"Where's that space ship?" Gutridge asked, now all business.
Pell didn't reply, but gestured for the big man to follow and the party made its way to the surface in an elevator that still functioned.
A beautiful dawn was breaking, but it affected Pell not at all. Morosely he stared through the plastine window of his cramped quarters in the blaster tower.
Through the window he could make out the busy activities of the Insurgents. Gingerly they had cleared away the rubble of the demolished entrance to the armory and were now engaged in carrying the vaults of U-235 out of the fortress.
As he watched them absently, the door opened behind him and Gret entered, her brown gold hair gleaming intoxicatingly in the early light. Even her rough jumper couldn't hide the fresh young curves of her body.
"What's the matter, Grouchy?" she teased. "Still worrying about Gutridge escaping?"
"Yeah," Pell growled. "As long as he's alive, the game isn't finished. But—" he smiled "—I've got you. That ought to be enough for any perfectionist."
He was about to kiss her when the door opened again and Dallard entered.
He looked from Pell to Gret and raised his eyebrows. "I trust I wasn't interrupting anything," he drawled slyly.