The airlock door slid open. A short, stubble-bearded man clad in windsuit and transparalite helmet stomped in. He unscrewed the face plate of his helmet. His ears were too big and he looked like a fat doll.
"We're ready for you, Mrs. Pierce," he said.
Maggie nodded eagerly. She whirled back to Ben. "Hurry! Get your helmet and suit on!"
She spun back to the big-eared little man. "Cargo unloaded? All set for the flight home?"
Home, Ben thought. She calls a place she's never seen home.
"Cargo's unloaded."
"No trouble with the I. B. I.? No investigation?"
"Not yet. We're good for a few more hauls, I guess."
Ben slipped on his windsuit. He glanced at the control panel for the airlock. Yes, he could manipulate it easily. He contemplated the heat pistol at Simple Simon's hip. A tempting idea—but, no, he wanted no more of violence.