Already a crowd was collecting. Vickers heard angry mutterings. He forced his way through the press bull-like. Suddenly he found his path blocked by two determined-looking men.
"Hold on," said the man on the outside and put his hand on Vickers' chest. He was blond with cold, pale blue eyes. "What's your hurry?"
Vickers started to thrust them aside when he felt the second man jam a gun into his ribs.
"Vickers, aren't you?" asked the blond man.
"What of it?"
"Come along." He jerked his chin toward an air taxi. "Don't make a fuss."
"Where?"
"Headquarters." The man produced an ISP card. "We tried to catch you at the ship, but you'd left."
Vickers hesitated. Despite the pistol in his ribs, he thought he could take the two plainclothesmen. It would be a futile move, though. The ISP would throw out the net for him, and this time he would be sent back to Jupiter for life.
He sighed, "All right," and climbed into the cab.