Working deftly, he stripped the dead man's trousers off, slipped them on; ripped the coat from his back and donned it. The cap next and the guard's flame pistol.
Cardy stepped outside, closed and locked his cell door, walked along the cell-block cat-walk. His heart sang with exultation. The hard part was over. But his lips were set in grim, hard lines; his eyes were squinted, alert for danger, ready for action.
Only by stern iron will did he keep his pace to a walk. The guard in the next block saw him, looked at him for a moment and then whirled about and started his march back along the block again.
Only when the guard was out of sight did Spike quicken his pace. Down the flight of stairs to the ground floor, across the floor and out of the cell sections into the exercise yard and to the northwest port.
A dim light burned in the guard house at the port.
Cardy rapped on the door.
The guard opened the door.
'A space suit,' said Cardy. ' I'm going out.'
'Where's your pass?' asked the guard.
'Here,' said Cardy, leveling a flame gun.