Stung, Travis snarled, "Sometimes you accomplish more by crudeness. If the other guy isn't expecting it."
He would not have done it, if he hadn't felt so helpless and useless beside Nuala. He knew it was foolhardy, even as he ran, right hand going for the stil-gun. In a soberer moment he would have waited, have let her figure out the answer, as she had figured out the other answers.
His dark hair whipped in the wind that came up the street when he slid to a halt. The egg-shaped adit was lifting, disclosing black depths behind it, glittering metal, a running figure.
Nuala screamed, but Travis moved before he heard her. The stil-gun belched green mist into the darkness. Travis was sliding, scrambling aside.
Light—dazzling, blinding light—shot out of the glittering metal engine just before the green mist touched it. The light was hot. Crouched against the wall, face turned away from its brilliance, Travis felt the heat of it. His brow beaded with sweat. The black hairs on his forearms stank where they crisped.
Nuala went by him, crying, "Now! Now!"
Staggering, he followed her. She went into the blackness, was a pool of whiteness for an instant. He came low and fast on her heels. The closing doors scraped his leg, it was that close.
The engine that spit the light beam was gone. There was just a gaping hole in the metal floor, a bent armature pulled loose from its housing, a glob of red flesh....
Nuala was on the staircase, going up. Travis saw a Kovokodan face leer at her, saw a tube lifted. He showered the face with green mist, watched it explode, blow into powder. Then he was beside her, thrusting her back.
"I'll take the lead," he growled.