As he landed, the spell of startlement that had held the others broke. With an incoherent roar, the man at the left lunged forward.
Boone jerked back. Writhing, flat on the bunk, he jackknifed his legs up and lashed out with both feet, straight at his attacker's face.
The man tried to dodge. Barely, in time, his head flicked aside.
But it was too late for him to twist his shoulders.
There was the brittle Crack! of a collar-bone snapping. The man catapulted back, clear across the cell-block.
But now the third man was upon Boone, swinging a nerve-gun. The guard crowded close behind him.
Before Boone could move, the barrel gashed open his forehead. A fist hammered at his temple. The guard clawed at him ... crushed his flailing legs in a mighty bear-hug.
Spasmodically, Boone clutched the nerve-gun; jammed it upward.
A grunt of pain echoed as trigger-guard wrenched forefinger. The man who held the weapon reared back sharply and let go of it.
Boone backhanded the butt, striking for the man's Adam's-apple.