Mister Mullin shouted, "Speak when you're spoken to!"
Priscilla Cameron suddenly smiled. "Why not?" she asked him, silencing the apoplectic mate with a wave.
"I'll damn well see to it that I'm not!"
Priscilla continued to regard him with delighted green eyes. "A challenge!" She turned to the saturnine man wearing the gold sunburst. "How much do you want for him, Commandant?"
The commandant had been observing the scene with cynical gray eyes. He was the perfect Terran type; tall, brown-skinned, erect. Now he said,
"Sorry, Priscilla, but he's not mine to sell. He's the property of the Republic, and the laws are specific. He has to be sold at auction in Eden."
Priscilla said, "Stuff! The governor can authorize the private sale of any serf...."
"We're not on Asgard," the commandant reminded her dryly. "This is a Star Ship."
Governor Cameron's visage had grown a rich plum shade. "This farce has gone far enough!" he bellowed furiously. But his anger didn't ring quite true. "I wouldn't authorize the sale of this fellow to my daughter if I could!"
Priscilla said sweetly, "I'll buy him at public auction."