"I'll go down. Stand by, Chip."
Retief started down the narrow steps, half stair, half ladder. Halfway, he paused to listen. There was a sound of slow footsteps, then silence. Retief palmed the needler, went down the last steps quickly, emerged in the dim light of a low ceilinged room. The stern of a five-man lifeboat bulked before him.
"Freeze, you!" a cold voice snapped.
Retief dropped, rolled behind the shelter of the lifeboat as the whine of a power pistol echoed off metal walls. A lunge, and he was under the boat, on his feet. He jumped, caught the quick-access handle, hauled it down. The outer port cycled open.
Feet scrambled at the bow of the boat. Retief whirled and fired. The guard rounded into sight and fell headlong. Above, an alarm bell jangled. Retief stepped on a stanchion, hauled himself into the open port. A yell rang, then the clatter of feet on the stair.
"Don't shoot, Mister!" Chip shouted.
"All clear, Chip," Retief called.
"Hang on. I'm comin' with ya!"
Retief reached down, lifted the chef bodily through the port, slammed the lever home. The outer door whooshed, clanged shut.
"Take number two, tie in! I'll blast her off," Chip said. "Been through a hundred 'bandon ship drills...."