twisted it until she sank into her chair.
She looked at me with wide, scared eyes.
“If you’re wondering why Mr. Ravel fails to leap to your defense,” the Karg said, “I might explain that his considerable armory of implanted neuronic weaponry is quite powerless in this particular locus—which is why I selected it, of course.”
“Powerless—” she started.
“Sorry, doll,” I cut her off. “He played it cute. The nearest power tap is just out of range. He picked the only dead spot in a couple of thousand centuries to decoy us to.”
“Isn’t it a pity that it’s all wasted?” she said in a voice that was trying not to tremble.
“As to that, I’m sure that you will soon prove to me—” said the Karg, “and to yourselves—that I have made no error. We will now proceed to the scene where you will make your contribution to the Final Authority.” He stood.
“We haven’t had our dinner yet,” I said.
“Come, Mr. Ravel—this is no time for facetious­ness.”
“I never liked cold mutton anyway,” I said, and stood. Mellia got to her feet slowly, her eyes on me.
“You’re simply going to surrender—without a struggle?”
I lifted