He was at the open door now and, without hesitation, strode in. Directly in front of him were the hostages, as yet oblivious to his presence. Flanking the doorway were two Security men: one lounging against the wall; the other, a youngster, standing at a conscientious parade rest. Skyler took the kid first, with a backfist to the solar plexus and another to the side of the neck. The older guard, grabbing for his gun, went down with a jab in the stomach and two head punches for his trouble.

The room had gone deathly still by the time Skyler looked up from the unconscious Security men. The hostages stared at him with wide eyes, their cards, drinks, and conversations forgotten. "Ladies and gentlemen," Skyler began—and suddenly the tingler on his right wrist came to life, tapping dots and dashes into two sections of skin. In the economical blackcollar combat code the message took only twelve letters—but its meaning was a heart-stopping mouthful! Ryq coming in the main entrance—will attack—request aid.

Skyler was out the door and running down the hall almost before the message ended, but even so he knew he would be too late to get there first. A muffled thud just as he reached the double doors confirmed that fear, and he flung open the door to find the battle already joined.

The Ryq, looking from the rear like a tall upright Doberman covered with brown rubber, was striding across the reception area, his short sword slashing viciously at Woody Pittman. The trainee was doing his best to dodge the blows or to deflect them with his—now—badly splintered nunchaku, but he was giving ground rapidly and within seconds would have his back to the wall. Shifting his nunchaku to his left hand, Skyler snatched a knife from his belt, wondering briefly at his chances of missing the rapidly moving Ryq and striking Pittman instead. But there was no choice. Raising the knife, he took aim—and Pittman stumbled and fell on his back. With a thin wail of triumph, the Ryq raised his sword high.

And Skyler's knife flashed across the room, burying itself in the alien's back.

The Ryq jerked as if with an electric shock, his sword clattering harmlessly to the floor behind him. Some trick of balance and locked joints kept him upright long enough for Skyler to put two more knives into the tough hide. Then, almost gracefully, he toppled over.

Pittman was getting to his feet as Skyler reached him. "You okay?" the blackcollar rumbled, noticing for the first time the handful of bloodstained cuts in the youth's non-flexarmor sleeves and gloves.

"Yeah. His laser's over by the desk."

"Your sneak attack was a bit off-center, huh? Well, at least you disarmed him. Get the gun; I'll be back in a minute."

Retrieving his knives, Skyler hurried back to the holding room. The hostages were still seated where he had left them, but they'd gotten over their surprise, and a burly man at a gaming table spoke up indignantly as Skyler entered. "Look here, you—what do you think you're doing?"

"Getting you out," Skyler told him. "We're about to launch an attack on the Ryqril."

The burly man's face turned pasty white. "Are you insane?' he gasped. "You'll kill us all! Haven't you fools learned yet that you can't fight the Ryqril?"

Skyler ignored him. "On your feet, everyone. Let's go."

"No!" The burly man's hand came up from under the table, clutching one of the fallen guards' lasers. "Call it off!"

Skyler reacted instantly, leaping to his left faster than the other's weapon could track. His knife was in the air before he landed, and an instant later the laser was flying across the room as its erstwhile owner hugged his hand where the hilt had most likely broken a bone or two.

"I said let's go, damn it," Skyler said to the group, putting steel into his voice.

Moving with terrified jerkiness, the hostages scrambled to their feet. Feeling like a glorified sheepdog, Skyler herded them down the hallway to the reception area.

Pittman was crouched by the desk, watching the front door. "Braune just pulled up with a van," he reported.

"Good. I'll see them off, then we'll follow in the other car."

"But we can't leave the Hub," one of the hostages objected mechanically, her horrified eyes glued to the dead Ryq. "The gate guards—"

"Will be out of the way soon," Skyler told her. "Looks clear—let's go."

Braune had clearly lifted the van from Security's own parking area; though unmarked, its sealed-off driver's section was designed with prisoner transport in mind. Skyler got the hostages aboard, gave Braune some final instructions, and headed down the street to their original vehicle as the van rolled off toward the Hub's south gate.

Pittman was climbing in the driver's side when Skyler reached the car. "Shove over, Pittman; I'm driving."

"I can drive, sir."

"Tricky to do while you're bandaging your own hands, isn't it? Move over."

The youth complied, and Skyler soon had them heading south. He glanced occasionally at Pittman as he drove, noted that the trainee was having a bit of trouble manipulating his medkit's bandages. It didn't matter how realistic the training simulations were, Skyler told himself silently—genuine combat always was different. "You did a good job tonight," he said, breaking the silence.

"Thank you, sir. I'm sorry I missed the Ryq's head with my nunchaku."

"Forget it. It's hard to believe how fast they can move." He paused. "By the way, that was a damn fool stunt you pulled, faking that fall. By all rights you should've died there."

Pittman shrugged. "I saw you come in with your knife ready. It seemed to me you'd have a better target if I could get the Ryq to stand still a second. I figured it was worth the risk."

"And besides, you didn't want to be in my line of fire?"

"I thought you might be worried about hitting me."

"I appreciate your consideration. But don't ever do that again. Duck, go left or right, jump over the son of a cockroach if you have to, but never go down on your back in front of a Ryq. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Skyler clapped the boy on the shoulder. "After all," he said in a milder tone, "I'd hate to lose you now after all those hours of training."

Under his hand, he felt some of the tension go out of Pittman's muscles. "Yes, sir. I'll try to watch out for your investment."

In the darkness, Skyler smiled to himself Yes, this kid was for sure going to be one hell of a fighter someday.

The insistent buzz of his bedside phone dragged Prefect Galway from a deep sleep. Reaching over, he turned off the visual and picked up the handset. "Galway," he yawned.

"Prefect, this is Sergeant Grazian, monitoring Alain Rienzi. Sorry to wake you, but I just noticed something that might be important."

"Go ahead," Galway said, rubbing his eyes.

"Well, sir, Rienzi left his pills at the lodge and had to be driven back up there to get them. I've got the East Gate reports on his departure and arrival and—well, I'm puzzled by the extra briefcase he came back with."

Galway came wide awake. "An extra briefcase? Was it searched?"

"No, sir. And something else: Rienzi came through the East Gate almost fifty minutes ago, but there's no report of him arriving at his hotel. And nothing's coming in over the bugs in his clothing except what sounds like street noises."

"Call the main desk and have him pull autocab records for the last hour."

"Yes, sir." A long pause. "That's funny. No one's answering."

An unnamed fear curled itself onto the back of Galway's neck. "Go out there and find out what's wrong. Take a couple of men with you."

"Sir, he's probably just—"

"Do it, Sergeant. Call me right back—I'll be getting dressed."

He hung up and rolled out of bed, thankful that Margarite was a sound sleeper. His clothes hung neatly on a nearby chair, and he got dressed as fast as he could. He was just putting on his boots when Grazian called back with the news. "Beta Alert," the prefect ordered. "Get extra men to the gates; I want the Hub sealed off. See if they've done anything else in the building—" a memory clicked with a hunch—"and get some men to the Records Building right away."