"No, it's not Serono, McHague." A tall, ragged figure, followed by a smaller one, stepped from the opening.
"Hanson!" A surge of relief sounded in McHague's voice, then died out. Brian Hanson was a rebel. He fumbled vaguely for the panel of call buttons on his desk, but his hand froze as he saw the projector trained on his expansive middle.
"I couldn't miss your stomach from here," Brian told him softly.
"What do you want?"
"I want to get to Earth and I want your private getaway ship."
"I don't know anything about any ship."
"It's no good, McHague. The drive tests for that ship were run in my laboratory."
"There's no fuel on board. It's in no condition to fly," McHague said hopelessly.
"It had better be ready to take off. Serono doesn't trust you any more than you trust him. About your only chance of living is for me to get to Earth and bring enough of the Planetary Patrol to head Serono off."
"I can't help you. I'm in this with Zeburzac. If the police get him, they've got me."