"Cal," smiled he.
"You're Benj."
"Brilliant deduction, Tinker. Now, do you get the pitch?"
"No. You're trying to get Murdoch's Hoard too."
"I haven't your persuasive charm, Tink. The illustrious cryptologist known as my twin brother wouldn't go into space for anything. You want the Key. Ergo, unless I miss my guess, you've been talking and using those charms on him. Don't tell me that he didn't give it to you."
"You stinking dupe."
Benj grew white around the mouth. "Your femininity won't keep you alive too long," he gritted.
"I won't steal anyone's identity," she retorted.
"I'll wreck yours," he rasped. "I'll duplicate you!"
"Then I'll be no better than you are," she spat. "Go ahead. You'll get a dead dupe—two or a million of 'em. I can kill myself in the machine—I know how. I'd do it."