Locking bars whispered back. The hatch revolved on its axis, slow as an asteroid eroding. I threw another quick glance at my chrono.
It still read the same as before: six Earth hours more ... six hours to ferret out the truth or be forever reconditioned.
—Six hours, that is, if Controller Alfred Kruze didn't cut it shorter.
And if he did, Rizal might very well change status. Today, it was billed as the FedGov's outermost bastion against the Kel. Tomorrow, it could prove man's fatal flaw, the Achilles heel in our whole system of defenses.
In which case—
Involuntarily, I shivered.
And still the hatch's cylinder moved at its same snail's pace.
Then, abruptly, there was a click of gears meshing. Tenons dovetailed. The hatch slid inward on its thick, girder-rigid tracks, back between the island banks of micromesh transistors.
Not waiting further, I squeezed between cylinder and slot and scrambled out into the night.
"Agent Traynor—?"