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screen in front of him.
    The screen was too dark for me to see exactly what he was looking at, but whatever it was, it had his attention, as he worked a joystick with his right hand and ran his hand frantically over a sensepad to his right.
    I removed my belt as soundlessly as I could. I wasn't going to kill him. Yet. But it was essential that he thought I was. Winding the belt around both of my wrists, with a generous strip left free in between, I waited till he looked down for a moment, so he wouldn't see my reflection on the screen.
    He looked up, just as I surged into the room, and I saw his eyes—reflected on the screen—widen, just as I wrapped the belt around his neck and twisted.
     

Six
    In reflection, on his almost dark screen, his eyes widened further, while his hands came up, in reflex action, to claw at his own neck, trying to dislodge the belt. Not a chance. What there was a chance of, was my killing him. Which would be a problem.
    I've had an easy time with machinery and electronics since I could remember, but these controls looked a little complex to learn before I blew myself up on the next ripe powerpod. So I had to be careful, and bring my prey within sight of his own death without pushing him over.
    This required my knee at his back, in between his shoulder blades; my hands pulling just enough to keep him struggling without making him lose consciousness. I watched his eyes. As soon as he looked dazed enough, I would let go and I . . .
    His foot kicked at a lever on the floor. I had a millisecond to wonder if it was reflexive action. In the next moment his hand let go of his neck and he unbuckled himself from the seat. And we floated.
    No gravity. No gravity. I whimpered, as my feet lost all contact with the distant floor, and there was no floor, no ceiling. My stomach twisted.
    The creature freed himself from the belt, and growled something that sounded like another language under his breath. He turned around, mouth in a snarl. His hand, massive and square, positioned just below my breasts and pushed. I went back and spun.
    I tried to fight. I've fought many men, many who should fight better than I or who were stronger. This was like fighting a shadow. He moved . . . He was everywhere. He slid past me, fast. Fast like being in a dream where people change positions before you can track them.
    I tried to kick but never made contact. I tried to claw and scratch, but it seemed to have no effect. His features were frozen in stony anger, his teeth clamped together and showing between his drawn lips which had, in turn, gone pale. And he was muttering something that was little more than a growl, as he pushed me back and back and back, and pinned me against one of the walls.
    I bit him, hard, on the arm that held me pinned. He grabbed the back of my hair and pulled till my mouth opened and I let go. He didn't give his bleeding arm more than a glance.
    Glaring at me, his lips drawn into a rictus of fury, he muttered things, of which only a few words were understandable. "Earthworm . . . . vicious . . . uncontrolled . . . . . . . I was going to let you live. I was going to . . . . Tell me why in Blazing Light I shouldn't space you?
    I opened my mouth, but no sound came. My throat felt dry and abraded, as if I'd been screaming for a long time. Whatever he was, he wasn't human. He certainly wasn't normal human. He wasn't . . . No one could move like that. I swallowed, but there was no saliva to soothe my throat. Instead of words, a pitiful whimper came out of my mouth.
    I didn't think being cute was going to save me this time. He wasn't even touching anywhere near my breasts. Though my slip was split open, the halves floating, his hand pushed solidly between my breasts and my stomach. And in his odd eyes there was no sign at all of masculine appreciation for curves.
    "Tell me," he said, his voice more understandable, but not for that much calmer. "Now."
    Something exploded. At first I