Carl Engle stood aside as the flight preparation crew filed out of the Argosy 's airlock. Barnes was the last; fat and bald and squinting against the brightness of the Arizona sun. "All set, Carl," he said. "They had us to check and countercheck, especially the drives." Engle nodded. "Good. Ground Control reports the Slug cruiser still circling seven hundred miles out and they think the Slugs suspect something." "Damned centipedes!" Barnes said. "I still say they're telepathic." He looked at his