Abruptly the tune died on Kueelo's lips. He stretched out, gazed with infinite longing at the black sky and myriads of mocking stars. He searched for Mars.
Curt stared back across Mercury's lava-waste. The Prison Dome was well behind them now. He wished he could say how far ahead their objective lay, the little mountain-range that straddled half the planet.
"Last chance," Curt told them grimly. "If either of you wants to change his mind, you've just enough oxygen to make it back! They may let you in again—if you want a month of solitary at the radite mines. What about you, Rikert?"
The big man raised his head, laughed nastily. "Go back to that hell hole? I'd rather die a quick death out here. You getting cold feet, Emmons?"
Curt flashed darkly. He'd only made the suggestion for Kueelo's sake.
"You, Kueelo? There's a chance of our missing Landreth. We've been delayed, and he said he'd wait only ten hours with the spaceship."
The little Martian's face showed white in the darkness. His voice was soft, very soft and musical as always.
"Thanks, Emmons. But I've waited years for a chance like this. If it were a million to one I'd still say go on." Curt nodded. Sure, he knew. Kueelo was a Martian political, an "irreconcilable," exiled to Mercury six years ago when Jal Tagar's government had taken over Mars. As to Rikert, Curt knew even less. The man had been sentenced for murder or space-piracy. It didn't matter now.
What mattered was that these two knew even less about him. He wondered how long he'd stay alive if they learned his real status!
DeHarries had taken into his confidence a mere half-dozen of his most trusted operatives. They were given widespread assignments. None knew what he would find, or where. And Curt's assignment, the Federation Prison, was toughest of all. Not even the Prison overseers knew his true identity! Curt worked with the hardened criminals of all planets, enduring the privations and hardships and awful radite rays.