'Erby 'Awkins grinned impishly. "Beggin' your poddon, miss, but when you get them volly-oominus blues wrapped about your own pretty self—meanin' no impertinence—it'd take a sharp-eyed sentry to tell whether you was male or female, old or young. And there's no call for them to be suspicious. Cap'n, he give five men all night leave, he did, and told them not to bother comin' back. But he reported to the Captain of the Guards that he was expectin' five of his crew to report back to headquarters at eleven o'clock. That's the hour when we'll enter the gates."
Gary said soberly, "We understand, Hawkins. I see Captain Warren has already told you what we are planning to do."
And Hawkins replied with quiet dignity, "He didn't tell me nawthin', sir; not a blinkin' word. And if I does 'ave my suspicions, well, wot matter? Cap'n Warren's our skipper, sir. What he decides is good enough for me and the rest of the crew."
So at eleven o'clock that night, as the long black spires of the circling mountains rose to merge with the thicker black of a clouded, moonless sky, five slightly tipsy figures lurched with shambling feet to the sacrosanct portal of the Solar Space Patrol rocketdrome.
Lane did what must be done—and did it swiftly.
As Hawkins had promised, they passed the gate unchallenged, the little purser volunteering the password for all of them. And as they left the gate behind, young Dr. Lane breathed a deep sigh of relief. The one hazardous point of their effort now lay behind them. Five hundred yards away lay the ship upon whose flaming jets they soon would thrust voidward on a quest of magnificent daring.