"I don't like to kill—no more than your people wanted to kill Van Gundy. But, like you, I will if I have to."
It seemed strange to Captain Torkel to see a snarl on Taaleeb's handsome features.
"You know everything," the Sirian muttered. "Your mind has guessed how we think and what we have done. Yet you are a fool. You could have had all I promised you—wine, food, happy nights!"
"But the others—the ones who stoned the rocket—would they have let you keep that promise?"
Taaleeb digested the question for a moment. "Perhaps not. And perhaps those others were wiser than Taaleeb. I see now that we should have killed you. I am sorry we did not—but perhaps even now it is not too late." His eyes were like dark, hot fires.
They walked across the meadow. The darkness was deepening, crawling like a hand over Van Gundy's grave.
"The pistol will be in my pocket," Captain Torkel cautioned his captives, "but it will be ready."
The Sirians nodded.
"And one more thing. Smile."
The Sirians smiled.