"I hold you, Thorne."
"I pay you nothing, you pirate!" flashed back Thorne, defiant even in his apparent helplessness.
"You haven't seen Banya Tor," snarled Wheelwright. "My men can change that tune."
"You lie," returned Thorne, coldly. "You killed your own lieutenants, Revere and Pahboard, merely to provide convincing proof you had caused the Banya Tor massacre. You destroyed Dallis' ship and crew and the men he brought aboard this ship. Would a treacherous snake like you leave any alive behind him to share the loot? Would you spare your own crew of cutthroats?"
General Wheelwright grinned malevolently. "You are very clever, Captain Thorne. And very daring. I could have used you." He shook his head. "Of course, none remain. Dallis' men are dead. My own died at mess, poisoned. Only I am left ... and I am Chain Lucas." There was pride in his voice, a hard, brittle savagery rasping through the charged atmosphere of the littered saloon.
"You are a fool, General Wheelwright," replied Thorne, evenly. "I came to this assignment better prepared than you think."
"What's that?" Wheelwright leaned forward, his amusement vanishing.
"There are three button dictographs in this room," jeered Thorne. "There are fifty scattered throughout the ship to record Iris Chanler's reaction to Banya Tor, should she have desired backing out once we returned to base. My idea, Wheelwright."
"You hound!" cried Wheelwright, springing to his feet and half-drawing his Blandarc. "You threaten me?"