He got to his feet and backed along the corridor. His knees were weak. He covered the door with a trembling hand and prayed for Herb to show himself. The ship was silent. He had to sit down. He wanted to be sick. Perhaps Herb had taken the other door out! He whirled. No movement. He had to have a place to hide. He had to hide, and wait, and when Herb came searching for him-- He staggered back. His side began to throb dully. The ship was very quiet. "He's out there," Herb said, knowing that his words would carry over the hidden microphones. "I will manage to kill him before we reach the big ship." Norma was breathing shallowly, not yet fully recovered from the wreck. "What about Earth?" "It's too late." "If we could--if we could destroy the ... that ship ... if we could ram it: prevent it from setting off the charge...." "It's too late," Herb said doggedly. But even with the words, he felt the first hesitant flicker of hope. If he could take over this ship, and with it assault the great ship in space, there capture the remote-control mechanism by which the charge would be detonated then perhaps Earth could really be saved. First kill the Oligarch. Then.... Norma whimpered to herself. "You stay here," he hissed, too softly, he hoped for the microphones to pick up his voice. Her eyes widened in protest. "Don't go. He'll...." "Shhhhhh," he silenced her. Bending, he whispered, "I'll find him first. You'll be all right." He left her. At the doorway, he looked back. She seemed crumpled and lifeless and defeated. The Oligarch was somewhere to his left. In the corridor, waiting? Herb could not know. There was only one way to find out. He stepped from the room, gun ready to fire. The corridor was empty. Where? In the control room? In the office? In the kitchen? The messhall? Herb moved forward silently. * * * * * The Oligarch had backed across the messhall. One hand clutched at his left side. His breathing was too loud. Herb would surely hear it. He stood in the far doorway that opened into the short corridor leading to his office and that extended beyond his office to open into the main corridor. Herb would have to cross before its open face should he come forward. From the doorway, the Oligarch also commanded a view of the main messhall entrance, should Herb stop to inspect that room first. By ducking either in or out, he could place a protecting wall between himself and his pursuer. The Oligarch knew that Herb would come. His left side was terrifying testimony that the lifetime of conditioning had been stripped away.