Through his mind flashed another maxim from his old instructor; “Whenever possible, divert your opponent’s attention. Create confusion. Feint, maneuver!”
Hector rolled off the desk top and ran along the master control unit, pounding every switch in sight.
“TIRED OF BEING CALLED SHORTY?” A disgruntled young man, standing on tiptoes next to a gorgeous, statuesque redhead, appeared beside Odal. The Kerak major involuntarily stepped back.
•THE IRRESISTIBLE PERFUME,” a seductive blonde materialized before his eyes, speaking smokily.
“MODERN SCIENCE CAN CURE ANY DISEASE, BUT WHEN EMBARRASSING …” said a medic, radiating sincerity and concern.
Odal was surrounded by solid-looking, life-sized, tri-di advertising pitches.
“WHEN YOU’VE EATEN MORE THAN YOU SHOULD… .”
•THE NORMAL TENSIONS OF MODERN
UFE….”
“FOR THE ULTIMATE IN FEMININE….” Eyes goggling, Odal saw himself being pressed backward by a teenage dancer, an “average family” mother, a worried young husband, a nervous businessman, a miling teen couple, a crowd of surfers, a chorus of animated vegetables. Suddenly bellowing with rage, Odal dived through the pleading, cajoling, urgent figures and threw himself at the long control desk.
“You can’t hide from me!” he roared, and he started punching at the control switches, banging the desk panels with born fists.
“Who’s hiding?” Hector yelled from behind him.
Odal turned and swung heavily at the voice. Startled, he saw his fist whisk through the impalpable jaw of a lovely girl in a skimpy bathing suit. She smiled at him and continued selling. “… AND WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR SOMETHING REALLY REFRESHING….”