Braigh scrutinized Tremont's expression.
"It would probably take us a while, Ralph," he decided regretfully. "It's simpler to put him outside now and be free to use tools on the box."
Tremont opened his mouth to protest, but Braigh clapped the helmet over his head and screwed it fast.
"You'll never read the code!" yelled Tremont, struggling to break free. "Those papers are no good to you without me!"
Someone slammed him against the bulkhead and held him there with his face to it. He could do nothing with his hands, joined as they were, and very little with his feet. It dawned upon him that they could not hear a word, and he fell silent. Twisting his head to peer out the side curve of his vision band, he caught a glimpse of Peters suiting up.
A few minutes later, they opened the inner hatch of the air lock and shoved Tremont inside. Peters followed, gripping him firmly about the knees from behind.
"Here we go!" grunted Peters, and Tremont realized that he could communicate again, over their suit radios.
"You won't get far, trying to read the code I have those papers written in," he warned. "You'd better talk this over before you make a mistake."
"Ain't no mistake about it," said Peters, pressing toward the outer hatch. "So you chartered the rocket. You felt you oughta go out to see about a heavy dust particle hitting the hull. You fell off an' we never found you."
"How will you explain not going yourself? Or not finding me by instruments?"