Someone cleared his throat.
Laniq jumped as if she had been struck, plunged the room into darkness and remained absolutely silent. The room—the main cabin of the conveyor—measured twelve by twelve feet. There were cabinets, files, boxes, furniture. Ample place to hide. And someone—a man—was hiding there. A Grecian would have been frightened by the conveyor in all probability. Then had she been followed?
"Put on a light," a voice said.
Laniq gritted her teeth. She had no weapon, but even if she did, a wild shot might damage the conveyor's controls. "I'm not dressed," she told the darkness meaninglessly.
"Put the light on and get into the center of the room where I can see you. I'm carrying an atomic pistol and I won't hesitate to use it. I have another conveyor, you don't. If yours is damaged I won't care. I'm going to count to three."
Laniq found her blouse and began fumbling with the zipper.
"One."
Laniq got the blouse over her shoulder.
"Two."
Struggling to close the zipper now, Laniq groped for the light, found it, switched it on. She clambered into the center of the room, stumbling over something and falling flat. She sat up, groggy, unable to fasten the zipper and feeling every inch a helpless woman fighting against a cunning, ruthless foe in the time-stream.