Blind, unreasoning hate for the forces of the DIC surged into his mind. He saw Gutridge's mocking face and it added fuel to the rage burning fiercely within him. He recalled vividly that Gret was in his possession and the fires of bitter hate blasted away all remnants of his former caution.
Outside he could hear the mutter of DIC soldiers who were obviously confused by the shooting of the guards and the sound of further shooting inside. Then the steel-reinforced door began to quiver on its hinges.
Pell slowly looked down at the ancient pistol in his hand and laughed to himself. There was no further need for that thing, he reflected. He threw it way from him and walked purposefully over to the body of Bede, the dead technician. Without the slightest hesitation, he rolled the bloody thing over and took the blaster from its lifeless hands.
He looked back at the door. The pounding had stopped, but he saw a little white flame dancing and flickering around the lock. Pell smiled a bit, leveled the blaster in his arms, and depressed the stud.
Pell smiled, leveled the blaster and depressed the stud.
In an instant the steel door turned a dazzling white and began to run into slag. The vicious, expanding cone of blue flame played on it an instant more and suddenly it exploded into vapor. The knot of mercenaries around the door disintegrated into exploding cinders. Some of them on the outer edges even had time to scream.