Momentarily, Ross' eyes narrowed a fraction; that was all.
"You take that too good, you zanat!" the slaver observed. "You held too tight on it. So maybe you better start off this party by saying who Stewart Ross is, and how you got your picture on his bracelet."
Ross shook his head, a fraction too swiftly. "I've never seen it before."
"Don't waste your breath, starbo!" Cheng leaned on the bars. "I call the turn here, and I say you talk--about Tornelescu's formula; that band, there; anything at all. You can do it quick, or you can hurt awhile first. Make up your mind."
"You're still stalling. You came here to stall." The slaver's scar twitched. "You thought you'd send me off on some ban-crazy run, while you sneaked away with the girl. Only it won't work." A fragmentary pause. "Where's that formula?"
"I said, it won't work!" Cheng gestured to his men. "Strip the lousy chitza. See if it's in his stuff."
A brief flurry of struggle; then a search--the thorough kind of search that took account of every seam, every stain; coins, flamer, writer, pad.
Cheng said, "Good enough, Thigpen. I'm glad you're this stubborn. It gives me a chance to loosen you up."
Wordless, Ross pulled on his clothes. A light sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.
Cheng said to Veta, "This zanat was good on the one end. He got all those people for old Tornelescu--the ones the doc tested the catalyst on. They say he even did the work, too; squirted the stuff in with an aeroderm. By the reports on the show-screen, he must have killed over two thousand."
Cheng's helpers came back, rolling a wheeled case so broad it completely blocked the barred doorway.
"Like I said," the smuggler smirked, "this boy's good on the one end. Now we'll see how he fits on the other."
He stepped back, out of the way. His men rolled the case up tight to the door, then lifted a sliding hatch at the end.
Slithering sounds came from the case. Then, quickly, a strange, grey-black form slid through the open hatch, between the door's bars, and down onto the floor of the cell.
Veta drew a swift, noisy breath. Her voice cracked. "_Gulfers--!_"
The sweat on Ross' forehead began to bead. A greyness came to the corners of his mouth.
Now a second of the creatures slithered down onto the floor. Then a third, and a fourth.