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. "Get His Majesty the hell out of here!"
Cato saluted, looked grim. "We're trying, my lord. The limojet is experiencing engine difficulty. It might be a faulty fuel line."
"Faulty fuel line, my ass!" Dixter swore. "Has that engine ever been known to fail?" "No, my lord."
"Damn odd it should fail now, don't you think, Captain?"
"I understand your meaning, Admiral. We're doing all we can." "Transfer the king to another vehicle. Use my car. Call in the hovercraft."
"I've done that, my lord." Cato was carefully patient. "But in those instances, the king and queen would have to leave the limojet. At least inside there, they're safe." The captain looked over at the drop ship. "The limojet's shields could withstand a hit even from those lascannons."
Dixter stared at the drop ship, then cast a swift look around. It was all chaos: milling, panicked crowds; sweating police attempting to contain the mob; confused, bewildered dignitaries; and infuriated Baroness DiLuna; shoving, determined media. The Royal Guard provided an island of calm. Drawn up in a cordon surrounding the Royal Limo, the guardsmen and women were protecting the already wellprotected vehicle with their own bodies. And there was the mysterious, potentially deadly drop ship squatting squarely in the middle of a hotel parking lot.
Naval hovercraft converged on the scene; the sky was dotted with them, the air filled with their buzzing whine
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