Driscoll nodded. "Come on, stowaway. We'll go up and see Janus. No skin off my teeth, if he wants to keep you aboard."
They stepped out of the room and along a corridor, bracing themselves against the forward thrust of the rocket engines.
"Who's Janus?"
"Our Commander."
"And what if he doesn't want me aboard?" Unobserved, Mark pressed a hidden stud in the black box. Tiny but powerful coils hummed to life, quickly ascended the scale to the inaudible. Camera? Mark smiled to himself and hoped none of the men here knew anything about cameras!
"You know the space-code on that," Driscoll answered his question. "If it is so desired, stowaways are tossed into space."
Mark racked his brain. "I don't remember that in the Interplanetary Code!"
Driscoll turned, grinned at him. "Who's talking about Interplanetary Code? We make our own!"
Janus was in a forward cabin poring over charts on a glass-topped table. Three other men were lounging there. Janus was six-feet-four, with bulk to match. He had flaming red hair and an outlandish full beard that made a vivid splash against the drab gray of his insulated tunic.