"Yes. There's a girl who works in the factory. We played the triangle together. Her name's Marcia. We were booked for a run on Ganymede when we were captured. If anyone can slip out the green suits, she can."
The Martian nodded. "We'll have a car waiting behind the factory." He turned suddenly upon Norman. "I've got bad news," he said.
Norman felt his heart sink.
"What is it?"
"The Dohlmites are preparing to attack Ganymede."
"Ganymede!" ejaculated Norman. "When?"
The Martian gestured palm up with his hands, shrugged. "We haven't been told yet. I imagine they're waiting until all the ships are back. It's the beginning of the end of the Empire, unless we can do something quick."
IX
During the next ten sleeping periods an epidemic of small parties broke out in the human colony. The Sinn Fein Society from its tiny spark had spread into a conflagration. Apartment F12 was rapidly being converted into an arsenal as the men hid rocket shells, ray rifles, dum-dums and dart guns in the basement. Furthermore, twelve bales of green insulation suits had been added to the one Norman and the Duchess had stolen.