A pair of Martian sand-tigers shot out into the street ahead of me. They were frolicking like kittens, playing with something dark and tattered. Then they saw me and dropped it, and came sliding on their bellies, their six powerful legs sucking in the mud.
There was no place to go. I don't remember being particularly scared, but that wasn't because I was brave. It was sheer exhaustion. A guy can only take so much. Now I was just walking around, seeing and hearing, but not feeling anything inside. Like a guy that's coked to the ears, or punchy from a beating.
I picked up a double handful of mud and slung it in their snarling pusses, and threw my head back and yelled.
"Ha-a-y Rube!"
A door at my left opened three inches, daggering the rain with yellow light. A voice said,
"For gossakes
