"Why don't we just say I like you."

"That's rich, but I'll buy it. All I've got to lose is my chains..."

"And your memory."

"Come again?"

Lors sucked on the cigarette. "You can't talk about this thing to anyone except your wife."

"Who'd believe me anyhow?"

"It's bigger than that, Danson. If you talk to anyone, I'll kill you."

"You don't make sense. Why not kill me now?"

Lors sighed. "Look, Commander Imry made a b.o.o.boo, to use one of your terms, and I got caught in the middle. This whole operation is fouled up because of what he did. If we don't try to put things back, it's going to be in a real tough light.

"For the first time in history, Terra is in possession of a scout ship even though it is wrecked. Not only that, but they know it. They're hot on the trail of us. And if enough Terrans get wise to us, we'll be in trouble. You've read my diaries and journals. You know what it's like up here. My planet needs Earth as a trade base, and if you people ever wake up as a race, we'll be able to help each other a h.e.l.l of a lot. Maybe that's why I want to take you back to your wife. Is that good enough for you?"

Danson nodded. "I guess so. I know enough about this situation to tell that you're either on the level, or you're a d.a.m.ned convincing liar.

What's the plot?"

"The plot, as you put it, is to get you and Brice back to earth..."

"Brice? Nolan Brice? He's here?"

Lors nodded. "Brice found your watch where my scout ship cracked up and guessed who I was before I did. I was hiding up at your cabin, trying to figure things out when he decided to put a bullet into me. Both Beth and I thought I was you and she was trying to help me figure out what I'd been doing for thirteen months. Brice came in shooting and my people kidnapped him."

"Great."

"In any event, I think I can get Brice to the scout ship. I'm going to rely upon you to spring yourself out of here and get down to the hangar.

You'll pa.s.s for me easily. Okay?"

"How do I get past the guard?"

"I'll fix it. If I can't, I'll be back."

"Okay, Buck Rogers. It's your show."

Lors grinned at him. "Keep your fingers crossed," he said and went out.

"I won't do it," Narvi said flatly. He lifted his gla.s.s and took a large swallow of the drink to punctuate the sentence. "You've got to," Lors insisted. "You know as well as I do, it's the only way to straighten things out."

"You talk to Zark?"

"How can I tell him about it? What am I supposed to do? Tell him that I love a Terran and want her to be happy?"

"Thunder and lightning! What's so important about Brice and Danson?

They're only Terrans. This woman you're so silly about will find someone else. Lors, by the G.o.ds, if you take those two back they'll talk to everyone they can get their hands on..."

"No they won't, not Danson. Narvi, that's the beauty of this whole plot.

Danson understands that our people simply want to begin trade negotiations with Terra; he's learned to speak and read our language and he knows how badly we want to trade with his people. He'll help us..."

"What about Brice," Narvi snorted.

"Brice can be handled by Danson. If that doesn't work, we can threaten to do all sorts of things to him."

"And you want me to take the guard's place, outside Danson's quarters, and give you time to steal a scout ship?"

"Yes."

Narvi cast his blue eyes toward the ceiling and groaned aloud. "If I keep doing all these goofy things for you, I'll never make commander. I won't even make Vice-commander."

Lors smiled. "Don't worry about it. If things work out, you'll have had a hand in opening up a new planet for our trade rockets."

Narvi sighed. "All right. I'll do it, although I should have my head examined by the ship's doctors."

Lors grinned at him and finished the last of his drink. "It'll work out, Narvi, and you'll probably get a medal."

"A prison cell, likely," Narvi snorted, "on Thista."

Lors slapped him lightly on the arm and left the ship's wardroom. He had a lot to do, and d.a.m.ned little time to do it in.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Lors left the wardroom and walked along the hollow, brightly lighted corridors toward the hospital where Detective Nolan Brice was being kept a prisoner. He would be the tough one of the two, because his mental roots were still very close to the witchcraft believing parents who had given him birth.

Brice was a Pennsylvanian; he was fairly intelligent, but like all Pennsylvanians he had an unconscious closeness with tradition. He was of the type who would stoutly deny he was superst.i.tious, yet would refuse to walk under a ladder. How would he react to Lors' proposal? Would he, with typical Dutch stubbornness, tell him to go to h.e.l.l, or would he co-operate? It was a difficult thing to predict.

Lors shoved the door to the hospital open and grinned at the s.p.a.cer behind the desk. "You've a Terran here?" He asked.

The s.p.a.cer nodded and laid down the sheets of paper he had been ruffling as Lors came in. "Yes sir, we have one. He's in the care of Doctor Zuloe."

"What are they doing to him?"

"I'm not sure, sir. I understand he was in a great state of shock when he arrived. I would imagine they're giving him rehabilitative treatment."

Lors grinned again. Apparently the method by which they had s.n.a.t.c.hed the detective had completely unnerved him. "I'd like to see him," he told the s.p.a.cer. "Where can I find Doctor Zuloe?"

"I'm sorry, sir. Only authorized personnel will be allowed to interrogate him."

"I'm authorized, I believe. I captured him. I'm Lors."