Hartman whirled on him. “I know! It will mean giving up the radium. But there’s no other way. We’re near Pluto. The Plutonians may detect us at any moment. If they do—” He shrugged. “We can keep the radium and die here. Or we can use the Helmets, summon the Varra, and have them guide us back to Earth.”
“Can they do that?”
“Easily. If they had tangible bodies, they could pilot spaceships as well as Duncan, or anyone else. As it is, they can tell us how to handle the controls.”
“We’ll lose the radium. It’ll mean prison too.”
“Not necessarily. Our lives are worth more than the radium—eh? And the Varra can’t read minds. Suppose we have a convincing story to tell? We planned this space-flight as a scientific expedition, nothing more. We didn’t know Duncan was an escaped convict. We didn’t know he planned to hi-jack the Maid—”
Olcott rubbed his mustache. “Plenty of holes in that. But you’re right. We can fix up some sort of story. And there’ll be no legal proof—”
He looked toward the helpless Duncan. “Except him. We don’t want him talking.”
Hartman touched the gun, but Olcott shook his head. “No. Listen. Duncan. You’re licked. We can get back to Earth, with you or without you. But if we get the Varra to help, we lose the radium. Why not be smart? Play along with us, and you’ll still get your half a million credits.”
“Go to hell!” Duncan suggested.
Hartman said, “We’ve no time to waste. We’re not far from Pluto—” He didn’t finish, but there was a suggestion of panic fear in his voice.