It was a complete giveaway that this simple statement should strike the spark of Chip's anger more vehemently than any other. His brow darkened, and he came to his feet with a roar.
"What! You mean that he actually dares—"
"Steady, son!" That was Salvation Smith. Age might have taken its toll on the missionary's strength, but not his recuperative powers. The old man seemed to have completely recovered from the effects of the beating he had taken a short while before. There was even the thin ghost of a smile upon his lips.
"The young lady seems to be quite capable of taking care of herself. Our job, as I see it, is to wrest control of the Aurora from Blacky Jordan and his gang. Dr. Blaine, surely you must have some plan?"
Dr. Blaine shook his head miserably. "I fear not. I built the Aurora; I know every nook and cranny of her. But it does me no good. Jordan is complete master of the vital working parts of the asteroid. Alison and I are virtual prisoners in this one, harmless compartment, separated by tons of solid rock from the machine chambers. If we could regain control of those rooms, of course—"
"Well," demanded Chip belligerently, "why can't we? There are five of us now. Together we should be able to force our way into—"
"Into," Dr. Blaine told him morbidly, "an early grave. You underestimate Jordan's savagery, Warren. Alison and I have lived on sufferance only. You and your companions have continued to exist only because you have a secret he would give much to possess. Let us make one hostile move, and he will have no compunctions whatsoever against destroying us all. And he has both the men and the weapons with which to do it."
"Nevertheless," gritted Chip, "there must be some way. And by the Seven Sacred Stars—"
"Shhh!" hissed Syd warningly. "Someone outside!"
True, the hum of the elevator had sounded and ceased. Now the latch clicked, and one of Jordan's men stared at them suspiciously from the doorway. His eyes swept the group, singled out Chip Warren.