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"What?" And she could find no softness, no indecision in his topaz eyes.
"Ralph-it's dangerous for us to go. If they caught us, they'd execute us-for utter depravity."
And she said in a murmur, looking away, "I suppose they'd be justified too."
"It's a chance we'll have to take. Just what we said the day we decided to land. We've got to
die sometime. Get your gear and let's take off."
"We should leave a note, Ralph. Something ..."
He pointed to an envelope. "There it is. Thanking them for their hospitality. I told them we
were criminals and couldn't risk returning to Earth. It's thin but it's the best I could do,"
A hint of fire returned to Betty's voice. "Don't worry, they'll believe it."
Sullenly she tucked a few trinkets into a pouch. "It's a long way to the ship you know," she
warned him.
"We'll take Clay's car. I've watched him and I know how to drive it"
She jerked in a small bitter spasm of laughter. "We're even car thieves."
"Got to be," said Welstead stonily. He went to the door, listened. The utter silence of
honest sleep held the rest of the house. He returned to where Betty stood waiting,
watching him coldly with an air of dissociation.
"This way," said Welstead. "Out through the terrace."
They passed out into the moonless night of Haven and the only sound was the glassy tinkle
of the little stream that ran in its natural bed through the terrace.
Welstead took Betty's hand. "Easy now, don't walk into that bamboo." He clutched and
they froze to a halt. Through a window had come a sound-a gasp-and then the relieved
mutter a person makes on waking from a bad dream.
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Slowly, like glass melting under heat, the two came to life, stole across the terrace, out
upon the turf beside the house. They circled the vegetable garden and the loom of the car
bulked before them.
"Get in," whispered Welstead. 'I'll push till we're down around the bend."
Betty climbed into the seat and her foot scraped against the metal. Welstead stiffened,
listened, pierced the darkness like an eagle. Quiet from the house, the quiet of relaxation,
of trust. ... He pushed at the car and it floated easily across the ground, resisting his hand
only through inertia.
It jerked to a sudden halt. And Welstead froze in his tracks again. A burglar alarm of some
sort. No, there were no thieves on Haven-except two recently-landed people from Earth. A
trap?
"The anchor," whispered Betty.
Of course-Welstead almost groaned with relief. Every car had an anchor to prevent the
wind from blowing it away. He found it, hooked it into place on the car's frame and now
the car floated without hindrance down the leafy tunnel that was Clay's driveway. Around
a bend he ran to the door, jumped in, pressed his foot on the power pedal, and the car slid
away with the easy grace of a canoe. Out on the main road he switched on the lights and
they rushed off through the night.
"And we still use wheels on Earth," said Welstead. "If we only had a tenth of the guts these
people have-"
Cars passed them from the other direction. The lights glowed briefly into their faces and
they cringed low behind the windscreen.
They came to the park where their ship lay. "If anyone stops us," Welstead said in Betty's
ear, "we've just driven down to get some personal effects. After all we're not prisoners."
But he circled the ship warily before stopping beside it and then he waited a few seconds,
straining his eyes through the darkness. But there was no sound, no light, no sign of any
guard or human presence.
Welstead jumped from the car. "Fast now. Run over, climb inside. I'll be right behind you."
They dashed through the dark, up the rungs welded to the hull, and the cold steel felt like a
caress to Welstead's hot hands. Into the cabin; he thudded the port shut, slammed home
the dogs.
Welstead vaulted to the controls, powered the reactors. Dangerous business-but once clear
of the atmosphere they could take time to let them warm properly. The ship rose; the
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