"Uh-uh. The survivor would lock the ship in null-G and it'd be like shooting fish in a barrel. Since we're almost never together on duty ... and it won't come until after we've finished the computations ... they'll think up a good reason for everybody to be together, and that itself will be the tip-off. Ferdy will probably draw on me——"
"And he'll kill you," Jones said, flatly. "So I think I'll blow his brains out tomorrow morning on sight."
"And get killed yourself? No ... much better to use their own trap——"
"We can't! Fast as you are, you aren't in his class. He's a professional—probably one of the fastest guns in space."
"Yes, but ... I've got a ... I mean I think I can——"
Bernice, grinning openly now, stopped Deston's floundering. "It's high time you fellows told each other the truth. Bobby and I let our back hair down long ago—we were both tremendously surprised to know that both you boys are just as strongly psychic as we are. Perhaps even more so."
"Oh ... so you get hunches, too?" Jones demanded. "So you'll have plenty of warning?"
"All my life. The old alarm clock has never failed me yet. But the girls can't start packing pistols now."
"I wouldn't know how to shoot one if I did," Bernice laughed. "I'll throw things I'm very good at that."
"Huh?" Jones asked. He didn't know his new wife very well, either. "What can you throw straight enough to do any good?"