"Let me show you the fine points of this can, Pell," the fat man said, switching on the illumination. He squeezed by Pell and shoved his ungainly body up the passage-way to the control room. When Pell entered, the fat man's face was creased with a smile that extended from one huge ear to the other on his tiny bullet head. Proudly he pointed at the celestial globe for extra-dimensional navigation. "Ain't that a beauty? And here's the Thelmard Distorter Generator. Installed it myself, just this afternoon." With a sinking feeling, Pell stared at the incomprehensible maze of cables that spewed out of the thing and slithered across the deck to their unknown destinations. Heintz squeezed by him again and thrust himself back through the narrow passage-way to the waist where Gret Helmuth was waiting. Heintz demonstrated the jerry-built uranium vaults which had been welded hap-hazardly to any convenient spot. "It's all there," Heintz beamed. "Enough to last ten years." He motioned for Pell to follow him and disappeared into the stern of the ship. Pell emerged a few minutes later, his face an unnatural shade of green. With great deliberation he lowered himself into one of the shock chairs and looked up at Gret Helmuth helplessly. "That creaky converter won't even get us off the ground, much less take the hyper-space jump," he said. She looked at him coolly and replied, "This is the best we could do, Mr. Pell. If you are afraid, you can back out now, but--" she produced the ancient automatic pistol she had used with such deadly effect earlier in the evening, "I warn you that I will have to kill you if you do. We cannot take chances." Pell looked at her eyes. They were bleak and frosty and as hard as blue diamonds. He knew she meant what she said. He shrugged. With everyone apparently intent upon erasing him, it didn't make too much difference where he died. And he would certainly prefer death in space rather than in some back alley. "Okay, baby, I'll pilot this tub. But you'd better be ready to get out and push!" He turned to go forward, then stopped as if remembering something. "You realize that this ship is strictly contraband, don't you?" She nodded. "So?" "So we simply cannot pass the Geiger Check." "Then we shall blast off without it," she replied, woman-like. Pell laughed harshly. "Before we reach the Heaviside the planet-mounted blasters will fry us to a cinder!" She was still unperturbed. "Then you must figure a way to get us off without that happening," she replied. "After all, you're the pilot." Pell spread his hands helplessly. "Ah, woman, thy logic is flawless," he muttered half-aloud. Thoughtfully he looked through the waist port at the liner which had almost completed loading. An idea struck him. He turned to the girl again. "Get Heintz and harness yourselves in those shock suits. And use these shock chairs in the waist--they're safer. We will blast off the instant that liner does."