at least one man inside all the time. Even if
we killed everybody outside, the ship would take off before we could get
close enough to open the port with the outside controls."

"Probably. Go on. But first, are you sure that you're in the clear?"

"Positive." She grinned mirthlessly. "The fact that I am still alive is
conclusive evidence that they didn't find out anything about me. But I
don't want you to work on that idea if you can think of a better one.
I've got passports and so on for you to be anything you want to be, from
a tube-man up to an Ekoptian banker. Ditto for me, and for us both, as
Mr. and Mrs."

"Smart girl." He thought for minutes, then shook his head. "No possible
way out that I can see. The sneak-boat isn't due for a week, and from
what you've said it probably won't get here. But you might make it, at
that. I'll drop you somewhere...."

"You will not," she interrupted, quietly but definitely. "Which would
_you_ rather--go out in a blast like that one will be, beside a good
Atlantean, or, after deserting him, be psychoed, skinned, salted,
and--still alive--drawn and quartered?"

"Together, then, all the way," he assented. "Man and wife.
Tourists--newlyweds--from some town not too far away. Pretty well fixed,
to match what we're riding in. Can do?"

"Very simple." She opened a compartment and selected one of a stack of
documents. "I can fix this one up in ten minutes. We'll have to dispose
of the rest of these, and a lot of other stuff, too. And you had better
get out of that leather and into a suit that matches this passport
photo."

"Right. Straight road for miles, and nothing in sight either way. Give
me the suit and I'll change now. Keep on going or stop?"

"Better stop, I think," the girl decided. "Quicker, and we'll have to
find a place to hide or bury this evidence."

While the man changed clothes, Kinnexa collected the contraband,
wrapping it up in the discarded jacket. She looked up just as Phryges
was adjusting his coat. She glanced at his armpits, then stared.

"Where are your blasters?" she demanded. "They ought to show, at least a
little, and even I can't see a sign of them."

He showed her.

"But they're so tiny! I never saw blasters like that!"

"I've got a blaster, but it's in the tail pocket. These aren't. They're
air-guns. Poisoned needles. Not worth a damn beyond a hundred feet, but
deadly close up. One touch anywhere and the guy dies right then. Two
seconds max."