And we'll have the play back on--remember that. If you don't give
us a clear channel we'll know it. How about it, Rip--how's Hovan?"
Rip's face was a mask of worry. "He must have had a full dose. I can't
bring him around."
Was this the end of their bold bid? Let each or all of them go before the
screen to plead their case, let them show the caged pest. But without the
professional testimony of the Medic, the weight of an expert opinion on
their side, they were licked. Well, sometimes luck did not ride a man's
fins all the way in.
But some stubborn core within Dane refused to let him believe that they
had lost. He went over to the Medic huddled in a chair. To all
appearances Hovan was deeply asleep, sunk in the semi-coma the sleep ray
produced. And the frustrating thing was that the man himself could have
supplied the counter to his condition, given them the instructions how to
bring him around. How many hours away was a natural awaking? Long before
that their hold on the station would be broken--they would be in the
custody of either Police or Patrol.
"He's sunk--" Dane voiced the belief which put an end to their hopes.
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