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released the doors for Nicol, who zipped her chair inside. They tumbled
within, dropped the doors, and Bel at the controls shot them into the air. A
siren was going off somewhere in Ryoval's.
"Wrist com, wrist com," Miles babbled, stripping his unconscious trooper of
the device. "Bel, where is our drop shuttle parked?"
"We came in at a little commercial shuttleport just outside Ryoval's town,
about forty kilometers from here."
"Anybody left manning it?"
"Anderson and Nout."
"What's their scrambled com channel?"
"Twenty-three."
Miles slid into the seat beside Bel and opened the channel. It took a small
eternity for Sergeant Anderson to answer, fully thirty or forty seconds, while
the float-truck streaked above the treetops and over the nearest ridge.
"Laureen, I want you to get your shuttle into the air. We need an emergency
pick-up, soonest. We're in a House Fell float truck, heading " Miles thrust
his wrist under Bel's nose.
"North from Ryoval Biologicals," Bel recited. "At about two hundred sixty
kilometers per hour, which is all the faster this crate will go."
"Home in on our screamer," Miles set the wrist com emergency signal. "Don't
wait for clearance from Ryoval's shuttleport traffic control, 'cause you won't
get it. Have Nout patch my com through to the Ariel."
"You got it, sir," Anderson's thin voice came cheerily back over his com.
Static, and another few seconds excruciating delay. Then an excited voice,
"Murka here. I thought you were coming out right behind us last night! You all
right, sir?"
"Temporarily. Is 'Medtech Vaughn' aboard?"
"Yes, sir."
"All right. Don't let him off. Assure him I have his tissue sample with me."
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"Really! How'd you "
"Never mind how. Get all the troops back aboard and break from the station
into free orbit. Plan to make a flying pick-up of the drop shuttle, and tell
the pilot-officer to plot a course for the Escobar wormhole jump at max
acceleration as soon as we're clamped on. Don't wait for clearance."
"We're still loading cargo. . . ."
"Abandon any that's still unloaded."
"Are we in serious shit, sir?"
"Mortal, Murka."
"Right, sir. Murka out."
"I thought we were all supposed to be as quiet as mice here on Jackson's
Whole," Bel complained. "Isn't this all a bit splashy?"
"The situation's changed. There'd be no negotiating with Ryoval for Nicol, or
for Taura either, after what we did last night. I struck a blow for truth and
justice back there that I may live to regret, briefly. Tell you about it
later. Anyway, do you really want to stick around while I explain to Baron
Fell the real truth about the Betan rejuvenation treatment?"
"Oh," Thorne's eyes were alight, as it concentrated on its flying, "I'd pay
money to watch that, sir."
"Ha. No. For one last moment back there, all the pieces were in our hands.
Potentially, anyway." Miles began exploring the readouts on the float-truck's
simple control panel. "We'd never get everybody together again, never. One
maneuvers to the limit, but the golden moment demands action. If you miss it,
the gods damn you forever. And vice versa. . . . Speaking of action, did you
see Taura take out seven of those guys?" Miles chortled in memory. "What's she
going to be like after basic training?"
Bel glanced uneasily over its shoulder, to where Nicol had her float chair
lodged and Taura hunkered in the back along with the body of the unconscious
trooper. "I was too busy to keep count."
Miles swung out of his seat, and made his way into the back to check on their
precious live cargo.
"Nicol, you were great," he told her. "You fought like a falcon. I may have to
give you a discount on that dollar."
Nicol was still breathless, ivory cheeks flushed. An upper hand shoved a
strand of black hair out of her sparkling eyes. "I was afraid they'd break my
dulcimer." A lower hand stroked a big box-shaped case jammed into the
float-chair's cup beside her. "Then I was afraid they'd break Bel. . . ."
Taura sat leaning against the truck wall, a bit green.
Miles knelt beside her. "Taura dear, are you all right?" He gently lifted one
clawed hand to check her pulse, which was bounding. Nicol gave him a rather
strange look at his tender gesture. Her float chair was wedged as far from
Taura as it could get.
"Hungry," Taura gasped.
"Again? But of course, all that energy expenditure. Anybody got a ration bar?"
A quick check found an only-slightly-nibbled rat bar in the stunned trooper's
thigh pocket, which Miles immediately liberated. Miles smiled benignly at
Taura as she wolfed it down; she smiled back as best she could with her mouth
full. No more rats for you after this, Miles promised silently. Three steak
dinners when we get back to the Ariel, and a couple of chocolate cakes for
dessert. . . .
The float-truck jinked. Taura, reviving somewhat, extended her feet to hold
Nicol's dented cup in place against the far wall and keep it from bouncing
around. "Thank you," said Nicol warily. Taura nodded.
"Company," Bel Thorne called over its shoulder. Miles hastened forward.
Two aircars were coming up fast behind them. Ryoval's security. Doubtless
beefed up tougher than the average civilian police car yes. Bel jinked again
as a plasma bolt boiled past, leaving bright green streaks across Miles's
retinas. Quasi-military and seriously annoyed, their pursuers were.
"This is one of Fell's trucks, we ought to have something to fling back at
them." There was nothing in front of Miles that looked like any kind of
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weapons-control.
A whoomp, a scream from Nicol, and the float-truck staggered in air, righted
itself under Bel's hands. A roar of air and vibration Miles cranked his head
around frantically one top back corner of the truck's cargo area was blown
away. The rear door was fused shut on one side, whanging loose along the
opposite edge. Taura still braced the float chair; Nicol now had her upper
hands wrapped around Taura's ankles. "Ah," said Thorne. "No armor."
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