Only then, sudden in the stillness, a new voice sang out.
Or, rather, in terms of other than this time and place, an old, familiar voice.
The ugly, snarling voice of Cheng the slaver.
"I'm coming in, you—Thigpen, or whatever your name is!" he shouted fiercely. "Don't try to stop me. I've got your girl in front of me: she'll take the first blast!"
Ross went rigid.
"You! You hear me?"
"Yes. I hear you."
"Stand back, then!"
Ross swept the room with one desperate glance.
It gave him no answers. It didn't even provide shelter. For now, looking up, he saw that the offices actually were part of the storage area, chopped up and cut off with eight-foot, unceilinged partitions.