Janus, holding the briefcase flat against his belly, stepped into the lower portion of the single spacesuit and ducked under and up into the top portion that hung from its rack. The muffled clicks as he turned the sealing handles were the only sound in the cabin. Then his voice came metallic from the speaker. "We'll contact you, Karrin, if we need you again—although I think this trip should be the last one." He inflated the suit and stamped several times, testing the suit's perfection by the ringing in his ears.
Karrin's reply was purposefully vague, with an eye to Rhiannon. "There should be use for the Security Chief of Federation Spacelines even after the war is over, Janus. A—ah—'Rebel' underground will likely start up—and as you've already seen, a man with a briefcase will hardly doubt the purity of my kitchens or suspect one of my cabin-boys of unwanted partisanship. I have some very cooperative men working for me."
Putting a boot on the hatch-ladder, Janus showed a sardonic grin through his faceplate. "Every man's purse is a traitor—"
Karrin sliced off the words with a quick gesture and shot a look at Rhiannon. The tubemonkey was staring through the front port at the stars, his face a caricature of bliss.
Janus shrugged, saying: "I thought you said he was nicht—" and swung himself clumsily up the ladder. "Besides," he added, "weren't you going to convince him of the necessity for silence?" He disappeared into the airlock. There was an airy phoot sound as he let himself into the void.
Karrin walked over to the front port and watched for Janus to become visible on the near length of the line. Watched, too, Rhiannon's reflection in the glass. The big man was gaping at the nebula and twitching the thick muscles of his neck in ecstasy. Karrin felt an urge to snicker.
"Good to get back, eh?" he asked.
Rhiannon pointed. "There's your friend, sir."
Janus was bobbing, hand over hand, toward the unmarked Rebel boat. His faceplate gleamed once as it caught the fire of the nebula.
Then, before Karrin's paling face, the silver cigar that was the other boat suddenly threw off into space a thin leafing of curved misshapen plates. It grew whiskers that were ray-guns and the Nova sign of the Patrol blinked into being on its nose. The transformation took just three seconds, and on the tick of the fourth there was a honk from Karrin's telaudio to announce that the revealed law-boat desired contact.