Now, off to one side, Pike Mawson spoke again: "Good work, gentlemen, though a trifle close. If that beam Cheng triggered had sliced three inches lower, you'd have had to find a new employer."
Mawson moved a dial on his chair's control-plate. The grav-seat swept round in a smooth spiral and set down on the floor in front of Ross.
"Mr. Ross, I believe?" he murmured, eyes asparkle. His face was set in a peculiar way that made him appear on the verge of smiling.
Ross' features stayed wooden. "My name's Thigpen."
"It is?" The adjudicator chuckled, gestured. "Corrack, is this our old friend Tornelescu's helper, Lewis Thigpen?"
A snort from the man with the blaster. "Not even in the dark, he ain't Thigpen."
"You see, Ross?" Mawson spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "Corrack grew up in the same colony with Thigpen. He knows him intimately—drank kabat with him less than an Earth week ago, as a matter of fact. So there's really no point to your trying to continue the imposture."
Ross shrugged, not speaking.
Mawson said, "On the other side of it, I've succeeded in learning your real identity, though it cost me no small expense: you're Stewart Ross, and you hold the rank of special agent with Security. You're twenty-eight years old. You came from Earth, originally. Your most recent assignment was breaking up a theol ring on Titan. You've also dealt with the starak traffic, and with kabatol derivatives in the Uranian satellite system. Your luck has been so spectacular as to indicate real ability, and in consequence your superiors—even including the famous Commandant Padora—have marked you for special attention and advancement."
A pause. Mawson's fingers drummed on his chair-arm. "That's why I'm here, Ross: because I've learned your identity; because I know the kind of man you are."