Mike appeared while they were still asleep the next morning and reported that he had wangled them berths on the new ship.
"Took some pull," he boasted. "Ain't ten men in Wildoatia as could have did it. Wouldn't have had a chance if Schmidzu hadn't gone and got himself killed." He winked and added, "You'll have to have your faces and fingerprints changed a bit, though. Captain Hans will check your records seven ways from Sunday."
"Give Frank a pug nose like mine," Sadie directed when a plastic surgeon appeared in answer to Mike's summons. "And how about making him cross-eyed, too?"
"How about making her tongue-tied?" Frank retorted.
After much argument they compromised by altering the shape of Frank's mouth, slanting his eyebrows and pushing back his hairline. Sadie acquired a classic Greek profile; her freckles were eliminated and her hair became glossy black. Skin grafts were implanted on each of their fingertips.
"That should serve unless somebody examines your retina patterns," said the surgeon two days later. "Your features can be changed back, in time, but your fingerprints are permanently altered."
"Did I ever love that?" sighed Sadie when Frank's bandages were removed at last.
"You could get a job in Hollywood," he admitted grudgingly as he studied her in turn. "But confound it, I liked those freckles!"
They had kept the air waves to Venusport humming during their confinement. There was the usual red tape to break, of course, but news of the power source was so menacing that New Washington finally agreed to the plan for a sub rosa test of strength—the Space Patrol against the Big Shot ship at a spot somewhere between the orbits of Earth and Venus.
"Now it's up to us," said Sadie as they packed for their trip north. "How does it feel to have your head in a lion's mouth?"