Somewhere outside, a blaster sang its twanging, metallic song of death.
Ross crashed into Veta and her captor. Driving his shoulder between them, he jerked the girl from Cheng's grip, even while he smashed a blow to the outlaw's midriff.
Cheng stared straight ahead—eyes bulged out, jaw hanging. His hands stayed at his sides.
Ross drew back a quick step, uncertainty written on his face.
Cheng swayed for a moment, first forward and then back.
The next instant a violent shudder, plainly visible, ran through him. His paragun clattered to the floor.
Another second and the smuggler himself half-turned and spilled forward on his face.
There was a hole in the small of his back where his spine had been—a hole well-nigh the size of a man's head, the sort of hole torn by a blaster-bolt.
Veta covered her face. Ross clenched his teeth.
Simultaneously, two men stepped into the doorway. One carried a short-barreled blaster, the other a paragun. Both wore grins of sadistic satisfaction.