with the treatment they had received, but their condition seemed to be acceptable. The pair of guards fanned to either side of the doorway. Deputy Brandt followed the spacers with a bell-snouted weapon of her own. She trained the gun on the center of Slade's chest.
Slade remained seated. The gun muzzle looked no more angry and threatening than did the Deputy's eyes.
The tanker nodded to her. "Levine," he said calmly, "you're going back to the ship right now. The mercs are being delivered there already." The tanker raised an eyebrow toward Brandt, who nodded curtly. "You'll program the ship to Transit from ground—"
"I can't set a course alone," Levine broke in. "And a ground Transit, the gravity well could kick us seconds, minutes off course."
"I'd rather be lost by five Transit minutes," said the tanker dryly, "than be lifting off on thrusters when the Deputy here decides we're out of range for my handset."
Brandt's gun trembled.
Levine looked warily from Slade to the weapon. Then he