“Why don’t you read your Instructions and Regulations then?” shouted Councilor Rapport. “It’s all there!”

“Silence, please!” shouted Councilor Onswud.

“Fifth,” said the policeman quietly, “general willful and negligent actions resulting in material damage and loss to your employer to the value of eighty-two thousand maels.”

“I still have fifty-five thousand. And the stuff in the storage,” the captain said, also quietly, “is worth a quarter of a million, at least!”

“Contraband and hence legally valueless!” the policeman said. Councilor Onswud cleared his throat.

“It will be impounded, of course,” he said. “Should a method of resale present itself, the profits, if any, will be applied to the cancellation of your just debts. To some extent that might reduce your sentence.” He paused. “There is another matter—”

“The sixth charge,” the policeman announced, “is the development and public demonstration of a new type of space drive, which should have been brought promptly and secretly to the attention of the Republic of Nikkeldepain.”

They all stared at him — alertly and quite greedily.

So that was it — the Sheewash Drive!

“Your sentence may be greatly reduced, Pausert,” Councilor Onswud said wheedlingly, “if you decide to be reasonable now. What have you discovered?”

“Look out, father!” Illyla said sharply.

“Pausert,” Councilor Onswud inquired in a fading voice, “what is that in your hand?”

“A Blythe gun,” the captain said, boiling.

There was a frozen stillness for an instant. Then the policeman’s right hand made a convulsive motion.

“Uh-uh!” said the captain warningly.

Councilor Rapport started a slow step backwards.

“Stay where you are,” said the captain.

“Pausert!” Councilor Onswud and Illyla cried out together.

“Shut up!” said the captain.

There was another stillness.

“If you’d looked on your way over here,” the captain told them, in an almost normal voice, “You’d have seen I was getting the nova gun turrets out. They’re fixed on that boat of yours. The boat’s lying still and keeping its yap shut. You do the same.”

He pointed a finger at the policeman. “You open the lock,” he said. “Start your suit repulsors and squirt yourself back to your boat!”

The lock groaned open. Warm air left the ship in a long, lazy wave, scattering the sheets of the Venture’s log and commercial records over the floor. The thin, cold upper atmosphere of Nikkeldepain II came eddying in.

“You next, Onswud!” the captain said.

And a moment later: “Rapport, you just turn around—”

Young Councilor Rapport went out through the lock at a higher velocity than could be attributed reasonably to his repulsor units. The captain winced and rubbed his foot. But it had been worth it.

“Pausert,” said Illyla in justifiable apprehension, “you are stark, staring mad!”

“Not at all, my dear,” the captain said cheerfully. “You and I are now going to take off and embark on a life of crime together.”

“But, Pausert—”

“You’ll get used to it,” the captain assured her, “just like I did. It’s got Nikkeldepain beat every which way.”

“You can’t escape,” Illyla said, white-faced. “We told them to bring up space destroyers and revolt ships…”

“We’ll blow them out through the stratosphere,” the captain said belligerently, reaching for the lock-control switch. He added, “But they won’t shoot anyway while I’ve got you on board.”

Illyla shook her head. “You just don’t understand,” she said desperately. “You can’t make me stay!”

“Why not?” asked the captain.

“Pausert,” said Illyla, “I am Madame Councilor Rapport.”

“Oh!” said the captain. There was a silence. He added, crestfallen, “Since when?”

“Five months ago, yesterday,” said Illyla.

“Great Patham!” cried the captain, with some indignation. “I’d hardly got off Nikkeldepain then! We were engaged!”

“Secretly… and I guess,” said Illyla, with a return of spirit, “that I had a right to change my mind!”

There was another silence.

“Guess you had, at that,” the captain agreed. “All right. The lock’s still open, and your husband’s waiting in the boat. Beat it!”

He was alone. He let the locks slam shut and banged down the oxygen release switch. The air had become a little thin.

He cussed.

The communicator began rattling for attention. He turned it on.

“Pausert!” Councilor Onswud was calling in a friendly but shaking voice. “May we not depart, Pausert? Your nova guns are still fixed on this boat!”

“Oh, that…” said the captain. He deflected the turrets a trifle. “They won’t go off now. Scram!”

The police boat vanished.

There was other company coming, though. Far below him but climbing steadily, a trio of atmospheric revolt ships darted past on the screen, swung around and came back for the next turn of their spiral. They’d have to get closer before they started shooting, but they’d stay between him and the surface of Nikkeldepain while space destroyers closed in from above. Between them then, they’d knock out the Venture and bring her down in a net of paramagnetic grapples, if he didn’t surrender.

He sat a moment, reflecting. The revolt ships went by once more. The captain punched in the Venture’s secondary drives, turned her nose towards the planet, and let her go. There were some scattered white puffs around as he cut through the revolt ships’ plane of flight. Then he was below them, and the Venture groaned as he took her out of the dive. The revolt ships were already scattering and nosing over for a countermaneuver. He picked the nearest one and swung the nova guns toward it.

“ — and ram them in the middle!” he muttered between his teeth.

SSS-whoosh!

It was the Sheewash Drive — but like a nightmare now, it kept on and on…

“Maleen!” the captain bawled, pounding at the locked door of the captain’s cabin. “Maleen, shut it off! Cut it off! You’ll kill yourself. Maleen!”

The Venture quivered suddenly throughout her length, then shuddered more violently, jumped and coughed, and commenced sailing along on her secondary drives again.

“Maleen!” he yelled, wondering briefly how many light-years from everything they were by now. “Are you all right?”

There was a faint thump-thump inside the cabin, and silence. He lost nearly two minutes finding the right cutting tool in the storage and getting it back to the cabin. A few seconds later a section of steel door panel sagged inwards; he caught it by one edge and came tumbling into the cabin with it.

He had the briefest glimpse of a ball of orange-colored fire swirling uncertainly over a cone of oddly bent wires. Then the fire vanished and the wires collapsed with a loose rattling to the table top.

The crumpled small shape lay behind the table, which was why he didn’t discover it at once. He sagged to the floor beside it, all the strength running out of his knees.

Brown eyes opened and blinked at him blearily.

“Sure takes it out of you!” Goth muttered. “Am I hungry!”

“I’ll whale the holy howling tar out of you again,” the captain roared, “if you ever—”

“Quit your yelling!” snarled Goth. “I got to eat.”

She ate for fifteen minutes straight before she sank back in her chair and sighed.

“Have some more Wintenberry jelly,” the captain offered anxiously. She looked pretty pale.

Goth shook her head. “Couldn’t… and that’s about the first thing you’ve said since you fell through the door, howling for Maleen. Ha-ha! Maleen’s got a boy friend!”

“Button your lip, child,” the captain said. “I was thinking.” He added, after a moment, “Has she really?”