25
Miller exited hyperspace and guided his corsair into a designated travel lane. Circular buoys glowed red, with arrows directing him around a curve.
Coppice was far behind him now.
He was glad for the air-conditioned oasis of his spaceship. He hated the heat. Absolutely hated it.
Normally, when he left planets, he left cases behind. Both physically and mentally. He had no need for them.
But there was something about Smoke that he couldn't shake, something about that damned cyborg that disturbed him.
It wasn't every day that you ran into a cyborg. Especially a homicidal, creepy cyborg who didn't like to speak.
Miller had poured over the reports. He read the scientific logs again, cringed at the violent parts. He'd reread the memory graph at least a dozen times, thinking that maybe
