In the tense silence, Liedl moved into the mess-room.
"What are you going to do?" Joel demanded hoarsely.
Liedl grinned, his teeth glittering in the subdued night light.
"Spy!" said Tamis.
Liedl shrugged. "The word has a disagreeable sound. I prefer to call
myself a Government Investigator."
He was edging past them toward the door to the guardroom. The muzzle of
his gun hung to Joel's belly like the needle of a compass.
"Stop him, Joel!" Tamis begged wildly. "You are human. You can kill!"
Liedl had to pass within three feet of Joel down the narrow aisle
between the tables in order to reach the guardroom. Joel could see the
sweat standing out on his sallow forehead.
"Don't try anything!" the professor croaked and began to slide past.
There was the sound of a step from the fo'cs'le. Then the voice of Nick
Thorp sang out softly, "Where are you going, Gus?"
Liedl blanched, jerked his head. For a second his eyes were off Joel.
Joel's hand whipped out, slapped the dart gun. It was torn from Liedl's
fingers, went slithering across the deck to fetch up with a clatter
against the bulkhead.
Liedl opened his mouth to yell. Joel's big hands closed about his
throat.
"Kill him!" said Nick Thorp in a brittle voice.
Liedl clawed wildly, spasmodically, at Joel's wrists. The
ex-professor's black goatee stuck straight out like a spear. His mouth
was open. His round gray eyes bulged.
The muscles of Joel's forearms stood out like cords. Sweat trickled
unheeded down his nose. His face was expressionless, his green eyes
narrowed morosely.
The only sounds were Nick Thorp's hoarse breathing and the muted rumble
of the jets. Tamis pressed herself against the bulkhead, a fixed,
horrified expression on her face.
Liedl's convulsive thrashing grew weaker. Suddenly his knees buckled.
He buckled. He slumped to the deck.
Joel followed him down, stooping over him bear-like, never relaxing the
throttling pressure. Sweat ran into his eyes.
He became aware of Thorp shaking his shoulder.
"He's dead!" Thorp was saying. "Dead. Do you hear me?"
Joel drew a gasping breath, stood up, wiped the sweat out of his eyes.
He didn't look at the crumpled figure on the deck. This was the second
man he'd killed. The first had been an accident, but not Gustav Liedl.