"Get off the ground, Gail," he shouted.
He slammed the inner door of the lock and swayed with the control room globe as the rockets went into action. The ship jumped forward a few feet, balked for a moment. Gail threw a lever that opened the shutters. They saw the three policemen scrambling madly to both sides as the Chicago started roaring down the field.
They blasted away and left the ground, the police still firing after them. Barnard clung to a bolted-down chair as they lurched wildly. Gail pointed the nose up until the ship would have been hanging from its props, if it had any.
"That's all we needed," said Barnard, sourly. "We're both outlaws now—fair game for anybody. Our only hope is to break the dope ring. And Lansfer, if we can."
She looked distastefully at him. "That would make a good story, wouldn't it? Daring reporter defies police; smashes neoin ring. Of course, there might be some opposition."
"Which way is Pluto?" he asked, changing the subject.
"I haven't the faintest idea. Hand me that book—the big one—"
IV
Barnard found that space navigation was more complex than he had thought. He watched in grudging admiration as the girl rejected course after course. Finally she looked up at him and frowned.