III
Marah turned. His eyes had a greenish, feral glint like those of a lion on the kill. He said, "I'm sorry, little man."
Campbell was on his feet, now, and reasonably steady. "Think nothing of it," he said dourly. "A natural mistake." He looked at the hook and mopped the blood from his neck, and felt sick. He added, "The name's Black. Thomas Black."
"It wouldn't be Campbell?" asked the woman's voice. "Roy Campbell?"
He squinted into the light, not saying anything. The woman said, "You are Roy Campbell. The Spaceguard was here not long ago, hunting for you. They left your picture."
He shrugged. "All right. I'm Roy Campbell."
"That," said Marah softly, "helps a lot!" He could have meant it any way. His hook made a small, savage flash in the green light.
"There's trouble here on Romany. Civil war. Men are going to be killed before it's over—perhaps now. Where's your place in it?"
"How do I know? The Coalition is moving in on the Kraylens. I owe them something. So I came here for help. Help! Yeah."