Only then, of a sudden, close behind him, a power-unit crescendoed from hum to thunder. Wheels screamed as they scraped a curb.
Ross dived sidewise by reflex, not even glancing backward.
Careening, a vanster hurtled across the spot where he'd stood, then rocked back into the street and raced out of sight.
The man in the control-seat was the same one who'd appeared close by Zoltan Prenzz' apartment.
Tight-lipped, Ross picked himself up and brushed the dust from his clothes, then continued warily on to the avenue.
Here there were transors. In seconds, Ross was on his way to the old port quarter and Naraki's.
The place was a kabat-dive, as Cheng had said; the clientele cold-eyed, hard-faced, seclusive.
Ross started drinking.
Three kabats later, a lounger with the dark, lethal look of Malya blood about him passed Ross' elbow. "Ramp 9-D, Thigpen."
It was deftly done, with unmoving lips. To all outward appearances, the man hadn't even spoken.