Some of the men whistled at Anana and called out invitations, or wishes, in various obscene terms. Anana did not understand the words but she understood the tones and the gestures and grins that went with them. She scowled and made a gesture peculiar to the Lords. Despite their unfamiliarity with it, the cyclists understood. One almost fell off his cycle laughing. Others, however, bared their teeth in half-grins, half-snarls.
Kickaha stopped and faced them. They pulled up around the pair in an enfolding crescent and turned off their motors.
“OK,” Kickaha said. “What do you want?”
A big-paunched, thick-necked youth with thick coarse black hair spilling out of the V of his shirt and wearing a goatee and an Afrika Korps hat, spoke up. “Well, now, Red, if we was Satan’s Slaves, we’d want you. But we ain’t fags, so we’ll take your la belle dame con, voila.”
“Man, that chick is the most!” said a tall skinny boy with acne scars, big Adam’s apple, and a gold ring in a pierced ear. His long lank black hair hung down past his shoulders and fell over his eyes.
“The grooviest!” a bushy-bearded gap-toothed scar-faced man said.
Kickaha knew when to keep silent and when to talk, but he sometimes had a hard time doing what he knew was best. He had no time or inclination for brawls now; his business was serious and important. In fact, it was vital. If the Beller got loose and adapted to Earth well enough to make other bells, he and his kind would literally take over Earth. The Beller was no science-fiction monster; he existed, and if he were not killed, goodbye Earth! Or goodbye mankind! The bodies would survive but the brains would be emptied and alien minds would fill them!
It was unfortunate that salvation could not discriminate. If others were saved, then these would be too.
At the moment, it looked as if there could be some doubt about Kickaha being able to save even himself, let alone the world. The eight had left their cycles and were approaching with various weapons. Three had long chains; two, iron pipes; one, a switchblade knife; one, brass knuckles; another, an ice pick.
“I suppose you think you’re going to attack her in broad daylight and with the cops so close?” he said.
The youth with the Afrika Korps cap said, “Man, we wouldn’t bother you, ordinarily. But when I saw that chick, it was too much! What a doll! I ain’t never seen a chick could wipe her. Too much! We gotta have her! You dig?”
Kickaha did not understand what this last meant but it did not matter. They were brutal men who meant to have what they wanted. “You better be prepared to die,” Kickaha said.
They looked surprised. The Afrika Korps youth said, “You got a lotta class, Red, I’ll give you that. Listen, we could stomp the guts outta you and enjoy it, really dig it, but I admire your style, friend. Let us have the chick, and we return her in an hour or so.”
Then Afrika Korps grinned and said, ” ‘Course, she may not be in the same condition she is now, but what the hell! Nobody’s perfect!”
Kickaha spoke to Anana in the language of the Lords.
“If we get a chance, we’ll make off on one of these cycles. It’ll get us to Los Angeles.”
“Hey, what kinda gook talk is that?” Afrika Korps said. He gestured at the men with the chains, who, grinning, stepped in front of the others. They drew their arms back to lash out with the chains and Kickaha and Anana sprayed the beams from their rings, which were set at “stun” power. The three dropped their chains, grabbed their middles, and bent over. The rays caught them on the tops of their heads then, and they fell forward. Their faces were red with suddenly broken blood vessels. When they recovered, they would be dizzy and sick for days, and their stomachs would be sore and red with ruptured veins and arteries.
The others became motionless and went white with shock. Kickaha snatched the knife out of his sheath and threw it at the shoulder of Afrika Korps. Afrika Korps screamed and dropped the ice pick. Anana knocked him out with her ray; Kickaha sprayed the remaining men.