He saw her eyes widen. "That is sheer nonsense and you know it, cadet! A double-A takes six solid months except in event of emergency, and is good for fifty years at maximum! Why, even the geniuses of those ancient war years who were forced to conceive and devise the Project could not have done better—"
Jon grinned again. "Some day maybe I'll show you, Lenantech! Me and the planets and you! But you better get going and report me before you get yourself in a jam—"
"Yes, indeed she had!"
The girl blanched, and Jon felt sick. It was B-Haaq. It was always B-Haaq. Standing now in the hatchway, black eyes blazing.
Suddenly Jon felt something snap inside him; suddenly the delicate mechanisms of his brain which had kept reason and desire on a tautly balanced plane of stability failed him, and frustrated rage was in his throat again, and the blinding white of the exploding spacetender swam again before his eyes. He felt his right arm sweeping up over his head, felt the weight of something at its end, and then felt the arm go down, relieved suddenly of the weight.
The heavy hand gun flew straight at B-Haaq, and glanced from his head.
The man slumped, fell almost soundlessly.
And for a full second, it seemed to Jon that time had stopped. The girl was motionless, the look of disbelief frozen on her features, and there was a numbing paralysis gripping his own body.
Then he was in motion, and it was an automatic thing, his arms and legs moving swiftly as though fully independent of his brain. Within seconds he had pulled the unconscious B-Haaq into a far corner of the armory and covered him with his own cloak of office. He pulled a double rack of neuro-rifles in front of the shapeless heap, and then before she could pull away from him he had the girl by one arm and was propelling her toward the hatchway.