Lethla nodded. His milk-blue eyes dilated. "Very marvelously pared to an unbreakable thickness of one-thirtieth of an inch; worn only on the head. You have to look quickly to notice it, and, unfortunately, viewed as you saw it, outside the ship, floating in the void, not discernible at all."
Prickles of sweat appeared on Rice's face. He swore at the Venusian and the Venusian laughed like some sort of stringed instrument, high and quick.
Burnett laughed, too. Ironically. "First time in years a man ever came aboard the Constellation alive. It's a welcome change."
Lethla showed his needle-like teeth. "I thought it might be. Where's your radio?"
"Go find it!" snapped Rice, hotly.
"I will." One hand, blue-veined, on the ladder-rungs, Lethla paused. "I know you're weaponless; Purple Cross regulations. And this air-lock is safe. Don't move." Whispering, his naked feet padded white up the ladder. Two long breaths later something crashed; metal and glass and coils. The radio.
Burnett put his shoulder blades against the wall-metal, looking at his feet. When he glanced up, Rice's fresh, animated face was spoiled by the new bitterness in it.
Lethla came down. Like a breath of air on the rungs.
He smiled. "That's better. Now. We can talk—"
Rice said it, slow: