“We have to hurry,” he said.

“But how . . . they’ll catch us.”

“Please! Put on the groundsides and help me.”

She slipped the clothing over her shipsuit and noted how bulky it made her feel. Her fingers fumbled with the slicker’s catches as Ferry hurried her into Sickbay.

“We’ll be gone by the time they suspect,” he said. “There’s a freighter leaving in four minutes from Docking Bay Eight. It’s carrying hardware, no crew—everything on automatic.”

They were at a Sickbay alcove by now and, as he pulled aside the curtains, Hali suppressed a startled question. Waela lay on a gurney, already clad in groundside slicker with the hood pulled down over her brow. Her swollen abdomen was a blue mound under the slicker. How had Ferry brought her here?

“Murdoch had her brought down here as soon as you were relieved,” Ferry said, grunting as he wrestled the gurney out of its alcove. Hali moved to unhook the monitor connections.

“Not yet!” Ferry snapped. “That’s the signal to Bio that something’s wrong.”

Hali drew back. Of course, she should’ve thought of that.

“Now, hook up your pribox,” Ferry said. “People will think we’re moving her somewhere for more tests.” Ferry folded the groundside hood under Waela’s head and covered her with a gray blanket. She stirred sleepily as he lifted her head.

“What did they give her?” Hali asked.

“A sedative, I think.”

Hali looked down at her groundsides, then at Ferry. “People will take one look at our clothes and know something’s wrong.”

“We’ll just act as though we know what we’re doing.”

Waela jerked in her sleep, mumbled something, opened her eyes and said: “Now. Now.” Just as quickly she was back in her sedated sleep.

“I hear you,” Hali muttered.

“Ready?” Ferry asked. He gripped the head of the gurney.

Hali nodded.

“Unhook her.”

Hali removed the monitor connections and they wheeled Waela out into the passageway, moving as fast as they could.

Docking Bay Eight, Hali thought. Four minutes. They could make it if they were not delayed too long anywhere along the way.

She saw that Ferry was guiding the gurney toward the tangent passage to the docking bays. Good choice.

They had taken fewer than a dozen hurried steps when Hali was paged.

“Ekel to Sickbay. Ekel to Sickbay.”

Hali estimated two hundred meters from Sickbay to their goal. They could not trust shiptransport internally. If Murdoch was a killer, if she had figured him for less than what he revealed himself, then placing themselves in a transit tube would be disaster. He could override the controls and have them delivered like salad to his hatchway.

The gurney’s wheels squeaked and Hali found this irritating. Ferry was panting with unaccustomed exertion. The few people they passed merely observed the obvious rush on medical business and squeezed aside to let them pass.