Auerbach, Farrell and Cotta fanned out around the jump chamber, blasters held at hip level. Kane and Grant cautiously approached the armaglass door from opposite directions. They took up positions on either side of it, exchanged curt nods and Grant heaved up on the handle.
As the door swung open on its counterbalanced hinges, the two men darted inside, Kane going low, Grant going high.
They froze motionless inside the chamber door staring silently at the floor. Anxiously Lakesh snapped, “What is it? Who is it?”
In a flat, unemotional tone, Kane called, “Baptiste, you need to see this.”
She warily approached the mat-trans unit, pushing between Grant and Kane. Soberly Grant said to her, “A little gift.”
“Or a little message,” said Kane grimly.
“Both,” Brigid declared.
The last wispy scraps of white vapor dissolved like early-morning mist. A polished black walking stick lay at an angle on the hexagonal floor disks. The silver knob and ferrule gleamed with a mocking light.