Stoneface waved a command, and in a moment we were rubbing the circulation back into our wrists. Betty wasn't looking at me.
"Here's my proposition," I said. "I'll trade you the slug for the girl. You give her a suit with full tanks and rations and turn her loose now. That will give her enough head start so you won't be able to find her. Then in the morning I'll show you where this slug is, and as soon as you get it you take off and we'll all be happy. That saves you a six months' wait and a fight with the Patrol."
"Tom!" Betty broke out. "You're not going to let these apes get away!"
"Sorry, Betty. It's the only way."
"Oh, you—!" She stamped her foot. She was crying. I couldn't blame her for being mad. She was not the kind to stop fighting anywhere this side of the last ditch. Well, for me it was the last ditch when he put his hand on her.
"Can the chatter, you two," Stony gritted. "Look, how do I even know you got a slug?"
"You don't," I agreed. "That's the chance you take."
"Yeah. And you know the chance you're taking if you don't produce?"
"I can imagine," I assured him.
"Okay," he decided. "I'll play. But I'm warning you, chum, if you're trying to run a bluff—you'll be sorry!" He turned to Betty. "Come on, babe, climb into your rubber pants and scram!"