Vernon again felt the warning pressure of his brother’s hand as they stepped out of the air chamber into the interior of the ship. Several members of the crew sprang toward them, ran swift hands over their inflated suits.
“That’s all right,” said Vernon, “we have no guns.”
The men dropped back and the brothers unfastened their helmets and swung them back on their rear hinges. They closed the air tank valves and the suits went limp, hanging loosely about them.
Their eyes, roving over the ship, saw that it was extremely modern, equipped with many of the new inventions for comfort and safe space travel.
Six members of the crew stood in the room with them. They were a hardfaced lot; scum drafted from all the infamous space ports of the worlds; perhaps many of them criminals hiding from justice.
“The captain wants to see you immediately,” said one of them.
“Mind if we take off our suits?” asked Vernon. “They aren’t comfortable after you’ve worn them for a while.”
“Don’t see that would hurt any,” grunted the man. “Hurry about it, though.”
Quickly they unfastened the suits and stepped from them, leaving them on the floor.
“The captain ain’t one to be kept waiting,” the man explained.