Then, at last, when the craft was well established in a satellite orbit, between Phobos and Deimos and beyond all peril from the mother planet's gravitational pull, he cut the power, turned to the emergency distress-call communicator unit, and switched it on. He knew Nelva's eyes were on him, even before he swung round to face her once again. It pleased him, how baffled she looked. But her lips stayed set in a thin, straight line--a memento of some of the things he'd said after the take-off--so he knew she wouldn't speak till he did. "All right," he grinned, "what do you give me for our chances now, my dear Miss Mars Record Center Supervisor Guthrie?" The line of her mouth drew even tighter. So, after a moment, he let drive with another needle: "Or maybe, as an expert on problems and solutions, you don't want to give a dangerous Kalquoi agent like me the benefit of your professional opinion?" That did it. Dane could see the girl's knuckles whiten. Her eyes flashed, more ice-blue now than grey. "You're a fool, Clark Dane!" she burst out furiously. "Once that signal's picked up, Security's sure to have patrol ships here within an hour!" "Maybe." Dane permitted himself the luxury of grim humor. "No maybe! You know it's true!" "Or, maybe not," Dane went on, with no heed to Nelva's interruption. "It might even be Security won't pay the first bit of attention to it." He shot a sidelong glance at the girl. "Would you like to ask me why?" A moment of obvious, barely-repressed fury. Then: "Why?" "Because not even a Kalquoi agent would be fool enough to try to get clear of Mars in a four-place carrier." Dane leaned back; stretched. "No; Security's not going to be looking up here for us. Not when they've got all those landing-platforms down below to cover." It did him good to see the way Nelva's jaw slackened. "Of course," he observed wryly, "that opens up another question, too, doesn't it?" "Another question--?" "Yes, you know: the question about how you and I are going to get to Callisto." The last of the anger-lines vanished from Nelva's lovely face. Her lips parted, breathless with interest. "Tell me, Clark! Have you really devised a way to do it?" "I think so." Dane paused, letting the moment's tension build up. And then: "Only of course that's no sign I'll tell you about it and give you a chance to sour it." As knife-twisting, it came off very satisfactorily. Nelva's face went white as if he'd slapped it. Her eyes turned blank, hurt-emptied. Inside, Dane cringed a little. Of a sudden he felt cheap, ashamed he'd resorted to such pettiness even in anger. Miserably, he turned to the viewer and rotated its field, searching the void about him.