As Dane's empty hands, palm
out, went up on a line with his shoulders, he estimated the opposition.
Two were in the silver and black of the Patrol, two wore the forest green
of the Terrapolice. But they all looked like men with whom it was better
not to play games.
And it was clear they were prepared to take no chances with the outlaws.
In spite of the passiveness of the Queen's men, their hands were locked
behind them with force bars about their wrists. When a quick search
revealed that the three were unarmed, they were herded onto the riser by
two of their captors, while the other pair remained behind, presumably to
uncover any damage they had done to the Tower installations.
The police did not speak except for a few terse words among themselves
and a barked order to march, delivered to the prisoners. Very shortly
they were in the entrance hall facing the wreckage of the crawler and
doors through which a ragged gap had been burned. Ali viewed the scene
with his usual detachment.
"Nice job," he commended Dane's enterprise. "They'll have a moving--"
"Get going!" A heavy hand between his shoulder blades urged him on.
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