“Hartman will explain—the man we’re going to see now. Take my word for it that you can go into space without a Helmet and be safe. Fairly safe.”
“Half a million credits—”
“The only danger,” Olcott said carefully, “is that the Maid might send out an S.O.S. The I.P. ships are rickety, but they’re fast, and they might stay on your trail. We can’t have that. So we’ve planted somebody on the Maid who’ll smash the radio apparatus just before you make contact. You can pick her up with the radium and head back to Earth.”
“Her?”
“You know her, I think,” Olcott said quietly, his eyes impassive. “Andrea Duncan.”
Duncan moved fast, but there was a gun in Olcott’s hand covering him.
The latter said, “Take it easy. You killed one man with your fists. I’m taking no chances.”
A tiny scar on Duncan’s forehead flamed red. “You rotten—”
“Don’t be a fool. She’s wearing a Varra Helmet. Of course she’ll take it off when she joins you, or she’d have a Varra en rapport with her, one who’d spill the beans completely.”
“Andrea wouldn’t—”