His, too, wasn't quite the same voice it had been. It was even, clipped, used to commanding a crew that didn't enjoy being commanded.
"I've got Pat," I said, keeping my gun on her.
"Let's stick to relevancies, Holcomb. How much for the ship?"
He'd given himself away! I could have laughed.
"No, Thorsten, let's keep it where I want it—how much for Pat?"
There was a pause on the other transmitter. I was playing my cards right. Thorsten had me, and the ship. But I had his wife, and that was swinging the scales my way. Why should he offer to pay me, now? A bluff? No—he had a better one in the ships, with their launchers ready. Why should he be willing to dicker for the ship? Because she was in it, that was why. If I refused to give up, he could always blow me out of space, or take the ticklish chance of trying to disable the ship without wrecking the engines. But he wasn't going to do that. Pat was worth too much to him.
"Thorsten! You heard me—how much for your wife?"
He cursed me. His voice was a lot lower than it had been.
"I've got a gun on her, Thorsten."
Suddenly, he sighed. "All right, Holcomb. You win—but not as much as you'd think. I'll make a deal."