Blish,James – And all the Stars a Stage

here and that the truck was already racing for the Javelin-could mean only

that it was huge, armed, and at least partially organized.

And it also meant, Jorn was fervently sure regardless of the evidence, that

somebody-a great many somebodies-had badly misjudged Jurg Wester, and the

likes of him.

The flickering night framed over the tailgate of the truck was streaked

briefly by the track of a rocket shell. The concussion from the tank-killer

hung fire long after the wake of the little missile had vanished, and its

residual image after it; and then, blam, there it came, from somewhere in

the middle distance. Obviously it hadn’t been aimed at the truck, which in

any event was showing no lights; but it left behind no doubt that the mob

was armed. Of course at this speed a tire blowout would kill Jorn and

everyone else almost as instantly-

The tires screamed and the truck, yawing and lurching, slammed down to a

dead stop, piling all fifteen of them up against the back wall of the cab.

Accompanying the yell of brakes and tires was the awful grinding, pounding

note of gears being stripped: the driver had shifted down into first in

order to stop shorter than the brakes could manage alone, trusting to the

creiVs field gear to protect them and her own skill to protect her.

They were still trying to unscramble themselves from their own swearing

black homologous knot when the tailgate clanged down. “Outl” a woman’s

voice shouted. “Hit that liftl Lock closes in seven minutesl Movel”

Jorn recognized the voice. It belonged to the armorer. Well, that explained