"That won't do me any good unless I can take it somewhere."
"Don't worry," Redman said. "They don't give a damn about you. It's me they want, turn on your radio and see."
I flipped the switch and a voice came into the control room—"remind you that this is a Galactic emergency! The Patrol has announced that an inhabitant of Earth has been on Mars! This individual is dangerously radioactive. A reward of one hundred thousand Galactic munits will be paid to the person who gives information leading to his death or capture. I repeat,—one hundred thousand munits! The man's description is as follows: Height 180 centimeters, weight 92 kilograms, eyes reddish brown, hair red. A peculiarity which makes him easily recognized is the red color of his skin. He is armed with a nuclear weapon and is dangerous. When last seen he was leaving Marsport spacefield. Starflite class yacht, registration number CY 127439. He has a citizen with him, probably a hostage. If seen, notify the nearest Patrol ship."
I looked at Redman. The greed must have shone from me like a beacon. "A hundred grand!" I said softly.
"Try and collect," Redman said.
"I'm not going to," I said and turned three separate plans to capture him over in my head.
"They won't work," Redman said. He grinned nastily. "And don't worry about radioactivity. I'm no more contaminated than you are."
"Yeah?—and just how do you live on that hotbox without being contaminated?" I asked.
"Simple. The surface isn't too hot in the first place. Most of the stuff is in the Van Allen belts. Second, we live underground. And third we're protected."