Janu made an eerie wauling sound, like a hurt cat, and went for him.
MacVickers started to help, but the current froze him to the metal floor. He strained, feeling his nerves, his brain dissolving in a shuddering fire. He knew why the others had broken so soon. The current did things to you, inside.
He couldn't see what was happening. The heavy mist choked his eyes, his throat, his nostrils. The pitching of the bell was a nightmare thing. Men thrashed and struggled and cursed.
So he had killed the guards. So what. There were still the control boxes. If they didn't rush them before the oil settled, they wouldn't have a chance.
Why not give up? Let himself dissolve into the blackness he was fighting off?
A great pale shape came striding through the mist toward him. Birek. This was it, then. Well, he'd had his moment of fun. His fists came up in a bland, instinctive gesture.
Birek laughed. The current made him jerk only a little, in his thin diamond sheathe. He bunched his shoulders and reached out.
MacVickers felt himself ripped clear of the floor. In a second he was out of focus of the shocker and the pain was gone. He came nearest to fainting then, but Birek's huge hand shook him by the hair and Birek's voice shouted,
"Tell 'em, little man! Tell 'em it's better to die quick, now, than go mad with fear."