"I can't figure the doctor out," said Stokely. "I thought he made a wonderful suggestion about stopping off and picking up some more jade, but now that I've invited him, he doesn't want to go."
Archer had discarded his own gun with his pressure-suit and was chagrined to see it now in its holster at Stokely's waist. He groaned inwardly, cursing his sleeping intuition for not having warned him. In looking back, he realized now that there had been more to Stokely's reactions than mere awe at the sight of a fabulous gem. And there was something else—Stokely, though a first-rate engineer, had been washed out as a Space Guard cadet on psychological grounds. He was quite sane, but too individualistic—his social and cooperative indices had been low. Captain Rogan had known of his record, of course—but he had not known what would be found on this ship, and what effect it would have on Stokely.
But what about Evans? Archer turned in his chair and saw the slightly built man standing a little nervously in back of him, holding what must be the dead prospector's gun.
Archer bit his lip. Not much was known of Evans, since he had been with them only two trips, and his responsibilities as an ordinary crewman had not been great. Archer judged him as a none-too-bright individual who would never undertake such a bold venture on his own initiative, but who might go to considerable lengths under strong leadership. Well, he had that in Stokely, whose pale blue eyes had a reckless and determined look about them.
"Are you with us?" demanded Stokely. "I could probably pull this off without you, but it'll be easier with you. Because you're a damned good pilot even if you are the Captain's fair-haired boy. What do you say? Not that we'll trust you very far, either way. Evans and I keep the guns. You'll have to string along part way, anyhow—if you want to come all the way, there's a fortune in it for you."
Archer unsnapped his safety belt and got to his feet, flexing his lean limbs, which were cramped from the many hours of confinement. As he faced Stokely, their eyes were on a level, although the pink-haired man would have run a good 30 pounds heavier—or, at the moment, 45.
"What guarantee," asked Archer in a dull voice, "would I have of that?"
"My say so, mostly," Stokely admitted evenly. "But I can use a pilot, not only now but later. After we grab the stuff, the first thing we'll need is another ship—and Faria won't be the place to look for it. When we get it, we'll get rid of this one. That's where you come in."
"How do you plan to do it?"
"Very simple. Charge it up to the hilt, set her course straight out of the system and let her go at about two G. It won't come back for a thousand years, at least. The company will figure something happened to it on this trip after we managed to miss the planet, and we couldn't get back. I thought of cracking it up on Faria, but somebody might spot it hitting the air, and the time would be way off. This way is better—we just got lost in space. With nobody looking for us on IX, it'll be a cinch to get out of the system from the interstellar base.