Like lightning, over by the black oblong, a paragun whished faintly as the purple beam leaped from its muzzle.
Swift, silent, Ross crept along the wall in a flanking movement.
Simultaneously, off to one side, the bak ran wide in sudden panic.
Again, the paragun spoke.
But the marksman was shooting at his visualization of a man, not an underslung, six-legged, alley bak. As before, the shot went far high.
This time, though, Ross was closer. Coming up fast to full height, he leaped in, grappling for the weapon. The edge of his right hand came down on the other's gun-wrist with smashing force.
The blow tore a choked cry from his opponent's throat. The paragun clattered to the floor.
Before Ross could leap in, the other whirled and fled. Snatching up the paragun, Ross followed.
Down a broad corridor and past a brightly-lighted room they ran; then on into utter darkness. When a crash of jangling metal echoed ahead, Ross fired at it.
A body fell with a sodden thud. Cat-silent, paragun at the ready, Ross ran toward the sound.