You lean against the outside of your spaceship, smiling and trying to look unimpressed. Mr. R., naturally, has arrived exactly on time. In his hand is a suitcase in which is contained, you have no doubt, five million dollars. In the hull of your ship is Mr. R.'s daughter, Rachel. For someone as beautiful and educated as her, it seems a reasonable enough exchange.
"You have the money?" you call out.
He nods.
"Well, I have a button that will immediately flood the room your daughter's in with enough radiation to melt her into sludge. So I sure hope that nod wasn't your planet's way of saying no."
He tosses the briefcase over. You pull out a small scanning device. As he thought, there were no tracking devices in it. As you continue to pick through it, pretending that you're examining the money, you change the focus on the scanner to find out just how many guards Mr. R. has pointing guns at you at the moment. You know he wouldn't risk too many, because their transport might be detected, but you also know he would never take none.
Six. Three behind him, and three behind you. You start to worry. You had counted on four. Of course, you're a very good shot, but that is a few more than you would like to deal with. The thought strikes you that maybe you ought to just give yourself in. |