. On each side these
corridors came together to join the short entry corridors from the
scout-ship airlocks.

Tom knew that the only way the ship could be boarded was through those
locks; a man stationed at the place where the main corridors joined
could block any entry from the locks ... as long as he could hold his
position. Tom reached the junction of the corridors, and crouched close
to the wall. By peering around the corner, he had a good view of the
airlock corridor.

Tom gripped the Markheim tightly, and he dialed it down to a narrow
beam. Nobody had ever been killed by a stunner ... but a direct hit with
a narrow beam could paralyze a man for three days.

There was movement at the far end of the airlock corridor. A helmeted
head peered around the turn in the corridor; then two men in pressure
suits moved into view, walking cautiously, weapons in hand. Tom shrank
back against the wall, certain they had not seen him. He waited until
they were almost to the junction with the main corridor; then he took
aim and pressed the trigger stud on his Markheim. There was an ugly
ripping sound as the gun jerked in his hand. The two men dropped as
though they had been pole-axed.

A shout, a scrape of metal against metal, and a shot ripped back at him
from the end of the corridor. Tom jerked back fast, but not quite fast
enough. He felt a sledge-hammer blow on his shoulder, felt his arm jerk
in a cramping spasm while the corridor echoed the low rumble of
sub-sonics. He flexed his arm to work out the spasm ... they were using
a wide beam, hardly strong enough to stun a man. His heart pounded. They
were being careful, very careful....

Two more men rounded the bend in the corridor. Tom fired, but they hit
the deck fast, and the beam missed. The first one jerked to his feet,
charged up the corridor toward him, dodging and sliding. Tom followed
him in his sights, fired three times as the Markheim heated up in his
hand. The beam hit the man's leg, dumping him to the deck, and bounced
off to catch the second one.

But now there was another sound, coming from the corridor behind him.
Voices, shouts, clanging of boots. He pressed against the wall,
listening. The sounds were from below. They must have gotten past
Johnny ... probably the men on the scooters. Tom looked around
helplessly. If they came up behind him, he was trapped in a crossfire.
But if he left his position, more men could come in through the airlock.
Even now two