e
worried, Babe, and everything's going so smoothly. Why?"

"Too smoothly altogether. That's why. Newman ought to be doing a slow
burn and goldbricking all he dares; instead of which he's happy as a
clam and working like a nailer ... and I wouldn't trust Vincent Lopresto
or Ferdinand Blaine as far as I can throw a brick chimney by its smoke.
This whole situation stinks. There's going to be shooting for sure."

"But they couldn't do _anything_ without you two!" Bernice exclaimed.
"It'd be suicide ... and with no motive ... _could_ they, Ted,
possibly?"

Jones' dark face did not lighten. "They could, and I'm very much afraid
they intend to. As a crew-chief, Newman is a jack-leg engineer and a
very good practical 'troncist; and if he's what I _think_ he is----" He
paused.

"Could be," Deston said, doubtfully. "In with a mob of normal-space
pirate-smugglers. I'll buy that, but there wouldn't be enough plunder
to----"

"Just a sec. So he's a pretty good rule-of-thumb astrogator, too, and
we're computing every element of the flight. As for motive--salvage.
With either of us alive, none. With both of us dead, can you guess
within ten million bucks of how much they'll collect?"

"_Blockhead_!" Deston slapped himself on the forehead. "I never even
_thought_ of that angle. That nails it down solid."

"With the added attraction," Jones went on, coldly and steadily, "of
having two extremely desirable female women for eleven months before
killing them, too."

Both girls shrank visibly, and Deston said: "Check. I thought that was
the main feature, but it didn't add up. This does. Now, how will they
figure the battle? Both of us at once, of----"

"Why?" Barbara asked. "I'd think they'd waylay you, one at a time."

"Uh-uh. The survivor would lock the ship in null-G and it'd be like
shooting fish in a barrel. Since we're almost never together on duty ...
and it won't come until after we've finished the computations ...
they'll think up a good reason for _everybody_ to be together, and that
itself will be the tip-off. Ferdy will probably draw on me----"

"And he'll kill you," Jones said, flatly. "So I think I'll blow his
brains out tomorrow morning on sight."

"And get killed yourself? No ... much better to use their own trap----"

"We _can't_! Fast as you are, you aren't in _his_ class. He's a
professional--probably one of the fastest guns in space."

"Yes, but ... I've got a ... I mean I think I can----"

Bernice, gr