Reetal shook her head. "I checked over the hospital stocks. Not a thing there that wouldn't be spotted at once. Unless we can clobber them thoroughly, we can't afford to make them suspicious with a trick like that."
"Poison would be a bit rough on the office help, too," Quillan conceded. "They wouldn't be in on the deal."
"No, they're not. They're working under guard."
"Gas ... no, I suppose not. It would take too long to whip up something that could turn the trick." Quillan glanced at his watch. "If the Camelot docks at midnight, we've around six and a half hours left, doll! And I don't find myself coming up with any brilliant ideas. What have you thought of?"
Reetal hesitated a moment. "Nothing very brilliant either," she said then. "But there are two things we might try as a last resort."
"Let's hear them."
"I know a number of people registered in the Star at present who'd be carrying personal weapons. If they were told the facts, I could probably line up around twenty who'd be willing to make a try to get into the Executive Block, and take over either the control offices or the transmitter room. If we got a warning out to the Camelot, that would break up the plot. Of course, it wouldn't necessarily save the Star."
"No," Quillan said, "but it's worth trying if we can't think of something better. How would you get them inside?"
"We could crowd twenty men into one of those diner trucks, and Heraga could take us in."
"What kind of people are your pals?"