“He’s alive, anyway! Can’t say I’m as glad as you seem to be.”

He moved to the side of the ship. Leaning down, he extended a hand the size of a battle helmet. Kitten paused, then walked over.

“Deck is slippery up here, too,” he said. “That little walk was tricky, but faster than trying to improvise a ladder or rope. This is quicker yet.”

He enclosed her right hand in his while her left grasped his wrist. She practically flew onto the deck.

“You’re as physically complete as you look,” she murmured.

“Apelike, you mean?”

“Let’s not, now, hmmm?” She walked over to Rose and spent a couple of minutes examining him while Mal looked on. After a bit she flipped open a small compartment in the side of a belt and selected from a small packet one of several tiny ampules. It was no bigger than the nail of her little finger, but she handled it carefully.

There was a bare spot where the trousers had been ripped away. Gray hairs showed on the tanned leg. She jammed the ampule hard into the middle of the quadriceps.

“What did you shoot him with?” Mal asked.

“Dexatrinabuline. Emergency dosage. He’ll come around and be hyperactive for about an hour, after which he’ll sleep for another fifteen and then wake up good as new—unfortunately. It works fast.”

“Sure does,” said the drugger, sitting up. He glanced rapidly about the waveskimmer, then down at the wrecked hoveraft, finally out to sea. His eyes settled on the black reef that was the Vom.

“Nothing expansive,” he said. “Just a little tap to inconvenience us. Maybe we . . .” He reached down and rubbed his thigh. “That was quite a jolt of whatever it was you gave me. Don’t recognize it offhand but I’ve probably sold it.”

“It wasn’t done out of concern for your health,” Kitten said grimly. “Now, how does one open that case of yours—without getting poisoned, burned, shattered, or otherwise ‘inconvenienced’?”

“Now why would you want to know that?”

Mal reached down and grabbed Rose’s right shoulder. He could feel the bones and wiry muscles under the cloth. A slight pressure, so, and Rose winced.

“Okay, okay! No need to get tough. There’s a solid gas-air pattern charge inside the shell that blows the case apart but doesn’t affect the contents. You arm it by pressing this lock button, here . . .” he indicated a slot for a magnetic key, “ . . . and then grip the handle. There’s a trigger built into the handle underside. Once the keytab has been pressed and the trigger cocked, when pressure is removed . . . wham!”

“How long?” asked Kitten.

“When you press the keytab down, you turn your thumb to the right as far as the tab will go before letting up. That’ll give you up to sixty seconds before the blast. More time than that wouldn’t be practical.”

“Not much time to get away,” said Mal.