Traynor?" My tormentor was openly taunting now, his whole heavy body aquiver with enjoyment. "As I see it, once you and the girl are dead, I've nothing to fear. If you'd told anyone else about this, any man, he'd have come here with you. Because not even an unconditioned fool like you could have enjoyed playing out a hand like this alone. Right?"

I didn't answer.

"You and the girl, you and the girl.—Traynor, perhaps I can solace your final hours on Sheol. Instead of having the girl summarily executed, it may be I can arrange a less public end for her so that she spends a long time dying. Does that appeal to you?"

I waited for a moment before I spoke. Somehow, for no good reason, it seemed that I had to find precisely the right words, the right pattern.

Then, abruptly, that moment passed, and language no longer mattered.

"Kruze," I said, quite levelly, "count on one thing: I'm going to kill you."

The controller's eyes widened, just a fraction. "Traynor, you fool—!"

I got up, paying him no heed. It was a stolid, unhurried movement, better suited to his temperament and heavy body than to mine.

"Traynor, I'll shoot!"

I laughed aloud.

"Traynor—!"

I said, "Don't worry. You'll kill me. But I'll still get to you, even so. Dead or alive, bare-handed, I'll tear open your throat and bash your brains out!"

"Traynor, listen...."

Flat-footed, unspeaking, I took a slow step towards him.

Kruze's knuckles whitened on the paragun's trigger.

Deliberately, I took another step.

Just as deliberately, Kruze adjusted his aim.

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