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Newman's eyes raked Bernice's five-feet-eight of scantily-clad sheer beauty from ankles to coiffure. "If you're too crowded I know a lifecraft carries only fifty people go yourself." "As a crew-chief, you know the law." Deston spoke quietly too quietly, as the other man should have known. "I am in command." "You ain't in command of me, pretty boy!" Newman sneered.
"It'd be suicide ... and with no motive ... could they, Ted, possibly?" Jones' dark face did not lighten. "They could, and I'm very much afraid they intend to. As a crew-chief, Newman is a jack-leg engineer and a very good practical 'troncist; and if he's what I think he is " He paused. "Could be," Deston said, doubtfully. "In with a mob of normal-space pirate-smugglers.
Crew-chief, normal space jobs, unlimited." "Your passengers, Herc?" "Vincent Lopresto, financier, and his two bodyguards. They were sleeping in their suits, on air-mattresses. Grounders. Don't like subspace or space, either." "Just so." The gray-haired man nodded, almost happily. "We survivors, then, absorbed the charge gradually " "But what the " Deston began. "One moment, please, young man.
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