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isolated representatives of corporate enforcement found nonlethal diversions
to pass the time.
In one turret the crew amused itself with another round of cribbage, using a
board carved from beryl wood by thranx artisans on Hivehom. Nearby, an-
other pair lost themselves in manuals detailing the joys of vacations to be
had on a certain ocean world many parsecs away. In the third, gunners of
opposite sex engaged in active dereliction of duty.
While their function was quasimilitary, the station was not a military
operation, though their superior, Cargo, regarded it as such. Yet no invading
squadron of punishing peaceforcers was expected; no armada mounted by a sly
competitor was anticipated over-
head. And nothing could approach across the cleared treetops without
triggering half a hundred alarms.
So the eight marksmen remained at easy readiness and enjoyed the somnolent
casualness of night duty, secure in the knowledge that angels with guts of
silver and copper watched over them.
From within, mechanistic atheists plotted to deny
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Homesickness electronically assuaged, the last idler dropped off to sleep
within the station. No footfalls echoed in the corridors. Only the occasional
click of a relay closing, the hum of untiring machinery, the soft sussuration
of the vital air-conditioning broke the reign of silence.
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There were none to grow curious when a small hole appeared in the middle of a
corridor floor. Even if anyone had been passing nearby, chances were they
would have passed off the noise as the echo of thunder that somehow penetrated
the station's soundproofing.
The gap grew larger as the metal floor was peeled up and back like foil. A
close observer would have been able to see the hole that extended below the
floor through a meter of ferrocrete.
Two massive paws emerged from the gap, widened it until it was big enough for
more than a man to pass. A blocky, thick skull protruded, upthrust tusks
gleaming in the dim nighttime illumination. Triple orbs shone like lanterns as
they made a slow inspection of the empty corridor. The head vanished and a low
snuffling that sounded like mumed conversation came from the cavity. It was
cut off by a single grunt. Two massive, furred forms squeezed like paste from
the hole into the station.
Geeliwan contemplated the alien surroundings and shivered slightly at the
unaccustomed chill in the air, while Ruumahum sampled it for something other
than temperature.
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"Hear no giants, see no giants," Geeliwan mum-
mured in the gentle gutteral rasp of the furcot folk.
"Many are near, behind these walls," replied
Ruumahum in a cautioning tone. After a final, thor-
ough sniff to pinpoint a very faint, but unmistakable scent, he said, "This
way."
Hugging the metal walls and cloaking themselves in shadow, the furcots padded
silently down the corridor they had entered, turned a comer into another. A
last comer turned, and they drew back at the sight of the single giant seated
before the final door. The giant was not moving.
"He sleeps," Geeliwan murmured tightly.
"Behind him the scent is steady," agreed Ruuma-
hum.
Leaving the comer they padded toward the portal.
Ruumahum located the crack at the door's base. Triple nostrils breathed in the
smell of person.
Inside the door, Bom had not moved from his sit-
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-%20Midworld.txt ting position on the floor. At the gentle snuffling from
outside, his eyes came fully open again. Losting was stretched out asleep on
the far side of the chamber, but came awake as Born moved.
"What is-?"
"Quiet." Born made his way to the door on hands and knees. Dropping his face
to the floor, he sniffed once, then whispered cautiously, "Ruumahum?" There
was an affirmative grunt from the other side. "Open the door. If possible,
quietly."
The furcot growled. "There is a guard."
The low conversation finally woke the man in ques-
tion. Despite the nap, the man was good at his job.
He came awake instantly, already prepared for the fantasized jailbreak. What
he was not prepared for was the sight of a grinning Geeliwan, massive tusked
jaws opened to display a formidable array of gleam-
ing cutlery, breathing into his face. The man fainted.
"Is he dead?" inquired Ruumahum.
Geeliwan snorted a reply. "He sleeps deeply." The furcot joined his companion
in studying the doorway.
"How does this open. It is not like the doors the persons have made in the
Home."
Bom's whisper reached them from under the sealed entrance. "Ruumahum, there is
a handle near you, shaped like the grip of a snuffler. You must move it down
and then pull to open the door. We cannot do so from inside."
The big furcot examined the protrusion carefully.
Gripping it in his teeth, he turned his head according to Bern's instructions.
Bom neglected, however, to mention that the handle would stop at the proper
place. There was a pinging sound, loud in the quiet-
ness.
"It came off, Bom," Ruumahum reported, spitting out the metal.
Losting rose and took a couple of steps toward the back of the room. "I've had
enough of this place, mad-on-the-hunt. Come if you will." Giving Bom no time
to argue, he ordered, "Open the door, Geeliwan, now!"
Geeliwan rose on his rear feet, his head nearly touching the corridor ceiling.
Falling forward, he pushed simultaneously with fore- and midpaws. There
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was a groan, accompanied by a pinging sound like the broken handle had made
only much louder. The pre-
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into the room, hanging loosely by its bottom hinge.
Bom and Losting leaped over the barrier and fol-
lowed the furcots down twists and turns in the cor-
ridor neither man remembered. Distant mutters and shouts of confusion rose
around them like a nest of
Chollakees. All at once a man confronted them, ap-
pearing at the end of the corridor like a bad memory.
He reached for his belt even as his jaw dropped
and started to pull something small and shiny from it.
Ruumahum hit him with a paw in passing. The glancing blow lifted the man off
his feet and slammed him against the wall. He was still crumpling to the floor
as they passed.
The furcot rumbled terribly, "This place needs kill-
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