"Locked — the mechanicals controlled from up front. Does it make sense?"
Joe expelled air slowly through his teeth. "It begins to," he said. "It begins to."
"I don't get it," said young Barnes, the technician. Fear edged his voice.
"This ship is hot," said Joe. "That's our answer."
"Hot?" said Hamilton. "You mean radioactive? We checked —"
"No. It's a vulvar term common in my Dad's day. There was some of it then, but almost none now. It means that those two clamshells up front just took off with the ship without asking anybody's permission. In plain language, they stole it."
"I don't follow you," said Litchfield.
"They aren't Neranians at all. They must be very closely related, but they're not the same species. We should have known that by the absence of the mensa. That story about surgical modification is a lot of guff.
"This ship is designed for operation by mensa. There are handles and buttons and wheels, but nothing to fit the claws of that pair up front."
"Well, it still doesn't make sense. Why did they come to us? Why all the talk about failure of the super-cee? Most of all, where do we go from here?"