"Don't worry, Thigpen. You can get her out."
Igor Cheng speaking, this time.
Ross turned sharply.
The scar-faced, black-browed smuggler-slaver-outlaw stood just beyond the barred door, lips peeled back in a death's head grin. His thumbs were hooked in his broad belt, and his expression was that of a man well-satisfied with his world.
Ross' face went wooden.
"You ready to talk?" Cheng prodded.
"Would I be here if I wasn't?"
"Well, where's that formula? Let's see it!" Cheng thrust a hairy hand between the bars.
Ross shrugged. "Did you think I'd be fool enough to bring it with me?"
"Then what—?"