Her eyes were dark with fear. "They'd never let me aboard. I wouldn't dare apply. They'd find out—things—on my record here."
His mouth hardened. "You mean they'd turn you over."
"Well, maybe they would," she snarled. "What are you doing, playing cop or something? Look, I want on that rocket. I've got to get aboard it. You're a Free Agent. You can go wherever you like—and so can anyone who's with you, if you vouch for him. They can't touch you. And you're scared, you've been scared ever since you left the Records Bureau last night. It sticks out all over you—"
"All right, maybe I am!"
"Maybe you want something."
He turned on her sharply. Something in his mind was screaming a protest at the idea that was forming in his mind, but he shrugged it off. So maybe it was illegal, maybe even criminal—was what they had done to him any less criminal? "I want records," he said softly. "I want information and records. I want them very much."
"I can get them for you."
"The records I want are restricted."
"Do tell."
"What do you mean?"