The guard grabbed for the door, but he did not reach the bars. Some
force stopped him six inches away. It could not be seen, could not be
felt, but his straining against it accomplished nothing.
"Mallory and I are leaving," Greg told the guard. "We don't like it
here. Too stuffy."
The guard lifted a whistle and blew a blast. Feet pounded outside. A
prisoner yelled from one of the cells. Another catcalled. Instantly the
ship was in an uproar. The convicts took up the yammering, shaking the
bars on their doors.
"Let's get started," Greg said to Mallory. "Hold tight."
Blackness engulfed Mallory. He felt a peculiar twisting wrench. And then
he was standing in the control room of a ship and Gregory Manning and
another man were smiling at him. White light poured down from a cluster
of globes. Somewhere in the ship engines purred with the hum of power.
The air was fresh and pure, making him realize how foul and stale the
air of the prison ship had been.