"You owe me nothing; I am here under truce. When I leave, our battle starts again." Vandor smiled. "But you see, Falcon, that is where you are wrong. I thank you for bringing my daughter back, yes; but I also thank you for saving my men the trouble of running you down." His hand made a sharp imperative gesture. "_Blank him out_," he ordered. There was no time to move, no time to think; there was only the split second of consciousness when he saw the smile of triumph on Vandor's face, and its mocking echo on the girl's. Then the dis-gun blast caught the Falcon squarely in its glow, sucked away all thought and dropped him into a blackened abyss that had no bottom. * * * * * The Falcon moved groggily, felt nausea cramping at his belly. He groaned, shook his head, forced himself erect. Chains clanked loudly, and he felt the coolness of their metal on his arms and legs. "Hell!" he said feelingly, felt despair eating at his heart. Jason Vandor moved slightly, sighed, then stood from where he sat across the cell. His grey hair was almost white in the gloom, and his face was hard and merciless. "I want to talk to you, Falcon," he said harshly. Curt Varga blinked away his dizziness, searched the cell with his eyes. Except for two bunks, it was empty. The chains he wore were welded to the bunk upon which he sat. "Go ahead," he said finally. "You seem to have the whip hand." "It's about Jean." There was a tiny thread of fear running through the dictator's voice. "All right, what about her?" "I want you to do something. She and I just had a terrible fight, the first I can remember having with her since she was a child. She seems to think that I was wrong in capturing you while I had a chance. Now, I know such a request is strange, I know you hate me, but I want you to talk with her, and convince her that I was in the right. You know our fight is to the death; you know that neither of us asks quarter; you know you would have done the same thing had you been in my place. I'm not asking this for myself; I'm asking for her peace of mind. Her life will be wrecked, if she hates me as long as she lives." The Falcon laughed, and the sound was ugly and ironic in the semi-darkness. He had met strange situations in his years as a freebooter of space, but none of them had been as fantastic as this. "You honestly mean that you want me, the man you intend to execute, to intercede for you with your daughter?" Panic tightened Jason Vandor's voice. "I'll make it worth your while, Falcon," he said. "I'll see that you are not executed; I'll see that you get life. I'll even see that you have all requests granted." "To hell with you," the Falcon said dispassionately.