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Updated: June 3, 2025
"It'll do us far more good right where it is...." Thorvald paused and then added, with impatience roughening his voice as if he disliked the need for making any explanations, "There is no reason for us to advertise our being alive. If the Throgs found a blaster missing, they'd start thinking and looking around. I want to have a breathing spell before I have to play quarry in one of their hunts."
"Told you we'd be pirates," he said when he listened to that account of their descent upon the I-S station. "Though I didn't see all that blaster work they're now raving about. You'd think we fought a major battle there!" Weeks growled. "The Eysies are trying to make it look good. Make us into outlaws "
Medart followed her out of the symbol-decorated room and through corridors that looked like a standard Imperial Navy ship's, though something he couldn't pinpoint right away seemed odd something missing, maybe. "I can accept, though I don't understand, that you brought me here by magic. But this feels like the hyperdrive ships I know, and your sidearm looks like an issue blaster.
Riles Blasters were made from light rum, Grand Marnier, lime juice, and other secret ingredients combined with ice and served, after great roaring from the blender, in sweating silver tumblers. Riles claimed that they prolonged life by rendering stress inoperable and irrelevant. A Riles Blaster, he pronounced, allowed one to focus on what mattered.
Beside Dane, Jellico stiffened, moved his blaster, as someone wriggled through the brush, trilling softly. "Off-worlders," Nymani reported in gasps to Asaki, "and outlaws, too. They make a hunting sing tomorrow they march for a killing." Asaki rested his chin on his broad forearm. "Outlaws?" "They show no lord's badge. But each I saw wears a bracelet of three, five, or ten tails.
That was Imperial territory; Irschchan jurisdiction ended at the park's edge. She just hoped that legality would stop the Sanctioner. The park was in sight, less than a hundred meters away, but the Sanctioner who had found Garal was fast closing the distance between them. Corina risked a quick glance back, saw him stop, crouch, and draw his blaster.
Far from inspiring with terror the wretches assembled round the Hospital, such spectacles became to them the signal for savage jests, and atrocious predictions upon the fate of these poor creatures, when once in the power of the doctors. The big blaster and Ciboule, with a good many of their adherents, were among the mob.
An old man with a white beard, and the seven-pointed star of the Learned Brothers on his breast, advanced to meet the armed intruders. "So he is gone, Kradzy Zago?" Zarvas Pol said, holstering his weapon. "Gone in the 'time-machine', to hide in yesterday or tomorrow. And you let him go?" The old one nodded. "He had a blaster, and I had none." He indicated the body on the floor.
He held her clumsily with his left arm, the hand still gripping the blaster, and winced when she pressed against his right shoulder. "We've made it so far, Astrid," he said, "but the biggest job is still ahead. How long can we keep the channels open for a newscast?" Astrid stepped back, puzzled. "As far as the power goes, indefinitely, I believe.
Most likely it's bad enough to make them risk landing on Orede to kill cattle and freeze beef to help. They've worked out " She gasped and sprang to her feet. She snatched out the tiny blaster in her pocket. She pointed it waveringly at him. "I have to kill you!" she cried desperately. "I I have to!" Calhoun reached out. She tugged despairingly at the blaster's trigger. Nothing happened.
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