"Meg," said Mr. X.
Gavin felt the girl's hand seize his shoulders in a grip of steel. She had come up behind him lightly as a cat. Her fingers dug into his arms and held him like a vise. Her buxomness, he realized, in dismay, must be solid muscle.
"Kill him," she advised X over Gavin's shoulder. "He's probably a spy for one of the other companies." She had a harsh metallic voice.
X looked undecided.
Gavin wrenched his shoulders. The girl merely tightened her grip until his biceps felt numb. She smelled strongly of arsilene, a heavy sweetish Martian perfume.
She said over his shoulder again, "Who else but one of their spies would refuse a million credits?"
The shot struck home. X made an expression of distaste and slipped his hand in the pocket of his jacket.
It was no time for gallantry. Gavin snapped back his head. His skull crushed into the girl's face. Her hands loosened. With a wrench, he jerked free and kicked the table in X's lap.