It was barely opened when three men in space outfits entered. They slammed the trap behind them, doffed their helmets, entered the ship. Rusty could have embraced them. Earthmen, shaven and clean....
The men came in, guns drawn. "Keep your hands in the air!" cautioned one with a captain's stripe. He searched Rusty, pistol against his chest. The others went forward.
"Wait!" cried Rusty. "You don't understand...." His words died away. A stolen ship—four escaped Plutonian prisoners, three dead. How could they understand?
"What a mess," said one, glancing into the other compartment. "Looks like this fellow saved us trouble—killed off his chums before we came!"
How should he begin? How could he explain the stolen ship? They would never believe his story. And nine men had been killed in the ship's theft. He had done his part in their death.
They searched the ship thoroughly, Rusty closely guarded by the officer.
"I am Rusty Carter! I—"
"Shut up. We don't care who you are."
The patrolmen returned.
"No one else aboard," one reported. "Three bodies, two rayed by the same gun. A Venusian pulled apart—he must have been pretty annoyed with him!"