"Well! So it's out in the open at last!" Pig-eyes glittering, thick lips twisted in an ugly grin, Pfaff moved in even closer. "You've got a good idea there, too—that business of taking all this to the captain. We'll do it. And then, after that, we'll carry it another step, to a friend of mine. You may have heard of him. His name's Thorburg Jessup."
"Thorburg Jessup—!" The lieutenant's nostrils flared. His eyes distended.
Then, of a sudden, the angry color was draining from his face. Uncertainly, he fell back a step. "Now wait a minute, Pfaff—"
It was as if the other hadn't even heard him. "Did you think you were going to get away with it, lieutenant? Did you really?" The Security rep exploded in a roar of contemptuous, scorn-ringing laughter. "Let me tell you something, mister. The blocked-promotion stations are full of brass-braided jackasses who thought they could lock horns with Security reps. Because the minute an officer talks back or pokes his nose into Security business, the rep calls Jessup—and that's the end of the trouble and the officer."
For a long, taut moment, then, the silence echoed; a leaden silence, heavy with tension.
"Well, lieutenant?" Pfaff cocked his head. "Which is it going to be? Do you shut up—or do I call Thorburg Jessup?"
The spaceship officer seemed to stop breathing. Then, abruptly, he pivoted and, wordless, stalked from the room.
Not speaking, Pfaff turned his cold, unblinking stare upon the second officer.
The man's gaze faltered; fell. He followed his fellow from the chamber.