“On it!” a harried voice responded.
“What can I do?” Kit asked as Wally sent a team of Pest Control officers bolting toward the emergency.
“Kit, thank God. Try to find someone from the Council of Seven, get the down-timers organized. We need a station-wide manhunt. Jack the Goddamned Ripper crashed the Britannia and the Ripper Cults have gone mad, attacking every petite, dark-haired woman on station.”
Kit’s eyes widened. “My God! They’re trying to kill Shahdi Feroz.”
“What?”
“Shahdi Feroz! She came through the Britannia after the Ripper. He tried to kidnap her, but dropped her in the riot. I left her lying unconscious at the departures lounge, waiting for medical treatment.”
Wally Klontz keyed his radio. “Alert, Signal Eight-Delta, repeat, Signal Eight-Delta, missing person, Dr. Shahdi Feroz. Expedite, condition red. We need a location on Dr. Feroz, stat. She’s the Ripper’s target.”
The radio crackled and sputtered, then someone said, “Roger, Signal Eight-Delta, Shahdi Feroz.”
Kit said tersely, “I’m heading back to Victoria Station to look for her.”
Wally nodded as his radio crackled again. Kit broke into a run as Wally flagged down a pair of BATF agents. Commons had never been so echoingly deserted. A score or more of injuries, an outright murder during the Britannia riot, and three women slashed by the Ripper cults, sparking three Code Seven Reds in damn near as many minutes . . . How many more people would die before they could stop this maniac and his worshippers? If they could stop him? John Caddrick would have a field day with this, curse him. And God alone knew what those damned I.T.C.H. agents would do, faced with fresh disaster. Shangri-La Station needed a miracle.