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Updated: May 6, 2025
There were some techs crooked enough to enjoy such a project for its own sake, indulging in forbidden experimentation. For a moment, but only for a moment, something in Hume jibbed at the intent of carrying through his plan. Then he shrugged that tinge aside. "How soon do you wish to move?" "How long will preparation take?" Hume asked in return, for the second time battling a taste of concern.
The boy had the right coloring, he had been batted around enough to fall for the initial story, he was malleable now. And after Wass' techs worked on him he would be Rynch Brodie heir to one-third of Kogan-Bors-Wazalitz! "Come!" He touched Vye on the shoulder. The boy opened his eyes but his gaze did not focus as he got slowly to his feet. Hume glanced at his planet-time watch.
"And you, Out-Hunter," Wass' reptilian regard had moved again to Hume, "perhaps you have an adequate explanation for this discovery." "None of his doing," he burst out, "I remembered " Some inexplicable emotion made Rynch defend Hume then. Hume laughed, and there was a reckless edge to that sound. "Yes, Wass, your techs are not as good as they pretend to be.
"We'll have to have your quarters rigged for priority communications, but until the techs can get to it, you'll have to use mine or go to Briefing Room One. And my quarters are right next door. I'd also recommend a comm implant, but that can wait if you don't want to spend a couple of hours in sick bay; a wrist-com will do everything you need for now."
Another question for our list." "Maybe maybe Wass' techs fixed it so I couldn't be brain-picked, as you call it," Vye offered. Hume nodded. "Could be would well be. Come on." He pressed the pace now. Vye turned to look down the slope suspiciously. Had Hume another warning of menace out of the wood? He could sight no movement there.
"Sarge," the old man told one of the youths, "post a guard over this flying machine. Don't let anybody meddle with it. And have all the noncoms and techs report here, on the double." He turned and shouted up at the truncated steeple: "Atherton, sound 'All Clear!"
But as soon as the story of their find leaked, there would be others on the scene, men trained to assess the signs of a castaway's fight for survival. His own Guild training and the ability of Wass' renegade techs should bring them through that test. What had Starns seen? The glint of sun on the tail of the L-B, tilted now to the sky?
Anyway, the "Techs" laid deep places to the effect that when a certain professor appeared at chapel, a unique reception would be in store for him. He appeared, and a fusillade of books, rulers and ink-wells shot at his learned head from every quarter of the room. Other professors appeared and sought to restore order.
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