He could not react to it—could only mechanically complete the motions he was going through, to dock his boat on the slipway Dan Sakky had carved from the rock. The drone of the engine peaked, to lift the craft on its hoverducts, then died as he shut off the power altogether. By that time, attracted by the noise, two others had joined Saul on the wharf, both looking weary, dirty, and dispirited. And both, like Saul, carrying their guns. The first was Yoko, her suit grimy in a way he had never expected to see. He had always known her to be fastidious about her appearance, smart as one of the ancient Japanese dolls she so much resembled. A bandage was wrapped around her left wrist. A moment later Tibor Gyorgy emerged into view. The burly Magyar electronics expert was in the same state—hair tousled, beard growing out, his clothes unwashed for days, and armed. He was limping slightly, as though from a rheumaticky knee. Dull-faced, the three of them watched as Dennis got out of the boat and approached them.
