“It’s an old one,” Kennon said.
“That’s a gross understatement. Stand by for boarders. Ambulance coming up.”
Kennon opened the airlock and two radiation-suited men entered. “At least you had sense enough to wear protective clothing in this hotbox,” one said as they carefully unwebbed Copper and carried her out of the lock. “You wait here. The Port Captain wants to see you.”
“Where are you taking her? What Center?” Kennon asked.
“What should you care? You’ve nearly killed her. The idea of taking a pregnant woman up in this death trap! What in Fleming’s name’s the matter with your brain?”
“I had to,” Kennon said. “I had to. It was a matter of life and death.” For once, he thought wryly, the cliche was true.
The Betan’s face behind the transparent helmet was disgusted and unbelieving. “I hear that sort of thing every day,” he said. “Am I supposed to believe it?”
“You’d believe it if you’d have been where I was,” Kennon muttered. “Now—whe’re are you taking her?” he demanded.
The man arched blond eyebrows. “To the local Medical Center—where else? There’s only one in this area.”
“Thanks,” Kennon said.