“I want to see the Terran, spacer,” Lors said briskly.
The spacer nodded and opened the door. Lors stepped inside and listened to the lock click into place behind him.
Nolan Brice was seated on the edge of the bed staring at the wall, but Lors did not believe that he was in a state of shock. He had the knotted jaws of a man who is firmly determined to betray nothing to his captors. He sat there with his fingers laced together, hanging between his knees, his clothing rumpled and hanging loose from his broad frame.
“Nolan?”
Brice swung his eyes to the Firstspacer, the muscles of his jaws working. “I’ll kill you,” he said, with a horrible softness in his voice.
“Nolan. Listen, I’m here to help you.”
“You’ve done a lot of helping, spaceman. I know what you want. Earth.”
“Don’t be silly. I want to help you and Danson to get back home...”
“I don’t need you!”
“Shut up and listen. I’m risking my neck coming in here to help you, so you damned well better follow orders. In a minute I’m going to call that guard in here, and we’re going to borrow his uniform. Then we’ll head for a scout ship and get [p139] you to hell back to Terra. Will that suit you?”