He was pulled to his feet, tasting the flat sweetness of blood where a flailing blow from the surprised and frightened policeman had cut his lip against his teeth.  He spat red and glowered at the ring of angry men.

“Why don’t you kick him?” Ali inquired, a vast and blistering contempt sawtoothing his voice.  “He’s got his hands cuffed so he’s fair game—­”

“What’s going on here?” An officer broke through the ring.  The policeman, on his feet once more, snatched up the rifle Dane’s attack had knocked out of his hold.

“Your boy here,” Ali was ready with an answer, “tried to find a target inside the hatch.  Is this the usual way you conduct a truce, sir?”

He was answered by a glare and the rifleman was abruptly ordered to the rear.  Dane, his head clearing, looked at the Queen.  Hovan was climbing the ladder—­he was within arm’s length of that half open hatch.  The very fact that the Medic had managed to make his point stick was, in a faint way, encouraging.  But the three were not allowed to enjoy that small victory for long.  They were marched from the field, loaded into a mobile and taken to the city several miles away.  It was the Patrol who held them in custody—­not the Terrapolice.  Dane was not sure whether that was to be reckoned favorable or not.  As a Free Trader he had a grudging respect for the organization he had seen in action on Limbo.

Sometime later they found themselves, freed of the force bars, alone in a room which, bare walled as it was, did have a bench on which all three sank thankfully.  Dane caught the warning gesture from Ali—­they were under unseen observation and they must have a listening audience too—­located somewhere in the maze of offices.

“They can’t make up their minds,” the Engineer-apprentice settled his shoulders against the wall.  “Either we’re desperate criminals, or we’re heroes.  They’re going to let time decide.”

“If we’re heroes,” Dane asked a little querulously, “what are we doing locked up here?  I’d like a few earth-side comforts—­beginning with a full meal—­”

“No thumb printing, no psycho testing,” Rip mused.  “Yes, they haven’t put us through the system yet.”

“And we decidedly aren’t the forgotten men.  Wipe your face, child,” Ali said to Dane, “you’re still dribbling.”

The Cargo-apprentice smeared his hand across his chin and brought it away red and sticky.  Luckily his teeth remained intact.

“We need Hovan to read them more law,” observed Kamil.  “You should have medical attention.”

Dane dabbed at his mouth.  He didn’t need all that solicitude, but he guessed that Ali was talking for the benefit of those who now kept them under surveillance.

“Speaking of Hovan—­I wonder what became of that pest he was supposed to have under control.  He didn’t bring the cage with him when he came out of the Tower, did he?” asked Rip.

“If it gets loose in that building,” Dane decided to give the powers who held them in custody something to think about, “they’ll have trouble.  Practically invisible and poisonous.  And maybe it can reproduce its kind, too.  We don’t know anything about it—­”