CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Toni flopped around on the bunk, unable to find a comfortable position. Her arms felt like plasteel, her stomach did the Chalinga, and her head pounded as though a hovercraft compactor had crushed it before molding it back into shape. Moaning pitifully, she buried her face in her arms. Light flared behind her eyes like a thousand pins. Playing over and over in her mind was Gallian’s face morphing into Antonio Zaambuka. To block her mental anguish, she focused on the conversation between the two smugglers.
When their words became clear and she understood what they were saying, she rose onto her elbows and raised her voice so the fool in the next cell could hear her. “That’s a stupid idea!”
“Toni, khegh it. It’s the only way.”
“For you, maybe.”
“Hey, hey!” Berni int
