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Show the authority for to do this thing!" "Nor do I!" echoed her male colleague. "And the good Bertram is in a faint . . ." They stood there irresolute, peering at the unconscious man lying betwixt them while the scream filling the air of the shuttle to bursting went on and on. The large man toward the front of the cabin sighed, arose from his seat ponderously, approached the two uninjured stewards and took the hypodermic from the woman's hand. "Thou cans't n o t . . . " she spluttered over the noise. "Thou cans't n o t . . . " echoed her colleague, drawing his muscular self up to its full height. The two checked themselves: the large man looked somewhat official, though mayhap of the lower ranks, for his Vice Manager's insignia-a clotted mass of circles intersected by stylized lightning bolts-occupied a prominent spot on the left shoulder of his brown cloak. Phrapp (for that was his name) turned away, advanced on the screaming woman, and deftly administered the injection, straightway quelling the noise. The rest of the passengers on the shuttle breathed, as it were, a great sigh of relief, and watched with some interest as the man walked back to the stewards. His brown longdoublet looked as though he'd slept in it for several nights running-a singularly untidy Bauercrat, and that truly. The woman steward snatched up a DictaScribe. If Phrapp was indeed a |
