They made it in a rush. Heeling the panel shut in the faces of his pursuers, Dane wheeled right down the corridor.
But even as he turned, he came face to face with yet another guard, charging up the hall straight at him.
Savagely, Dane flung Nelva aside. Clawing out the yat-stick, he smashed its heavy head to the pit of the man's stomach.
The guard bent double. Bowling him out of the way, Dane pivoted, braced for attack or flight alike.
Yet to what end? In his heart, he knew it would be the same here as on the spaceship. Sooner or later, his adversaries would hunt him down; trap him....
Then, off to his left, a voice cried, "Clark! This way—!"
Nelva's voice.
Dane whirled; glimpsed the girl beckoning frantically from an alcove. Sprinting to her, he crowded past a door that she held open, and into a cramped, shadowy chamber beyond.
"Now, here...." Nelva's hand caught his, leading him onward.
Another door. Another. A room piled high with stored furniture and equipment.