*Ritt,* Kath whispered sternly in my mind. *We don't have time for this, we're being pulled to dock. Get him under control or the only thing we'll learn on this trip is what death smells like from the inside.*
The truth was I wasn't sure we could reign him in. After the showing he'd put up at the port I was pretty sure that Tom could subdue him if he had to, but the if he couldn't the stakes were too high to just pull in my legs and hope. I took a deep breath.
And we pulled jarringly into dock. I had thought, had really wished, we'd have more time. My plans to find and fuck up our most recent malefactor began to look shoddy at best. I was frantically searching for a solution, anything I could say to bring him down without running the risk of putting Tom in the hotseat, when I heard the hatch open over the comm.
Now all I heard was a series of shrill cries and flat smacking sounds, but to hear Tom tell it Zid was a streak. As the hatch swung open he flung off all his clothes and lept, appendages swinging, head first into a squad of Protectorate Enforcers. He then proceeded to punch, kick and humiliate his way through the proud Pushers until their Sargent collected herself enough to get a stun off on the poor, spazzy bastard.
Then, of course, our fine and fecal-spirited welcoming committee rose painfully to stand and, stunners ready, boarded the Net.