The guard at the door was one of Kent's men. He looked up, startled, as Conroy appeared.
"Where are you—?"
Before the man could do anything, Conroy cut him down with a shot from his ray pistol. This was war—civil war—and there was no time for subtlety.
He stepped over the body and flung open the door of Number Nineteen.
He took in the situation in a glance. The Staff Officers, including the Captain, were lined up against one wall, and four of Kent's men were aiming their ray pistols.
Kent was saying: "Ready—aim—"
But the last word never was uttered. Kent was beginning to form it when Conroy got both his guns out and started to fire.
His first bolt smashed down the nearest executioner; a fraction of a second later, the man next to him dropped. Their attention deflected from the victims to Conroy, the other two and Kent whirled to face the newcomer.
Two more bolts blasted out—the first dropping one of the remaining gunmen, the second singeing Bayliss Kent's shoulder. Conroy hit the floor as a buzzing blaster bolt from the third man ripped over his head and splattered into the wall behind him.