Deliberately, Boone spun the nerve-gun's dial to the lethal output point. "Time's too short for talk, Krobis. We're going out to the ramp. You and me, together."
Again, Krobis' nostrils flared. His shoulders drew in. His head thrust a fraction forward.
Boone tightened his finger on the nerve-gun's trigger. "Try it, Krobis. Just try it."
Silence. Long, aching seconds of silence.
Then, slowly, Krobis' head came up. He made a business of smoothing his sleek black hair and came around the desk, walking with the peculiar, waddling stride that came of trying to stretch his too-short legs farther than they were meant to go.
He hadn't done quite a good enough job on his hairline, either, Boone noted. Tiny beads of sweat still showed at the roots.
"Well, Boone?" Krobis carved the words out of ice.
Stripping a coat from the rack, Boone draped it over his arm to hide the gun, then fell in at Krobis' left, not quite abreast him. In silence, they went through the anteroom where the stunned guard lay and on out of the administration building.
Again, the ramp gate loomed.
Low-voiced, Boone said, "I'm going aboard that Titan ship, Krobis. See that I get there if you want to live."