"Patrol mobile coming in on southeast vector," Ali announced calmly.
"Looks like she mounts a portable flamer on her nose--"
"So." Dane changed direction, putting behind him a customs check point,
aware as he ground by that stand, of a line of faces at its vision ports.
Evasive action--and he'd have to get the top speed from the clumsy
crawler.
"Police 'copter over us--" that was Rip reporting.
Well, they couldn't very well avoid _that_. But at the same time Dane
was reasonably sure that its attack would not be an overt one--not with
the unarmed, unprotected Hovan prominently displayed in their midst.
But there he was too sanguine. A muffled exclamation from Rip made him
glance at the Medic beside him. Just in time to see Hovan slump limply
forward, about to tumble from the crawler when Shannon caught him from
behind. Dane was too familiar with the results of sleep rays to have any
doubts as to what had happened.
The P-copter had sprayed them with its most harmless weapon. Only the
suits, insulated to the best of their makers' ability against most of the
dangers of space, real and anticipated, had kept the three Traders from
being overcome as well.
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