Once the suit he had worn was stored, he could sit at the controls
without danger and in comfort. And it was good to be free of that metal
prison.
This time he took to the air with ease, the salt taste of food
concentrate on his tongue as he sucked a cube. And his confidence arose
with the flitter. This was the day, somehow he knew it. He was going to
find what he sought.
It was less than two hours after sunrise that he did so. A village which
was a cluster of perhaps fifty or so house units strung along into the
land. He skimmed across it and brought the flitter down in a rock cliff
walled sand pocket with surf booming some yards away, where he would be
reasonably sure of safe hiding.
All right, he had found a village. Now what? A Medic--A stranger
appearing on the lane which served the town, a stranger in a distinctive
uniform of Trade, would only incite conjecture and betrayal. He had to
plan now--
Dane unsealed his tunic. He should, by rights, shed his space boots too.
But perhaps he could use those to color his story. He thrust the blaster
into hiding at his waist.
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