Striker frowned. "Have we the right to kill?" Eric said, "look--they might get back to Earth someday--their progeny a bunch of savages; the hope and dreams of the race reduced to--nothing. We can kill if we have to." It was agreed. Without saying anything, Striker himself activated the lock. * * * * * Two men with clubs rushed them in the corridor, howling "Lazarus" and "death." It was Striker who shot them where they stood, before they could use the clubs. After that, they fired shots into the air, and people ran screaming away from them. Their first rush carried them almost to the control room and briefly Eric remembered when he had looked out from there with Clair at the bright faraway stars. But he could not quite picture Clair's face. He tried to, but he saw the girl, Laurie.... A dozen uniformed men stood before the control room. They looked badly frightened, but they stood their ground, then advanced. "What do we do now?" Chambers asked. "We couldn't get them all, not before--" 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. Now Eric had Larkin down, was pinning him, felt the man's hands twisting, clawing at his stomach, saw them come away with his gun. They grappled, and Eric cursed himself for forgetting the gun. Larkin held it, laughed, squeezed the trigger as Eric pushed clear. Then the laughter faded as Larkin stared stupidly at the gun he had not known how to use. Larkin gasped once, held both hands to the growing red stain on his middle. * * * * *