He still felt a little dazed. How could it all have worked out so perfectly and so simply?
Only then, suddenly, a man appeared out of a doorway, hurrying in Boone's direction with head down—almost running.
Too late, Boone tried to sidestep. The man crashed into him and they both reeled, clinging to each other for support.
The next instant, hands gripped Boone from behind. A hard, unseen something rammed against his backbone. "Don't move, Boone!" clipped a tight, familiar voice.
Boone stiffened. "Krobis—!"
"Correct." The thing against Boone's back withdrew. Krobis stepped round into view, nerve-gun in hand, leaving his aides to hold the prisoner. His black eyes glittered. "For the record, you're under Cartel arrest again, in accordance with IC regulations."
Boone held his voice flat. "I can't stop you, Krobis. But when trial-time comes, the Federation may not think much of this."
"You think not?" The Ganymedan base director smirked, and took a stand with too-short legs wide-spraddled. "Personally, I'm more inclined to believe they'll cite me for a commendation—once they've heard my recording of your little talk with Terral!"
For the fraction of a second, Boone stopped breathing. His lips were all at once so stiff he couldn't speak.
"That hit you, eh?" sneered Krobis. "You should have been more careful. All I was interested in to start was finding out who pressured through that release order for you. I didn't guess you had ties to the Independents, or that you planned to run out. But I'm glad you tried it. The recording makes your conviction certain, and puts us where we can jump the gun on Terral.