sleeve. Barnard blinked when three of her fingers came out at the shoulder.

"That hole," she said, "was made by a bullet. Somebody took a shot at me on the way over here, and I've been followed. Evidently they've decided I know too much. I'll never step out that door alive."

She indicated a red pane of glass on the instrument panel. "If that glows, they're approaching the ship. Be ready to give them a warning blast from the rockets."

Barnard thought wistfully of the gun he had left in his hotel room. "That means I'm here for keeps, too. But you can't go to Pluto. I'll drop you off at another Martian city—or on some other planet that's on our route."

"Did you ever operate a space ship?" she asked.

"No, but—"

She shook her head. "Besides, they have agents everywhere. My life isn't worth a counterfeit milliplatin. So I might just as well go to Pluto."

Barnard sprang to life as the detector signal glowed deep red. He leaped to the handles of the rocket jets, prepared to throw out a warning blast.

There was a pounding on the hull. "Open up, in there! It's the Space Police!"

"That's Lansfer's voice." Barnard hesitated at the lock. "That means we're safe—or does it? Is this ship ready to take off?"

"Yes—"

"Then—just on a hunch—get at the control board—"

He closed the inner door of the lock behind him before he opened the outer. No use silhouetting himself against the lighted interior.

Lansfer almost lost his poker face. "You! You'll get into trouble, Barnard, if you're not careful. What are you doing here?"

"Guest of Miss Melvin, commander. And you?"

The officer indicated a paper. Barnard noted that his other hand remained close to his holster.

"We're impounding this ship. The Space Police can't be responsible for old wrecks endangering human life and limb on the spaceways."

"Very thoughtful of the Space Police all of a sudden," said Barnard.

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