"I'm telling the truth! Fourth floor!"
The gun descended once again. Satisfied, Thornwald left the other crumpled on the floor, and started up the stairs to the fourth floor.
He wanted Henderson, now.
More than anything, he wanted his missing left arm back. Half a dozen times in the last thirty minutes he had cursed the frustrating necessity of fighting with only one hand. Even the prosthetic would do, the steel-thewed robot hand that he controlled with his mind. But for the present he'd have to manage with one hand.
He mounted the stairs and emerged on the fourth floor. An array of rooms confronted him. Which was Henderson's? He didn't know.
He started to enter one, picking it at random. Then he felt a cold pressure in the small of his back.
"You can stop right now," a deadly-sounding voice said. "There's a blaster in your back. Close that door."
Without turning, Thornwald backed up and closed the door.
"Now come with me," the voice said. "I'm taking you to Henderson."
The blaster prodded and he headed down the hall to another door.