"The devil he did. I'd kill that murdering bastard too, if I could get my hands on him." The man squirmed and sobbed for breath. "Anyway, why would Vannevan want to kill you? You're going to help him."
"How do you know?" asked Birrel, his eyes narrowing in the dark.
"The whole underground knows it. You're helping him get fissionables from your world. Why do you think I'm here? To keep you from doing it!"
He erupted into sudden action, catching Birrel off guard as he grappled with this new concept of an Irrian underground opposed to Vannevan. It wasn't too surprising, remembering those sullen faces in the streets. But then they were rolling over, clawing and pounding at each other. Now, though, Birrel's movements were chiefly defensive.
"Hold it," he panted. "Hold it! I've got an idea that we're on the same side."
The man laughed hoarsely and went on hunting for his throat.
"All right," said Birrel. "We'll play it your way."
He gave the man a slashing blow with the edge of his hand, guessing at the distance. It hit a little low on the shoulder, but it jarred him enough to slow him down. Birrel moved quickly. In a second he had his forearm under the man's chin, in a strangle-hold. He applied pressure, and the man became quiet.
He let up. "Now will you listen?"
The man whispered, "Yes."