Ice-nerved, Boone waited, weapon ready.
The carrier screamed to a stop beside the door. Men leaped down.
Boone stepped from the shadows, swung his nerve-gun. "Back, damn you!"
The men froze, staring.
Vaulting aboard the vehicle, Boone jammed the gun against the back of the driver's neck. "We're going onto the ramp—out to that Independent ship!"
Wordless, the man pressed buttons, swung the steering lever. The carrier jerked forward.
More dragging seconds. The great sphere on the ramp looming ever-larger.
Boone clipped, "Pull in beside the lift-shaft!"
The driver obeyed.
Stunning him with a beam-edge, Boone jumped down, gun concealed once more, as a uniformed Federation trooper stepped from the lift. He made his voice harsh, peremptory: "Who's in charge here?"