"It's in a language you wouldn't—"
"Let him see it," a new voice cut in. "Translate it for him, Mr. Ransome."
t was a woman's voice, cold and contemptuous. Ransome looked up quickly, and at first he didn't recognize her. The gunner never took his eyes from the stack of kiroons on the table.
"Let him see how a man murders a woman to save his own neck."
"You're supposed to be dancing at Mytor's place," Ransome said. "That's your business; this is mine."
He closed his hand over the gunner's wrist as the man reached convulsively for the money, menaced now by the angry woman.
"Half now, the rest later." Ransome's eyes burned into the crewman's. The latter looked away. Ransome tightened his grip, and pain contorted the gunner's features.
"Look at me," Ransome said. "If you cross me you'll wish you could die by flogging."