The Security chief's voice, half-choked, gasping the cue-words: "Dane! Remember! I'm your mas—"
The voice cut off as Dane wrenched the hairless head back and jammed a hand down the yawning throat.
Jessup, arms flailing. Jessup, eyes bulging. Jessup, face purpling.
A final jerk, with every ounce of strength left in Dane's sagging muscles. The crack of bone snapping.
Jessup limp. Jessup dead.
Dane knelt beside Nelva. Hands shaking, he felt for her pulse.
Her eyes opened; grew tender. Slowly, she smiled. Her slim hand clasped his big one.
A shudder ran through him. Face averted, he pulled his hand from hers and drew back.
"Clark—!" She caught at his elbow. "Dane, it's all right. I'm not hurt, not badly...."
Wordless, again he tried to pull away.