"You've got your nerve," Barnard growled. "You speak very calmly about invading Pluto single handed."
Definitely, Pluto was no place for her. But he had to be in on the kill. Would Lansfer cooperate?
"Miss Melvin," he said, "I'll have to see the Space Police, find out if they'll take me with them. I suspect they won't. So I'm going to cable my boss for money, and if it's all right with you, I'll charter this ship—"
"I'll be very happy," she said, "to take you with me to Pluto—so you can get your story."
He stared. "But—you mean you still intend to go to Pluto? What possible reason could you have now?"
She reached for her coat and dug into the sleeve. Barnard blinked when three of her fingers came out at the shoulder.
"That hole," she said, "was made by a bullet. Somebody took a shot at me on the way over here, and I've been followed. Evidently they've decided I know too much. I'll never step out that door alive."
She indicated a red pane of glass on the instrument panel. "If that glows, they're approaching the ship. Be ready to give them a warning blast from the rockets."
Barnard thought wistfully of the gun he had left in his hotel room. "That means I'm here for keeps, too. But you can't go to Pluto. I'll drop you off at another Martian city—or on some other planet that's on our route."