Waverill, face contorted with hate, complied slowly. Murdoch secured the inner hatch behind the man, then got on the ship's intercom. "Now, Waverill, you'll notice it's too far for a jump back to Ganymede. I'm going to spend about forty minutes getting into an orbit that'll give you a good chance. When I say shove off, you can either do it or stay where you are. If you stay, we'll be headed a different direction and I'll have to kill you for my own safety." He left the circuit open, and activated a spy cell so he could see into the lock. Waverill was leaning against the inner hatch, conserving what heat he could. V Murdoch set up a quick flight program, waited a minute to get farther from Ganymede and the aliens, then turned on a radar search and set the alarm. He unzipped his left shoe, got it off and stood staring at it for a moment, almost afraid to turn it over. Then he turned it slowly. There was a sticky spot on the sole. The muscles around his middle got so taut they ached. He hurried to the ship's med cabinet, chose a certain package of bandages and tore it open with unsteady fingers. There was a small vial hidden there. He unstoppered it and poured the contents onto the shoe sole. He let it soak while he checked the pilot panel, then hurried back. With a probe, he mulled the liquid around on the shoe sole and waited a minute longer. Then he scraped all he could back into the vial and looked at it. There were a few bits of shoe sole in it, but none big enough to worry him. He got out a hypodermic and drew some of the fluid into it. The needle plugged. He swore, ejected a little to clear it and drew in some more. When he had his left sleeve pushed up, he looked at the vein in the bend of his elbow for a little while, then he took a deep breath and plunged the needle in. He hit it the first time. He was very careful not to get any air into the vein. He sighed, put the rest of the fluid back in the vial and stoppered it, and cleaned out the needle. Then he put a small bandage on his arm and went back to the pilot's seat. He felt tired now that it was done. The scan showed nothing dangerous. Waverill hadn't moved. Murdoch opened his mouth to speak to him, then decided not to. He flexed his arm and found it barely sore, then went over his flight program again. He made a small adjustment. The acceleration was just over one G, and it made him a little dizzy. He wondered if he could risk a drink. It hadn't hurt Waverill. He went to the small sink and cabinet that served as a galley, poured out a stiff shot into a glass, and mixed it with condensed milk. He took it back to the pilot's seat, not bothering with the free-fall cap, and drank it slowly. It was nearly time to unload Waverill. He checked course again, then thumbed the mike. "All right, Waverill. Get going. You should be picked up within nine or ten hours."