n the instrument panel and
punched in the coordinates for Air Lock 22. As
the flitter rose and headed toward the dome Brad
thought back as he weighed their chances.

The processes of intense physical training and
weapons drills, the concentrated telepathic loading
of Plutonian political history and its government's
despotic apparatus had been cleared from their
consciousness; the substance remained. Nor were
they aware of any new or altered neuro-muscular
capabilities or functions. They knew they had a job
to do, and what the job was. They were on their own:
no mercy from one side, no help from the other.

More than three-score sleeps had passed since
their choreographed escape; only the events flashed
through his mind; why they happened did not.

The Raven, on a lengthy umbilical-catwalk, had
been tethered to the Guardian Station, ostensibly
for maintenance after a servicing round of
nearby communications boosters. The ship was
skeleton-staffed. Brad and his companions had
been secretly transferred beforehand to a cubicle
adjacent access to the catwalk.

At Brad's signal, the Sentinels moved quickly.
Hodak, acting as clumsily as he could, slammed
and locked the passageway safety doors with the
loudest noises he could generate, broadcasting the
unusual activity to all within hearing range and for
electronic sensor pickup.

They had lurched and stumbled noisily along the
catwalk, Adari suppressing giggles. As the last
of the six cleared in through the Raven's air
lock, Hodak had hit "Emergency," on appropriate
switches and the ship-to-station servicing lines went
through quick-disconnect. Portals closed and locked.

Within seconds, Brad was on the bridge and his crew
at rehearsed departure stations. The caretaker
officer and his two aides stepped aside, silent,
businesslike. They were Ram's men.

Adari hit the tether-disconnect. Disengaged, the
catwalk coiled in toward the station as the ship
edged away. Signaling Hodak for minimal repulse and
acceleration to increase the drift, Brad ordered all
hands immediately into accelo-nets. He increased
thrusters to 'low' and, following a moment's pause
into 'intermediate'. As soon as he sensed they
could handle the acceleration he stepped the thrust
up to successive levels.

The old tub creaked, pitched, rolled and yawed;
lights flickered and dimmed; systems slipped
into yellow or borderline red on half a dozen
indicators, all recorded on the ship's log. The