"Your boy here," Ali was ready with an answer, "tried to find a target
inside the hatch. Is this the usual way you conduct a truce, sir?"
He was answered by a glare and the rifleman was abruptly ordered to the
rear. Dane, his head clearing, looked at the Queen. Hovan was climbing
the ladder--he was within arm's length of that half open hatch. The very
fact that the Medic had managed to make his point stick was, in a faint
way, encouraging. But the three were not allowed to enjoy that small
victory for long. They were marched from the field, loaded into a mobile
and taken to the city several miles away. It was the Patrol who held them
in custody--not the Terrapolice. Dane was not sure whether that was to be
reckoned favorable or not. As a Free Trader he had a grudging respect for
the organization he had seen in action on Limbo.
Sometime later they found themselves, freed of the force bars, alone in a
room which, bare walled as it was, did have a bench on which all three
sank thankfully. Dane caught the warning gesture from Ali--they were
under unseen observation and they must have a listening audience
too--located somewhere in the maze of offices.
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