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. . . if you don't care if they rack him apart."
"What do you mean?"
"Are you crazy? There are six snoopers between here and the spaceport gate . . . and each one anxious to pick up the reward."
"You mean he's wanted?"
"Why do you think I've hidden him in my own bedroom? He's as hot as bubbling cheese."
"But why?"
"Again, how would I know? He is."
"You don't really think that a lad like this would know enough about what old Baslim was doing to make it worth --"
"Let's not speak of what Baslim was doing or did. I'm a loyal subject of the Sargon . . . with no wish to be shortened. You say you want to take the boy into your ship. I say, 'Fine!' I'll be happy to be quit of the worry. But how?"
Krausa cracked his knuckles one by one. "I had thought," he said slowly, "that it would be just a matter of walking him down to the gate and paying his emigration tax."
"It's not, so forget it. Is there any way to get him aboard without passing him through the gate?"
Captain Krausa looked worried. "They're so strict about smuggling here that if they catch you, they confiscate the ship. You're asking me to risk my ship . . . and myself . . . and my whole crew."
"I'm not asking you to risk anything. I've got myself to worry about. I was just telling you the straight score. If you ask me, I'd say you were crazy to attempt it."
Thorby said, "Captain Krausa --"
"Eh? What is it, lad?"
"Pop told me to do as you said
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