"You will open the door, spacer?"
"Yes, sir, but you'd best leave your sidearm with me."
Lors nodded and pulled his auto-pistol from the black leather holster
and handed it to the guard who stuffed it into his belt. He reached back
and unlocked the door. As it swung open, Lors stepped inside.
The room was not large; it couldn't be very big on a starship, but it
was serviceable. There was a dresser and locker for uniforms, as well as
a visi-screen, a couch and a small bed. The Terran was lying on the bed,
reading.
Lors smiled at him. They could have been twins of the same mother, were
it not for the fact that Terran's disposition was different. He hadn't
shaved in a few days, and his black hair was tangled. Even the fatigue
uniform he wore was rumpled badly.
"Hello, Danson," Lors said, in English, and to his acute surprise, the
Terran answered in Lors' tongue.
"This mortal bids welcome to the great god, Lors," Danson said, with a
faint smirk.
"You speak my language?" Lors asked, puzzled.
"Why not? You speak mine. When they checked my brain, they found that I
had a rather high I.Q. Besides, I've read all your reading material and
decided that you have lousy taste. So I decided to learn the language,
and try to make conversation with my watch dogs."
"You are comfortable?"
Danson nodded. "Wonderful. First rate. Now that I know the language, I'm
going to get a deck of cards and teach my jailers how to play draw
poker. Then I'm going to win this starship and take it to Washington for
analysis."
"I didn't come here to jest."