There was a rush behind them as a score of figures marched into the corridor. "We're trapped!" Striker cried.
Eric grinned. "I don't think so." He had seen Laurie in the vanguard of the newcomers.
They did not have to use their guns, not as they had been meant to be used. They fought with tooth and nail, using the guns as clubs. But mostly, they stood back and watched their allies tear into the guards.
The girl Laurie cried: "I told you there were some who believed, Eric Taine. I told you!"
They reached the control room door, battered at it. Half a dozen men came up with a great post of metal, heaved. The door shuddered. Again. Again. It crashed in.
Lindquist and Larkin stood there, over a great pile of charts and books. "You won't take this ship on to Centauri," Larkin yelled.
A little flame flickered at the end of the tube in his hand. He crouched.
"If those are the astrogation charts—" said Striker.
Eric dove, caught Larkin's midsection with his shoulder, threw the man back. They struggled on the floor, and dimly Eric was aware of others who held the writhing Lindquist. Larkin fought like a snake, twisting, turning, gouging.
Eric, out of the corner of his eye, saw Lindquist breaking loose, watched him running with the brand to the pile of charts. A shot crashed through the room, echoing hollowly. Lindquist fell over his charts.