"Him."
The guard swung to look at Brice and, as his head turned, Lors brought
the butt of the pistol down hard. The guard grunted and dropped heavily
to the floor, his auto-rifle falling with a loud thud. By now, if
everything was working out right, Danson should be on his way to the
scout ship hangar. Lors looked at Brice.
"Come on, Nolan. Get into these clothes!"
Between the two of them, the stripping of the guard was fast. In a few
minutes, Brice was wearing the spacer's blue uniform and was buckling
the black cartridge belt about his waist. He gripped the auto-rifle in
his hands eagerly and looked at Lors.
"Hand me his helmet," he said.
Lors picked it up and straightened to hand it to the Terran. Lors saw
the punch coming, but surprise prevented him from making any move in his
defense. Nolan Brice's fist smashed into the side of his face with
stunning shock and he flew backwards onto the bed.
"Thanks," he heard Brice snarl.
Lors rolled off the bed and onto the floor, the force of the punch
making his head reel. He heard the door to the room close and the sound
of Brice's running feet outside as he staggered to his feet. You damned
fool, he thought. You can't get off this ship alone!
He started running after the Terran, drawing his pistol as he ran...