CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LORS DASHED DOWN THE hallway into the main corridor, passing the limp body of the doctor and the young spacer who had been on duty at the desk. Apparently, Brice had come into the place fast, swinging the auto-rifle like it was a club. Both of the men were unconscious, but there was no blood in sight.
“Crazy fool,” Lors said aloud and slammed the door as he dashed into the corridor.
Brice was running blindly.
“Brice! Stop!” Lors fired the auto-pistol over the fleeing man’s head.
Brice stopped and whirled, dropping to one knee to bring up the rifle he carried. He snapped off a fast burst and Lors dived across the polished corridor to hug the wall. He landed, rolling, his pistol zeroed on the Terran, but he couldn’t bring himself to shoot.
Nolan Brice, however, had no
