Staggering, he followed her. She went into the blackness, was a pool
of whiteness for an instant. He came low and fast on her heels. The
closing doors scraped his leg, it was that close.
The engine that spit the light beam was gone. There was just a gaping
hole in the metal floor, a bent armature pulled loose from its housing,
a glob of red flesh....
Nuala was on the staircase, going up. Travis saw a Kovokodan face
leer at her, saw a tube lifted. He showered the face with green mist,
watched it explode, blow into powder. Then he was beside her, thrusting
her back.
"I'll take the lead," he growled.
He used the _stil_-gun twice more before they reached the big chamber
at the top of the tower. Facing death, taking risks, using the muscles
of his space-hardened body, Travis felt the elixir of battle pound in
his veins. He was a person again, not just a thing dragged along by the
last woman of the Nekkalad.
Nuala went by him as he stood in the doorway. She raced to banks
of buttons spread across the western wall of the room. Her fingers
slammed down, played like the digits of a Venusian pianist across the
complicated keyboard.
She was just in time. The floor shuddered under their feet as the tower
rocked. But the floor held. And the tower stood. Nuala threw back her
head, flung wild and eerie laughter at the flat ceiling.
"By Grock, I've won! I've _won_!"
She put trembling fingers to her face, clawed at it, tearing strips of
flesh away. Travis opened his mouth, closed it. Bit by bit, she pulled
the _celluvalin_ loose and cast it from her. She swung about, faced
Travis. Once more her face was lovely, mouth warm and kissable.
"You helped me, Earth-thing. You helped me get here! I'll reward you
for that!" She lifted her arms, did a girlish pirouette.