"My principal trouble is with the crew. They can collect ransom only on those I reject, and there are constant clashes between me and Gore. It is now my intention to let them go their way, and to fit out a new ship, with a new crew. I offer you the place of first mate."
"No!" Quirl replied crisply. "You say you understand the honor of the Force, and then offer me a job pirating with you. No, thanks!"
S trom, or Burroughs, made no attempt to conceal his disappointment. The recital of his wrongs had brought out the bitter lines of his face, and the weariness of one who plays his game alone and can call no one friend.
"I should have known better," he said quietly. "There was none more loyal to the I.F.P. than I — when I still belonged to it. Yet, I thought if I laid all my cards before you — You realize what this means?"
"Yes," Quirl replied soberly. "It means you will never dare to let me be ransomed nor to free me among your selected people. It means — death!"
"Not death! I will parole you."
Quirl felt an overmastering surge of sympathy. He saw this pirate as later historians have come to see him — a man of lofty and noble purpose who was made the victim of shrewder, meaner minds in the most despicable interplanetary imbroglio ever to disgrace a solar system. The thought of his own fate, should he refuse the offer, did not depress Quirl as much as the necessity of heaping more disappointment on this deeply wronged "man without a planet."
"Captain," he said slowly, with deep regret. "You remember the I.F.P. oath?" And at the other's flush he hurried on. "Knowing that oath you know what my answer must be. Put me in irons or kill me!"
"I know," Strom added wistfully. "Would you — if I could just once more shake the clean hand of a brave man and a gentleman—"
Quirl's hand shot out and gripped the long, powerful fingers of the pirate captain.