Pemberton glanced in his rear view mirror. "They having trouble back there? No, I guess not; they just slowed down a little."
Newhouse swiveled his head around and peered at the second car, which was following them. Like their own, it floated a foot off the ground on its antigravs as it moved through the jungle. It didn't seem to be having any trouble.
"There's another thing, Lieutenant," Pemberton said. "I don't like the idea of carrying a dame along. Not that she's any trouble, but she might get hurt. This isn't exactly the cornfields of Iowa, you know."
"I think Captain Smith can take care of herself," Newhouse said. "She's a pretty tough gal."
"I'd rather have her on my side than against me, that's for sure," the sergeant admitted, "but my protective instincts always rise when I see a woman out in the wilds like this. Even if she is an officer."
Newhouse started to answer, but there was a pounding on the roof of the car. Pemberton slowed, rolled down the window, stuck out his head, and said something in a language Newhouse didn't understand.
Ksitka, a hunter from one of the tribes near Dynak Base, jabbered something back in the same tongue. Pemberton pulled his head back in.
"He says he smells trouble. There's a group of those lizard-like carnivores up ahead—two or three, he says. We'll have to go around 'em; I don't want to get tangled up with those babies." He turned the wheel, and the car angled to the right. "Can't go to the left," he explained. "There's a cliff there that we couldn't make."
For a long minute, he was silent. Then: "And that's another thing, Lieutenant; we have to keep these cars close to the ground. If we could fly 'em, we'd have been to Oassi hours ago. But no, just because we're not to reveal our strength to the natives, we have to go creeping along like snails. Why, when I...."
Newhouse folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. Sergeant Pemberton was a compulsive griper, but his droning voice made a nice lullaby.