"That's right, Mark, you can't. So let's not mention it." Ketrik was brusque. "Believe me, son, I know what I'm up against."
"Send any news at all as to what Dar Vaajo's up to. If I learn that, I can rouse the people of Earth to preparedness in spite of the Council." He thrust out his hand. "I'll say goodby now—and good luck!"
Ketrik said simply, "You'll be hearing from me, Mark." He moved across the field, keeping to the shadows, the collar of his space tunic turned up. He wondered how many of the men working about this field were Martian "Specials." Some of them, surely. If he, an Earthman, could be molded into Martian guise, Dar Vaajo could certainly perform the same miracle in reverse and probably had.
He reached his ship undetected. All was dark and quiet. The hull, he noticed, had been painted solid black. He entered and flicked on the lights. Mark was right, nothing on the inside had been changed.
He explored the ship to make sure. Then he moved forward to the control-console, remembering that this was supposed to be a clumsy Moon freighter. The rockets roared. The ship moved with slow acceleration up the step locks, to finally catapult into the stratosphere.
And five minutes later, just as he was clearing Earth's gravity, he heard the voice behind him:
"Well, Ketrik, at last! Really—I thought you were never going to make it!"
Ketrik had long since learned caution in these matters. He turned slowly now and was glad he did. The first thing he saw was the gun—a powerful weapon, an electro. The fist wrapped around it looked firm and experienced. Ketrik's gaze went to the man's face.
It was the Captain of the Guard, the same captain who had met him at his landing eight hours before. The man was cold-eyed now. He kept a few paces away from Ketrik.
Ketrik said, "I searched the ship. Where were you?"