One of his captors pressed a vibro-key against the locking plate, and the magnetic field came on, clamping the door tight against the frame.
"That ought to hold you," the man said hoarsely, and with his companion returned to the Exec Officer's cabin, leaving Conroy alone.
Conroy sat down heavily on the metal bench along the side of the cell and strained his ears for voices from without. He couldn't hear anything. Evidently Kent and his henchmen had set about their mutinous work.
Conroy scowled. He knew what he was up against personally. They would lock him in the Navigation Observatory for the next ten years, keeping him prisoner while he guided the Starship I back to Earth. In all probability, they would shoot him as soon as he was no longer needed as navigator. It would be, he thought, better to die now. But if he did, there would be no one to navigate the ship—and once the fuel gave out, all people aboard would be forever lost.
Of course, it might be possible to figure a way out in ten years. And even if he didn't, he could leave a message in the navigation log for the officials on Earth to decode. But what good would that do, really? If this expedition failed to reach Procyon, a century of human effort would have been wasted.
Conroy decided he'd have to take his chances now. This was the time to act.
He had one asset: the stun gun. They hadn't bothered to search him, and so he had been left with one weapon, of sorts.
The trouble with a stun gun was that it wasn't deadly. He couldn't simply point it at the guard who had the vibro-key and force his way out. All the guard had to do was to refuse to hand the key over. If Conroy stunned him, he wouldn't be any better off than before. He had to think up some alternate plan.
He doubled over, clutching at his stomach—and still grasping the stun gun in his hand. "Ohhh!"