"Of course!" Hugh Warren brushed the older man's dubiety aside with brusque and characteristic impatience. "You don't think I'm going to stand on the sidelines and let this adventure romp along without me, do you? And besides, I'm just what the doctor ordered: the answer to your problem. You need a ship and a crew, don't you? And a pilot? Well, I've got the first and the second. And I'm the last myself."
Nora Powell burst forth impetuously, "But—but, Captain Warren, we can't let you do that. You're a military man. You'd be court-martialed on charges of desertion—"
"If," grunted Warren, "they caught us. Yes. But I'm not figuring on anybody catching the Liberty. She's the sweetest little ether-pusher that ever came off a cradle. And as for court-martial—" He shrugged—"we'll worry about that if and when we get back. According to Gary, if something isn't done—and done quick—there won't be any court-martials to try traitors.
"And—" He grinned—"I'd rather be a dead felon than a live loyalist."
Thus, in a manner far different from that which the comrades had planned, was the matter arranged. Swiftly, but as inconspicuously as possible, the conspirators made their preparations, gathered their belongings together, and transported them to the Geneva rocketdrome, which, fortunately, lay directly adjacent to the private cradle-field of the Solar Space Patrol headquarters.
Amidst the hurly-burly and confusion of this place it was a simple matter for Captain Hugh Warren to delegate two members of his crew to slip to the larger drome and there, unnoticed in the bedlam of blasting explosions, milling throngs, and tearful goodbyes, move the pile of luggage from one drome to the other.
By nightfall the exchange had been completed; the plan was in readiness. There came to the pension a small, gnarled figure bearing a mountainous bundle. This, when unwrapped, proved to be sufficient of the familiar sky blue SSP uniform clothing to disguise every member of the party. The bearer, a man who identified himself as, "'Awkins, sir—'Erby 'Awkins, stooard o' the blinkin' Liberty, that's me, sir!" gravely transmitted Captain Warren's instructions as to entering the SSP rocketdrome.
"Just walk on past the sentry without sayin' nothin', folks," he advised. "I'll give the password for the crew of us. Actin' like you had maybe a drop too many might be a bit of an 'elp, but it don't matter much. The sentries will be expectin' us, and won't think a thing of it."
"Expecting us?" repeated Nora. "Five strangers, including a woman?"