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Nine years had passed, almost to the week, since a brash youngster named Alan Donnell had crossed the bridge from the Spacer's Enclave and hesitantly entered the bewildering complexity of York City. Nine years. He was twenty-six now, no boy any more. He was the same age Steve had been, when he had been dragged unconscious to the Valhalla and taken aboard.
Tom told him everything, from the moment they had blasted off for Roger Hunter's claim to the moment the Patrol ship had boarded them, except for a single detail. He didn't mention the remarkable gun from Roger Hunter's gun case. The gun was still in the spacer's pack he had slung over his shoulder; he had not mentioned it when the Patrolmen had taken their stunners away.
Two of them had their blowguns ready, but didn't use them. By the time he had turned the next corner he was soaked with nervous perspiration. Ahead was the rubble of the destroyed building. Grounded next to it was the tapered form of a spacer's pinnace. Two men had come from the open lock and were standing at the edge of the burnt area. Brion's boots grated loudly on the broken wreckage.
Douglas asked querulously. There was fear in his voice. "Copper hit you on the head with a rock," Kennon said as he bent over and retrieved the torch, still burning near Douglas' feet. "The Lani?" Douglas' voice was incredulous. "Not a Lani," Kennon corrected. "She's as human as you or I." "That's a lie," Douglas said. "Maybe this spacer's a lie too.
Information came down from control, where now the ports were open on normal space and the engines were under control of the spacer's pilot. Their goal was to be the third planet, one which showed signs of atmosphere, of water and earth ready and waiting. Those who were not on flight duty crowded into the tiny central cabin, where they elbowed each other before the viewer.
"Keep talking," Tom said. "You'll convince yourself yet." Greg just jammed his hands in his pockets, and they walked in silence for a moment. For Tom and Greg Hunter, Sun Lake City had always been home. Now they walked along the Main Concourse, Tom with the aluminum box under his arm, Greg with his own spacer's pack thrown over his shoulder.
At any rate Groft had made it very plain that he chose these men and Dane knew that the Queen's officers would raise no objection which might upset the delicate balance of favorable relations. Van Rycke did ask for one concession which was reluctantly granted. He received permission for the spacer's men to carry their sleep rods.
He handed a card over to the policeman and Alan noticed that a blue five-credit note went along with the card. The policeman made a great show of studying the card and succeeded in pocketing the bill with the same effortless sleight-of-hand that the other had used in handing it over. "Max Hawkes, eh? That you? Free status?" The man named Hawkes nodded. "And this Spacer's a pal of yours?"
Just tune in your helmet buzzer." It needed a com-tech to think of a thing like that! A small adjustment to the earphones built into his helmet, and Soriki, operating the flitter com, could give him a guide as efficient as the spacer's radar! He need not fear being lost in the streets should he lose touch with those he was spying upon. "You're on course!"
"We found this in the cabin of the Scavenger. I thought you boys might want it." They both recognized it instantly ... the battered old spacer's pack that Roger Hunter had used for as long as they could remember. It seemed to them, suddenly, as if a part of him had appeared here in the room with them. Greg looked at the box and turned away. "You open it," he said to Tom in a sick voice.
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