Baedecker, on the other hand, didn't give a care about Viking Spacecraft. They wanted to take over Ceres for their own firm. If that meant that getting rid of McGuire completely would give them what they wanted, then they'd get rid of McGuire. "Why'd you take the job?" I asked. "Money. I'm sick of the Belt. I want to go back home, to Earth." Her eyes were quite dry by now, and there was a choked sort of fear in them. "I hate it out here. There's death all around you all the time; sometimes it's just outside your skin, on the other side of the fabric of your vac suit. I wanted to get back home. But all the money is out here in the Belt. Back there, it's all eaten up in taxes and welfare, and nobody has a chance to get a job that really pays. So when they offered me the money--" She stopped and closed her eyes. "I'm scared, that's all. I've been scared ever since I came out here. And now--" She shuddered. "And now we're at the mercy of this idiot machine. I get so scared that I get mad, every time I hear his voice." If somebody had set a thermonuclear bomb off inside my skull, there couldn't have been more sudden illumination. I patted her on the shoulder. "You may get your money and more besides," I said. She shook her head. "I wouldn't take their money now." I stood up. "I think I can talk you into changing your mind, but right now, I think I have a way of getting McGuire to listen to me, thanks to you." She looked up at me. "What did I do?" "You threw a book," I said. "That's enough to win you a pardon as far as I'm concerned. You sit tight and don't let on that I know anything. Nobody else knows anything at all. Not even Brentwood. So keep quiet." She dried her face quickly and stood up, too. "All right. Whatever you say." As we went back out into the lounge, I felt a little pleased with myself. If things worked out right--and they would--we now had a double agent inside Thurston's organization. It wouldn't take too long to clear things up, and Miss Devereaux could go back to Earth with a nice piece of change in her pocket. "What are you looking so happy about?" Videnski asked suspiciously when he saw us. "I'll show you," I said. "Where's the tool kit?" * * * * * Ten minutes later, I had the wall speaker in the lounge out of its housing, but still connected. McGuire hadn't interfered with the work, as he might have if someone else had tried to do it, because he could see perfectly well that it was Daniel Oak who was doing the job, even though Oak hadn't been speaking to him much lately. Then I said: "McGuire, can you hear me?" "Yes, sir; I can hear you," came his voice from the speaker. "Can you hear your own voice?" "Yes, sir." "Very well. Now, are you watching what Mr. Oak is doing?" "Yes, sir." I picked up a small ball-peen hammer and hit the speaker--not too gently--at just the right place. "Did you see that, McGuire?" I asked.