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But that cover-up had to be completed. Vehicles appeared at the edge of the landing-grid. Bors sent men out with small arms to get their messages. These were the supplies he'd demanded. Food. Rocket-fuel. More food. The vehicles trundled into the open and stopped. Men from the Isis waved away the drivers and took over the trucks. They brought most of them to the ship's side.
In any case no sane man would try to destroy the Isis aground after an announcement that its bombs were armed, and that they were fused to explode. "Now repeat the demand for stores," ordered Bors. "We might as well stock up. Speed is essential. We can't use stores they've time to booby-trap or poison. Give them twenty minutes to start the stuff arriving. Demand fuel, extra rocket-fuel especially.
This was at 07 hours 40 minutes ship time. Outside the sedately rotating metal hulls the one a polished blue-silver and the other a glittering golden bronze the cosmos continued to be as always. The haze from explosive fumes and rocket-fuel was, perhaps, a little thinner. The brighter stars shone through it.
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