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Councilman! That should be worth enough to hold me for ransom.'
No spark of greed warmed the eyes of MacKenzie James. Single-mindedly
efficient, he banged the hatch closed over his captive's head. Jensen kicked
out in disbelief and managed to skin both his knees.
The slipped gag constricted his wind. Over his ragged, frantic breaths came
the unmistakable click of latches, the inexorable deadening of sound as the
seals of the container clamped closed. He banged again, uselessly. He might
suffocate, or die of hypothermia in Marity's unheated cargo hold; surely Mac
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James would see reason, contact his father and arrange an exchange of money.
Jensen felt the capsule bump and rise; through its shell he heard the
unmistakable hiss of a lock. He screamed in uninhibited terror, then; but
nothing prevented the sickening, tumbling fall into weightlesshess and cold
which followed. He curled up, shivering
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in the bitter end of hope. MacKenzie James had jettisoned him, living, into
deepspace.
The cargo capsule's seals preserved atmosphere. For awhile its honeycomb
panels would conserve body heat, but with no air supply it was an even draw
whether Jensen would die of asphyxiation, or tumble back to fry in the fury of
Castleton's star. At best, he might be salvaged alive by a Khalian scout ship.
Worst and most galling was the fact that MacKenzie James went free.
Jensen shouted in frustration. Unable to forget those coil-scarred fingers
flexing and curling, tirelessly beating the odds, he longed for one chance to
shoot his antagonist, even as he had Evans: from behind, with no chance for
recriminations, just death - fast and messy and final. But anger only caused
the nooses to rip painfully into his wrists. In time, all passion, all hatred,
unravelled into despair. Jensen's tears soaked the hood of the Freer robe and
curled the dark hair at his temples. After Mac James, he reviled his
disciplinarian father, for stifling his career with the stipulation that under
no circumstances was undue favor to be granted him. Competence became a sham.
Such was the influence of fame and politics, no board of officers dared to
grant promotion without performance of outstanding merit. One by one, Jensen
had seen his peers advance ahead of him. Balked pride and rebellion had landed
him here, trussed and sealed like flotsam in a cargo capsule. Too late, and in
bitterness, he questioned why the promise of money had failed to motivate
MacKenzie James.
The air in the capsule quickly became stale. Jensen's thoughts spiralled
downward into a tide of black dizziness. His limbs cramped, then grew numb;
the transmitter in the Freer sash dug relentlessly into his neck, but he was
powerless to ease even this smallest discomfort. Presently, none of that
mattered.
Resigned, Jensen directed his last awareness to cursing MacKenzie James; as
consciousness began to dim, sometimes the name of his father slipped in ...
Something banged the cargo capsule. Jostled against the side panels, Jensen
heard the whine of grappling hooks. Fear roused him from lethargy as they
clamped and secured his prison. Suffocation seemed a kindness next to threat
of Khalian cruelty; but the young officer lacked strength to do more than shut
his eyes as whatever
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being had salvaged him popped the capsule's release catches. Clean air rushed
in around the seals, and light fell blindingly across Jensen's face.
'I'm surprised he left you alive,' said an acerbic voice he recognized.
Jensen started, drew a shuddering breath, and ducked sharply to hide cheeks
still wet from crying. 'My god, how did you know where to find me?'
Perfectly groomed, and correct to the last insignia on her uniform, Ensign
Shields regarded him with that whetted edge of antagonism she had affected
since the morning he had compelled her collaboration in his scheme to capture
MacKenzie James. 'Marity's instruments weren't shielded,' she said at last.
'You're living lucky for that.'
Jensen tried to scrub his damp cheeks against his shoulder, and awkwardly
found he couldn't, not with his hands still bound. His embarrassment changed
poisonously to resentment. He faulted himself bitterly for lacking the
presence of mind to note the implications of Marity's opened instrument
panels. Evans had programmed the autopilot for the FTL jump with the keyboard
circuitry wide open to surveillance;
if the scout ship assigned to Shields was not one of the fancy, new brain
models, she still carried a full complement of electronics. 'You read our
destination coordinates from our tempest signal,' Jensen murmured, shamed by
memory of Mac James's amusement as he allowed the transmitter to remain
twisted into the Freer sash. The captain had known then that his victim would
be rescued. He must have considered Jensen a fool, harmless or incompetent
enough to be no risk if he were set free.
'Maybe not so lucky after all.' Shields shoved the cargo capsule over,
interrupting Jensen's thoughts and spilling him ignominiously onto the courier
ship's lock platform. 'You'll wish you'd died in deep-space when our
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