Instantly, the beam that pinned Ross broadened. With a faint whish, a grav-seat dropped from the night to a landing close beside him. Flipping a switch, its occupant held out a hand. "I'm Pike Mawson, sir. Adjudicator for this satellite. Forgive me for not rising, but a blaster-bolt some years ago made that a painful and rather involved process for me."
Ross ignored the extended hand. "I'm Lewis Thigpen."
"Thigpen!" Pike Mawson appeared almost to choke on the name. "No wonder you're glaring holes in me! I only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive an old man's folly!"
Ross' jaw sagged. He stared helplessly at the pale cripple in the grav-seat.
Mawson said, "This is a long story, Mr. Thigpen, and it does me a deal of discredit. But under the circumstances I have no choice but to tell it." A pause, while he shifted position in the flying chair. "You see, I've already heard from Cheng via your carrier com-set, even though I didn't expect you to land here quite this soon. He's told me what happened, there on Venus."
Ross said nothing.
"Believe me, Mr. Thigpen, piracy was the last thing in my mind when I sent Cheng out to try to find you. But some over-direct individuals misconstrue orders to their own tastes ever so easily."
"Apparently." Ross bit the word off.
But here, it seemed, all sarcasm was wasted. The adjudicator went on as if no word had been spoken: