The blow hit home. Choking, Boone's assailant tried to break free, tripped, and pitched backwards to the floor.
Boone spun the gun, reversed it, blazed a charge at the guard, dangerously close to his own legs.
The burly jailer gave a single paroxysmic jerk, then crumpled.
Blood from the barrel-gash spilling into his eyes, Boone lurched up and lunged for the open doorway.
Someone clutched at his ankle. Kicking free, not even turning, he charged on into the corridor and broke for the building exit—half-running, half-staggering.
Then the last door was swinging shut behind him. He plunged into the shadows along a warehouse.
Behind him, chaos and rising voices. A com-box blared, "All guards alert! Escape! This prisoner's dangerous! Don't let him get off the ramp! All guards alert!..."
Forspark lights flared at the gates. Somewhere a surface carrier rumbled into clattering motion.
Boone sagged back against the warehouse and swabbed the blood from his eyes. Then, still breathing hard, running almost doubled, he raced not towards the gates, but away from them, towards the black block that was the airlock power station.