"Why--" She stopped, and a hard suspicion came into the faces of the
two men behind her. "Daryesh--what do you mean? What's come over you?"
"Ma'm...." One of the crewmen stepped forward. "Ma'm, I wonder ... I
saw him pull down the main switch. And now he's in a hurry to leave the
ship. And none of us really know how all that machinery ticks."
Laird pulled the gun out of Joana's holster and shot him. The other
gasped, reaching for his own side arm, and Laird's weapon blazed again.
His fist leaped out, striking Joana on the angle of the jaw, and she
sagged. He caught her up and started to run.
A pair of crewmen stood in the corridor leading to the boats. "What's
the matter, sir?" one asked.
"Collapsed--radiation from the machines--got to get her to a hospital
ship," gasped Daryesh.
They stood aside, wonderingly, and he spun the dogs of the blister
valve and stepped into the gig. "Shall we come, sir?" asked one of the
men.
"No!" Laird felt a little dizzy. The radiation was streaming through
him, and death was coming with giant strides. "No--" He smashed a fist
into the insistent face, slammed the valve back, and vaulted to the
pilot's chair.
The engines hummed, warming up. Fists and feet battered on the valve.
The sickness made him retch.