A full day before the two weeks were up, Wilding was rushing conversion
of the lighter to completion. Everything else was in readiness. Food,
weapons and a store of ammunition were stacked on the landing stages
for loading. Some would go into the lighter, the rest would be at hand
awaiting the capture of the supply ship.
Aboard the lighter, technicians made final adjustments and tests. Among
them, making herself both useful and ornamental, was Amyth.
Tiny had parked herself at Wilding's elbow. She reeked of poisonous
mushroom beer. She was drunk and talking.
"Your eyes follow her," Tiny observed shrewdly.
"They do," Wilding admitted. "I'm curious about her. What could she
have done to be sent here?"
"Amyth was born here. She's never had a chance to do anything. Can you
imagine what such a life means to a girl like that?"