Feet pounded behind Ross in the darkness of the warehouse. Dropping flat, he rolled till he bumped against stacked transit cases.
Now, from the office area, a hand torch flicked this way and that, its hard, bright cone of light lancing through the murk.
Ross held his breath. When the beam passed over him and moved on, he wormed his way swiftly along the cases and into the first cross-aisle.
More lights. More wary shuffling. Hastily, Ross made his way to the next longitudinal aisle, then doubled back in the direction of the offices once more.
Almost in the same instant, Pike Mawson's voice cut through the stillness: "Stop! Both of you!" His words were clipped, incisive.
Ross froze in his tracks. His palms were slick with sweat as they pressed flat against the transit cases.
Mawson again: "Get back here, you fools! Don't you understand? That chitza's trying to feint us away from the entrance so he can blast out!"
From beyond Mawson, a second voice mumbled unclear syllables.
"Let him hide!" Mawson cut in sharply. "He'll soon tire of it. The thing to remember is that there's no way out of this place except through the office area; I made sure of that before we took it over. So as long as we stay at this end, our fine friend can't escape."
A burst of guttural elation. Ross' pursuers drew back into the brightly-lighted offices.