staring them down, growling. Farraday had always heard that the psychic link that drew the para-ape wranglers toward their prey worked both ways, and attracted the animals to their hunters. Apparently it really did work the same way for werewolves. Maybe para-apes were some odd local mutation of the meta-species?
Not that he had time to speculate about it much right now. In fact, as the werewolf glared at them, hair bristling, its deep growl setting his bones to shake with shuddering vibrations, Farraday wondered if he was ever going to have time to wonder about anything ever again. Impatiently, out of the corner of his eye, he watched Dobbler preparing his lasso-and-pole apparatus for the first cast, a bit slowly and methodically for the captain's taste.
The werewolf hadn't yet attacked them or run away, both of which were the behaviors one would expect. Was that because the psychic link Dobbler had established held her in some kind of mini-thrall? Or was it because, deep down, despite all the received wisdom of science and wizardry, Jennifer was trapped inside there, a prisoner, gazing out at him, dimly recognizing him and desperately struggling to prevent the werewolf from doing him any harm?
Gazing into her snarling muzzle, her glaring yellow eyes, he could find no other trace of his lover. But then, the longer he stared, the more it began to seem to him that there was in fact some mysterious something there.... Yes, he was certain of it, sure that it wasn't just his imagination....
As he was on the verge of taking a step forward, of reaching out a gentle hand to calm his Jennifer, the werewolf roared and sprang at him.
***
O ut in the corridors the roars burst out from deep within the Tubes like a physical wave crashing forth. Even the more hardened Security personnel flinched. One of them, Lieutenant Hasegawa, instinctively began running for the entrance, but Miller grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her back.
She looked up at him with a wild appeal, but he only shook his head. “How would we ever find it in the next four minutes, with all those echoes rolling around?” he said. “And besides, captain's orders: we wait it out here.”
***
I n Engineering, Blaine's fingers fell from the keypad. “Got it,” she murmured. She'd constructed the workaround. Now she stared at the screen as if the program were an unwanted intrusion, as opposed to something she'd been struggling to create.
“Reports of werewolf roars in the Tubes,” Blackmon said tensely. She looked at the new workaround that was displayed on her screen, then slid her eyes uncertainly Blaine's way. “Ma'am?... Shall I initiate this?...”
“It's only two minutes till they get the portable airlocks set up.”
“But ... the captain's orders, ma'am....”
Something in Blackmon's tone suddenly made Blaine realize just how frightened she was. Well, she was right to be frightened; and it really was stupid and irresponsible of Blaine not to order the Tubes blown now, because it would take only an instant for the werewolf to knock something catastrophically out of whack. And if it was in there roaring and rampaging like that, then Dobbler and Farraday were probably dead anyway.
But: “Two minutes, Chief,” she said, and held tight.
***
T hree minutes later, all personnel on Deck Three had withdrawn behind the portable airlocks, and Lieutenant Storr, standing next to Miller, stood ready to seal off that section of the ship. Miller watched him to see if he would falter, as a way to distract himself from the question of whether he himself would. He thought he saw the glistening hints of some sweat at the man's hairline, but that was all.
Storr raised his wrist to his mouth. “We're ready to seal them off, Commander.”
The moment's silence from Blaine's end was heavy. Miller didn't want to imagine how bitter it must feel to her, to promote herself this way.
But, really, the hesitation was so brief it might have been Miller's