Woller looked up then, and a sudden trace of consternation flashed into his eyes. It died away, but a doubt remained.
He stared intently at Nolan, then said: "Why?"
Nolan smiled easily. "A lot of reasons—all of them personal. Who are you?"
Woller stood up. "I own this ship," he said coldly. "I didn't ask you aboard. Now that you're here, you'll answer my question or get off."
The time for a showdown had arrived. Well, Nolan thought, it had to come some time. He was strangely relaxed.
He shrugged. "You've got a point there," he admitted. "Well—"
He frowned and raised his hand as though to scratch his head, changed the motion in mid-air. And with the speed of a hopped-up narcophene smoker, the thin-snouted pyro was in his fist, slowly traversing a lethal arc that covered both men.
His voice was taut as he spoke. "It's your ship, Woller, but I'm taking it over. Woller—Alan Woller—look at me. Do you know who I am?"
Woller stared deep into the icy eyes confronting him. The doubt flared again in his own. His jaw dropped slack. His brows lifted and he whispered, "Nolan!"
Nolan didn't bother to nod. He said grimly, "Your hands—hold them where they are. You, too, Vincennes. I've come a long way for this and I don't mind killing. You taught me that, Woller. A man's life is nothing. Mine was nothing to you, when it endangered the dirty little treacheries you were working."