The outlaw's disguise was almost perfect, but nevertheless he did not trust to it entirely. When possible, he moved along dimly-lighted streets, the four others keeping close to his heels. Once a patrol of Swamja guards passed, but at a distance.
"I'm worried," Callahan whispered to Vanning. "Those creatures have—different senses from ours. I've a hunch they communicate partly by telepathy. If they try that on me—"
"Hurry," the detective urged, with a sidewise glance at Lysla. "And for God's sake don't get lost."
"I won't. I'm heading for the left of the tube-tower. That's right, isn't it?"
Zeeth nodded. "That's it. I'll tell you if I go wrong. Careful!"
A Swamja was waddling toward them. Callahan hastily turned into a side street, making a detour to avoid the monster. For a while they were safe....
Lysla pressed close to Vanning, and he squeezed her arm reassuringly, with a confidence he could not feel. Not until now had he realized the vital importance of environment. On Mars or barren Callisto he had never felt this helplessness in the face of tremendous, inhuman powers—against which it was impossible to fight. Hopeless odds!
But luck incredibly favored them. They reached their destination without an alarm being raised. Crouching in the shadows by the square where the space-ship lay, they peered at the three guards who paced about, armed and ready.
"Only three," Lysla said.
Vanning chewed at his lip. "Callahan, you know more about locks than I do. When we rush, get around to the other side of the ship and unlock the port. It may not be easy. The rest of us—we'll keep the Swamja busy."