"You win, I'm not arguing. Let's get it over with."
Haine led him out of the NIC room, and he could feel Deanne's accusing eyes at his back. She hated him now. He knew it.
XI
The thin disc shown weirdly in the light of the tortured binary, and Jon guided Deanne's suit-bloated figure up over its lip, then clambered to its sleek metal surface himself. It was a tricky business, without weight, and without sufficient handling knowledge of the alien-built power pack to attempt the delicate maneuvering required with it.
Together, wordlessly, they reeled in the cylindrical capsule which contained their tools.
A scant ten thousand miles off, B-Haaq waited in the Flagship. Waiting, Jon knew, for an element of Tinker ships to arrive and form about him in battle formation. And when they came. Yes, he knew what B-Haaq would do.
He looked back, and could barely discern the dark mass of Stine's great craft as it blotted out the myriad of stars behind it. Power against power. They would have to hurry.
He moved toward Deanne, and she moved away. He grabbed her wrist, pulled her to him, touched her helmet with his, and spoke rapidly.
"Keep your radio off, and we'll talk this way! Now do just as I say, and before you put me down for a sellout, work like you've never worked before! We may have thirty minutes—an hour maybe, before this whole system goes to pieces! And less than that before the other fireworks start!"