Lors reached into Danson’s shirt pocket, found the pack of cigarettes and filched one. Nick touched a match to it and Lors dragged the smoke into his lungs. He could see the Terran regarding [p130] him suspiciously.
“What’s the play, Firstspacer?” Danson asked.
“You’re dead, Nick,” Lors said softly, “if you stay on this ship. That can be either literally, or figuratively speaking, I don’t know. It all depends on Zark’s plans for you.”
Nick snorted, “Hell, Lors, it can’t be any worse than whatever Imry had cooked up for me.”
“It’ll be better. That I can assure you. Zark is a just man, but he hasn’t much feeling for Terrans...”
“Yeah, I know. The “god” theory.”
Lors nodded.
“Well, look, Firstspacer,” Danson said, snubbing out his cigarette. “Your concern for my welfare touches me deeply, but I don’t get it. How come?”
Lors grinned. “I’ve been asking myself that same question, and while I can get answers that make sense to me, I sincerely doubt if they’d make sense to you.
“Why don’t we just say I like you.”