By the time the medmen had sealed the gash in his forehead, the ship was hurtling out across the void on its appointed course, away from Mars, towards far Hyperion.
Hyperion, and Eileen Rey.
Though there was little enough time for Boone to think about her.
And perhaps that was best, also. For the memory of her was with him every moment, like a shadow, and when he paused even for a second, dark fantasies rose and his belly knotted.
So he was glad when the Independents' wizened, thong-tough captain called him in for consultation in the chart-room.
The hurtling heavens flashed on the wall-screen, sharp-focussed by the microreel projector. The captain raised a long light-pointer. "This is our track. To save time, we'll cut short through The Belt and Jupiter's orbit. It's dangerous, but it may fool them."
A chill touched Boone. "You think they'll follow?"
"After what you did—those crippled airlocks?" The captain's laugh was curt and mirthless. "They'll have the whole Federation fleet out hunting for us. The only chance we've got is to find cover."
"And even if we do, we'll still be outlawed?"
"That's right." The captain shrugged. "So far as I'm concerned, I might as well tear up my ticket."