Only now was no time for beauty. Not here, atop Lord Zenaor's sleek, shining fortress tower.
Craig turned.
A stair-housing rose near one edge of the flat, parapeted roof. Crossing to it, he kicked out the door's translucent panel.
Inside, now. The stairwell yawned like a black, bottomless pit. Silently, Craig crept down the steps.
There was another locked door at the bottom—and this one had no panel.
Craig kicked it.
It held firm. He kicked it again—unrestrained, now—and again, and again, till the echoes rang round him in thunder-chorus.
From beyond the portal came a beat of running feet. Someone fumbled with the door's handle.
Craig drew his fire-gun ... waited....
The door opened, a bare inch.