VAL KENTON CAME TO with the acrid bite of neutralizing gas twisting his stomach in violent nausea. He retched, turned on his side, reaching automatically for the gas-pipe. His hand encountered nothing, and he opened dazed eyes, stared uncomprehendingly around.
“Leave me alone!” he snarled, “I paid your bloody money for a private booth!”
A heavy palm smashed across his face, brought him, raging, to his feet. He lashed out with both hands, felt a grip of steel on his shoulder whirl him and throw him back to the laced-steel bunk.
“Sober up, Kenton,” a hard voice snapped, “I haven’t got time to waste.”
Val Kenton came slowly to a sitting position, rubbed his aching forehead with his hand, finally forced his bleary eyes to focus on the uniformed man standing so grimly before him.
The man w
