The big pirate shrugged, flinging back his long cape to holster his gun, and a vivid flower of scarlet bloomed in the doorway as the lining caught the light.
"I suppose they told you your paralysis is incurable," he said, walking forward with no further glance at his victims. "You'll be out of it by noon tomorrow. But now, just to dispel any fond hope you might be entertaining, Captain Thorne, you may consider your personal fortunes as unchanged. You are still for sale ... to yourself."
"At what price?"
"Twenty-five billion."
"You raise the price?"
"Do you think I am one of these?" Lucas sneered, nodding at the dead beside him. "Petty thieves using my name for a shield." He sat down, crossing his black-sheathed legs. "Now, Captain Thorne, let us discuss the terms. I am a busy man."
"And I am not," growled Thorne, angrily, staring full into the evil-looking mask Chain Lucas wore as the visor of his helmet. "I've had a hard day, Lucas, and I'm tired ... tired of merchants and Senators turned pirate ... tired of masks.... Suppose you remove yours ... General."
For a long, taut moment the outlaw did not move. Then he slowly unbuckled his linked chin strap, removing his steel helmet and the black hood within it. Thorne smiled wickedly.
"Good evening, General."