"It doesn't matter what it was," I say. "It was some sort of missile, I think. They must be even nearer to war than we thought."
We wait. What for, I don't know. Another missile, perhaps. No more come.
At last Mr. Yardo stirs. His voice sounds creaky.
"I guess," he says, then clears his throat, and tries again. "I guess we have to go back up."
B says, "Lizzie, who was it? Do you know?"
Of course I do. "Do you think M'Clare was going to risk one of us on that job? The volunteering was a fake. He went himself."
B whispers, "You're just guessing."
"Maybe," says Mr. Yardo, "but I happened to see through that face plate of his. It was the professor all right."
He has his hand on the controls when my brain starts working again. I utter a strangled noise and dive for the hatch into the cargo hold. B tries to grab me but I get it open and switch on the light.
Fifty-fifty chance—I've lost.