"I see."
"It's the same with the silver needle. How do you classify it—as art, armament, or industrial equipment?"
Dane nodded slowly. "You make a good case, Nelva." And then: "But I'll still have a try at it. Let's go!"
The girl stared at him, and before his eyes the shreds of her earlier composure vanished. "Clark, I won't let you do it!"
Wordless, Dane reached for her arm.
She didn't even try to jerk back. Her words came in a rush: "Clark, you don't understand! Security keeps guards on all computers—a special unit of Thorburg Jessup's private zombies. They'd capture you or kill you before you even got close to the question boards—"
"That would make a difference to you?"
"Can I say it any plainer?" The girl's lips trembled. She caught Dane's hand between hers. "I won't let them get you, Clark! I won't! That's why I'm telling you these things; why I've tried to help you. We'll find some place to hide you, somehow, where even Security can't find you—"
"Sorry, Nelva." Dane shook his head. "I'm not fool enough to think I can hide from Security, even if I wanted to. And as for what you say about the computer—well, this is my day to see things for myself."
Nelva drew back. Her nostrils were flaring, yet she seemed closer to tears than anger. "You don't trust me!"