He motioned for Pell to follow him and disappeared into the stern of the ship.
Pell emerged a few minutes later, his face an unnatural shade of green. With great deliberation he lowered himself into one of the shock chairs and looked up at Gret Helmuth helplessly.
"That creaky converter won't even get us off the ground, much less take the hyper-space jump," he said.
She looked at him coolly and replied, "This is the best we could do, Mr. Pell. If you are afraid, you can back out now, but—" she produced the ancient automatic pistol she had used with such deadly effect earlier in the evening, "I warn you that I will have to kill you if you do. We cannot take chances."
Pell looked at her eyes. They were bleak and frosty and as hard as blue diamonds. He knew she meant what she said. He shrugged. With everyone apparently intent upon erasing him, it didn't make too much difference where he died. And he would certainly prefer death in space rather than in some back alley.
"Okay, baby, I'll pilot this tub. But you'd better be ready to get out and push!"
He turned to go forward, then stopped as if remembering something. "You realize that this ship is strictly contraband, don't you?"
She nodded. "So?"
"So we simply cannot pass the Geiger Check."
"Then we shall blast off without it," she replied, woman-like.