He didn't ask a one of the million questions that must have popped into his mind. "Right. Anything else?"
Within ten minutes, there was a mob milling through the corridor. Everybody in the neighborhood was looking for Jaqueline Ravenhurst. Then Peter Quilp yelled.
With a scene like that going on, the guard couldn't help but step out of his cubicle to see what was going on.
I used the key I was carrying, stepped inside, and relocked the door. No one in the crowd paid any attention.
From then on up, it was simply a matter of evading patrolling guards--a relatively easy job. Finally, I put on my vac suit and went out through the air lock.
McGuire was still sitting there, a bright blue needle that reflected the distant sun as it moved across the ebon sky. Ceres' rotation took it from horizon to horizon in less than two hours, and you could see it and the stars move against the spire of the ship.
I made it to the air lock in one long jump.
Jack Ravenhurst had gone into the ship through the tube that led to the passenger lock. She might or might not have her vac suit on; I knew she had several of them on Ceres. It was probable that she was wearing it without the fishbowl.
It took a few minutes for the pumps to cycle, wasting more precious time. I was fairly certain that she would be in the control cabin, talking, but I was thankful that the pumps were silent.
Finally, I took off my fishbowl and stepped into the companionway.
And something about the size of Luna came out of nowhere and clobbered me on the occiput. I had time to yell, "Get away!" Then I was as one with intergalactic space.
_Please!_ said the voice. _Please! Stop the drive! Go back! McGuire! I_ demand _that you stop! I_ order _you to stop! Please! PLEASE!_
It went on and on. A voice that shifted around every possible mode of emotion. Fear. Demand. Pleading. Anger. Cajoling. Hate. Threat.
_Can't you speak, McGuire? Say something to me!_ A shrill, soft, throaty, harsh, murmuring, screaming voice that had one basic characteristic. It was a female voice.
_I am sorry, Jack. I can speak with you. I can record your data. But I cannot accept your orders. I can take orders from only One. And he has given me his orders._
And the feminine voice again: _Who was it? What orders? You keep saying that it was the man on the couch. That doesn't make sense!_