Nolan Brice, however, had no scruples about shooting at Lors. He fired continually, cursing as the bullets missed. Beyond the Terran, Lors could see four other spacers running down the hall toward Brice. One of them fired.
Brice whirled, spotted them, and brought up his rifle. The gunfire, in the emptiness of the hall, sounded like a machinegun being fired in a cave. Lors saw a spacer slam backwards, rolling crazily from the impact of the bullet that Brice had triggered.
The Terran was hunched over in a crouch, like an old gunfighter, shooting from the hip. Suddenly he jerked to his feet, spun crazily in two directions at once and fell flopping to the floor. The [p144] auto-rifle clattered as he let it fall.
Lors came slowly to his feet and shoved his gun back into its holster; then he walked over to where Brice was staring at the ceiling through unseeing eyes. It was a damned shame, but he had brought it on himself. One of the spacers looked at him.
“Are you all right, sir?”
Lors nodded.
“Is he a spacer?” One of them asked, looking at the uniform.
“An escaped Terran,” Lors said, then he remembered that Danson was probably down at the hangar. “Don’t jettison this body until I give you the orders. Put it in quick freeze.”
“Yes, sir,” the
spacer said.