“This is some kind of trick...”
“Do you want to go, or stay here,” Lors demanded coldly. “I don’t have time to lecture you. I’ll leave that up to your friend, Danson.”
“Play it your way, spaceman,” Brice said tightly.
“Okay.” Lors stood up and spoke through the door to the guard, pulling his auto-pistol from the holster. “Come in here, spacer!”
The guard shoved the door open and came in. “What is it, Firstspacer?”
“Him.”
The guard swung to look at Brice and, as his head turned, Lors brought the butt of the pistol down hard. The guard grunted and dropped heavily to the floor, his auto-rifle falling with a loud thud. By now, if everything was working out right, Danson should be on his way to the scout ship hangar. Lors looked at Brice.
“Come on, Nolan. Get into these clothes!”
Between the two of them, the stripping of the guard was fast. In a few minutes, Brice was wearing the spacer’s blue uniform and was buckling the black cartridge belt about his waist. He gripped the auto-rifle in his hands eagerly and looked at Lors.
“Hand me his helmet,” he said.