Now Krobis was turning. He spoke to a sergeant: "Get a squad ready. They die in five minutes."
"'They'—?" Boone went rigid. "What do you mean, 'they'? I'm the one who's condemned, not Eileen and Lor!"
"Is that so?" Krobis' sharp-featured face was like granite. "You were in this together."
Fury rocked Boone. "You're afraid, Krobis; that's the answer—afraid that this whole dirty business will backfire—"
"Is that quite all?" Krobis' eyes, his voice, had never been colder. "If so"—this to the guard—"sergeant, you may proceed with the execution!"
Sweat chilled Boone. "Wait...." In spite of himself, all at once he was pleading. "Kill us both, then—Eileen and me. But not Lor, there. He's a mutant—"
"A mutant—?"
"Yes. The Helgae, those structures we process—they're living, not dead. They sent him to tell us, to give us their knowledge—"
"Their knowledge? What knowledge?" Of a sudden Krobis' black eyes were gleaming and wary.
Boone sucked in a breath. "How much would the Cartel give to learn mekronal's structure—the true chemistry of it?"