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the vehicle for the skytrack?” the onboard computer asked.
    “Yeah, that’d be good,” he replied. From somewhere above and behind his head he could hear modifications being made. The roof of the car was changing above him, a portion being retracted to be replaced by another with a large claw like hook attached.
    “Modifications complete,” came the voice again. “Vehicle is ready for hover and skytrack use.”
    “O-kaaay.” Wyatt checked the monitors on the dashboard. The track was empty above and for some distance behind him. He grasped the control stick next to the parking brake and depressed the button on its tip. The turbine under the car began to whine and leaves began to fly up and around the vehicle, caught up by the disturbed air that now swirled viciously outside. Inside the car the steering wheel dropped away from Wyatt and lay flush with the dashboard.
    Wyatt pulled back on the stick and watched the vehicle in front of him disappear under his hood as his transport lifted off the street. He felt the familiar thud as the wheels folded under and into the chassis. With his left hand he slid a lever up the armrest, adjusting the stabilizers outside which had appeared like stunted wings from beneath the doors. The vehicle began to move forward, picking up speed until it matched that of the skytrack chain above. Wyatt leaned forward, looking up out of the windscreen to ensure that the track was roughly lined up in the middle of the hover vehicle. He pulled back gently on the stick and the car rose slowly and smoothly until finally the hook on the roof engaged the skytrack chain and the car was carried away, rocking gently under the rail.
    When Wyatt approached the staff entrance of the IZP the gates slowly swung open in front of him. Even traveling the short distance overland from the skytrack drop-off point to the zoo had been slow and frustrating as the minutes had ticked by on his watch. His vehicle glided into his bay and he shut off the power with the press of a button. He paced across the parking lot and into the nearby building through a set of glass double doors that slid aside at his approach and returned with his passing. He navigated the maze of lifts and corridors, following a well-practiced route before eventually arriving at his office.
    “Messages?” he asked, although there was no one else in the room.
    “One only,” came the reply, “Sender. Mannheim, Douglas. IZP managing director.”
    “Play message.”
    Mannheim’s voice filled the room. “Wyatt, I’d appreciate it if you could take some time out of your day to come and see me, the sooner the better. Talk to you later. Douglas.”
    “Message concluded,” came the other voice.
    What scheme had Mannheim come up with this time? The last time he had actually called Wyatt up to his office was to propose Project U.L.F. And what was with this “Douglas” stuff? Since when had the two of them been on first-name terms?
    Wyatt set off for Mannheim’s office with a hundred different thoughts buzzing around his head.
     
    *    *    *    *    *
     
    Leonardson watched the bubbles on his coffee swirl aimlessly around, elbows on his desk, his hands propping up his head. “What have I done?” he muttered to himself. Realizing he had thought out loud he quickly raised his head. He need not have worried. He was alone.
    He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and he knew it. He hated the feeling. Here was where he should have been in charge: this was his domain. He was respected here but that…that…maggot, Mannheim. That wretched little man had a power over him that crushed him.
    The CSETI would dismiss him instantly if they suspected he was supplying information to parties outside the organization, but he had no choice. He had nowhere to turn, and he felt like he would crack under the pressure soon.
    He shouldn’t have told Mannheim about the mining ship. It was too risky. If Mannheim acted upon that information, the CSETI