the enviro-suit. The leader could obviously tell he had an inexperienced opponent, because his grin became a laugh. Then he moved with smooth, deceptive swiftness, and before Dana could back away or defend herself, his baton lashed out, seeming to do no more than tap her forearms--until she tried to move them.