Hell's Gate

knocked his gun arm above his head. The gas pellet pistol clattered across the corridor, out of reach. The second vacii, who had kicked it from Salsbury's hand, was keening loudly for aid.
        Salsbury swung a roundhouse right with every ounce of strength he had in his specially crafted body, caught the vacii on its skinny neck and sent it tumbling loosely onto its dead companion. It gagged, shook its head, and tried to stand, its bony left hand pawing desperately at a black holster for a pistol much like that the first alien had aimed at Salsbury seconds earlier.
        Salsbury raised his foot, kicked the alien's hand away from its gun butt. He could hear the wrist bones crunching under the impact and felt somewhat ill. The vacii screamed, fell against the wall and slid to the floor, sobbing and making wet noises with its sucker mouth, holding the limp wrist as if it were a dead friend.
        As he turned back to the projection room, Salsbury saw a second detail of vacii-which had obviously been stationed at the far end of the corridor, hidden in the en-tranceway to a room-coming at a dead run, leaning forward as if a gale were blowing in the hall, hands either full of lethal looking hardware or groping wildly at holsters to obtain them. While he watched, almost frozen to the spot, the lead lizard fired. A burst of tiny needles studded the plaster of the archway next to which he stood. Something wet and yellow dripped from them.
        Poison?
        But that seemed a stupidly primitive weapon for such an advanced species. While he was searching for something to do, to get him out of the present mess, something struck a glancing, ringing blow against the back of his skull.
        He weaved, almost went down, but fought against the sudden blackness. He turned to find the vacii whose wrist he had broken. While his attention had been diverted toward the oncoming guards, the alien had unholstered its weapon, had stood up despite the smashed wrist, had used the gun as a club in its good hand. Why it had not merely shot him, Salsbury could not guess. Perhaps the alien was still dazed by its wound. Now, as Salsbury watched, it thought of that and tried to change the gun around to a firing position. Salsbury hated to have to do something like this to such a spunky character, but he kicked out, snapping his shoe into the creature's good wrist. The gun flew, cracked against the wall, came apart in three pieces.
        Salsbury leaped over him and started up the stairs in hopes he could find another room unused on the second floor and get back into the less dangerous grounds of the ventilation shafts.
        When he reached the first landing and started up the second flight toward the floor above, he collided with another guard detail coming down. The vacii in the lead rounded the landing, looked surprised to see its quarry coming up, lurched and shouted something to those behind him. Salsbury reached forward, lifted the withered thing by the black, silver-studded harness it wore, and pitched it backwards, over his head, down the stairs he had just climbed.
        The second vacii in the group fired its pistol.
        Salsbury heard needles rain against the plaster behind him.
        Then he had this creature by the harness too, lifted, turned, and threw it downward.
        There was a group rising from below. The falling vacii struck their leader, knocked him down. Salsbury looked back to those above him, saw two more vacii prepared to shoot. He rushed forward, coming under their barrels, and tackled them, an arm around each pair of skinny legs. They went down like new-planted saplings in a hurricane.
        The group below was recovering.
        The vacii on Salsbury's right bounced its skull on the floor, moaned and was still. The other one, however, was going to be trouble. It got a leg between itself and Salsbury, kicked out and caught the man on the chin. Salsbury saw stars, rainbows, and pretty multicolored snow-flakes, then cleared his head with a monumental effort. He swung a fist, felt it jar against the sucker mouth, knew he was in the clear.
        He clambered up the steps on his hands and knees, trying to gain his feet. On the next landing, he stood, looked backwards, and was just in time to see a spray of needles spinning lazily toward him.
        They bit into his side, arm, and leg.
        He turned, wheezing, and started up the steps again.
        But someone above was