Eberly fished his handheld from his tunic and projected Holly’s dossier on the wall above Wilmot’s sofa.

The professor recognized Holly’s face. “She’s the one you brought with you a while back.”

“Yes.” Eberly shook his head sadly. “As you can see, she has a history of emotional dysfunction.” He had spent hours carefully rewriting Holly’s dossier. “As long as she takes her medication she’s perfectly normal. But once she stops…”

Wilmot studied the dossier briefly, then asked, “Why’d she go off her meds?”

“It’s this Diego Romero business. Holly became obsessed by the old man’s death. She convinced herself that he was murdered.”

“Murdered?”

“It’s nonsense, of course. But this afternoon she attacked Colonel Kananga. She tried to kill him, at exactly the same site as the old man’s death.”

“Good lord! And where is she now?”

“Disappeared, as I told you. Kananga has organized a search for her.”

Wilmot nodded, as if satisfied. “Very well. It seems that Kananga is doing what he should. But why have you bothered me about this?”

“Because I want you to appoint me deputy administrator.”

“Deputy? I don’t need a deputy.”

“I think you do. You will appoint me deputy administrator so that you can retire from running the habitat.”

“Retire? And put you in charge? Hah!”

“It’s not such a ridiculous idea,” Eberly said softly. “You will retire and I will take over your duties.”

“Nonsense!”

“Once retired,” Eberly went on, “you can spend all your time watching your filthy vids, instead of merely the evenings.”

Wilmot staggered back a step. The color drained from his beefy face.

“This habitat needs strong leadership,” said Eberly. “Especially with the elections coming up and our impending arrival at Saturn. You’ve done your job quite well, Professor. Now it’s time for you to step aside.”

“And turn everything over to you? Never!”

Eberly shrugged. “In that case, we’ll have to make your choice of entertainment known to the entire population of the habitat.”

“We? Who do you mean?”

“We don’t want to embarrass you, Professor. Simply step aside and allow me to take control and no one will ever know about your perverse little entertainments.”

Wilmot sank down into the nearest chair, speechless.

Kris Cardenas lay in her bed, trying to decide if she was making another mess of her life. What will I be this time? she asked herself: a hardhearted bitch or a romantic idiot?

Her relationship with Gaeta had started out as a passionate fling, all glands and heat. Once Holly had stepped out of the way she allowed Manny to bed her; she hadn’t had so much fun in decades. But then Kris found out about Nadia. It wasn’t that Gaeta had been unfaithful to her; neither one of them had promised anything except fun and games. But the thought that Manny used women that way, slept with a woman who could help him and then moved on to the next, that angered her. Then came his sudden declaration of love. True love! Cardenas almost laughed aloud at the thought. But whatever it was, she was overjoyed by it. At my age, she thought, stifling a giggle. Score a real triumph for nanotechnology!

As she turned to face her love, though, her thoughts sobered. He’s going to get himself killed, she feared. That’s the business he’s in, taking constantly bigger risks. Cardenas hated the public, the audience of vicarious thrill-seekers who pushed Manny to riskier and riskier stunts until he tried the one stunt that would kill him.

He lay on his back, blissfully asleep, his rugged, expressive face relaxed, almost boyish. Cardenas studied the slight scars on his brow and along his jawline, the slightly pushed-in aspect of his nose.

Stop it! she commanded herself. You’re getting soft as a grape. Even if he lives through this rings stunt he’ll be leaving afterward. Then what will you do? Go traipsing after him like some overaged groupie?

Gaeta opened his eyes, turned toward her, and smiled. Cardenas felt her heart melt for him.

“What time is it?” he mumbled, raising his head enough to see the digital clock.

“Early,” Cardenas whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

“Big test today,” he said. “The snowball fight.”

“Not yet. Go back to sleep.”

“Nah. I’m up.”

Cardenas reached for him. “Why, so you are,” she said, with an impish grin.

The phone buzzed.

“Aw, mierda,” he groaned.

“Audio only,” Cardenas told the phone.

Holly’s face took shape at the foot of the bed. “Can’t talk long. Just gotta tell you Kananga tried to kill me and I’m on the run. I’ll buzz later when I can.”

And her image winked out, leaving the two of them staring at emptiness.

SNOWBALL FIGHT

“Pay attention!” Fritz snapped.

Inside the massive suit, Manny blinked. Fritz was right, his thoughts had wandered. That’s the dangerous part of this love thing, it makes it hard to concentrate on the business at hand. We’ll be at Saturn in a few days and I’ll do the rings. If it clears enough profit, then fuck Titan and Urbain and all those uptight cositas. I’ll just take the money and run home.

With Kris? Will she come with me? Do I have the guts to ask her to? He almost laughed: the most fearless stuntman in the whole solar system and I’m scared to death she’d turn me down. Where’s your cojones, tough guy?

The banging on his suit startled him. Fritz was whacking at the suit’s armored chest with the flat of his hand, as high up as he could reach.

“Wake up in there!” Fritz hollered.

“I’m awake,” said Gaeta.

“These days you spend too much time in bed and not enough time sleeping.”

“I’m awake,” Gaeta repeated peevishly.

From inside the suit, Fritz looked like a cranky little guy standing out there scowling at him, not even as tall as Gaeta’s shoulder. Together with the four other technicians, they were standing in a sealed-off section of corridor that led to one of the habitat’s major airlocks, big enough to handle bulky equipment. Gaeta had marched in and, at Fritz’s order, turned his back to the airlock hatch. Now he could see, down where they had sealed the corridor from the rest of the habitat, half a dozen fans that the techs had set up. Three of the techs were lugging heavy plastic jugs of water and placing them in precisely marked spots on the corridor’s floor of metallic squares. Beside each of the fans stood a dark metal tube encased in a copper-colored magnetic coil, looking to Gaeta like a cross between a laboratory contraption and a shotgun. The fourth tech was loading the tubes with ball bearings.

“This simulation will last only a few seconds,” Fritz said, “but it is designed to give you a feeling for what you will encounter in the ring.”

“I know all that, Fritz,” Gaeta said impatiently. “Let’s get on with it.”

As unperturbed as if he had heard not a syllable, Fritz went on, “The water will vaporize into ice crystals and the fans will blow them at you. The electromagnetic guns will fire the pellets that simulate larger pieces of ice at approximately Mach one point three.”

“And I stand here and take it all in the face,” said Gaeta.

“I trust the suit will not be penetrated,” said Fritz.

“The self-sealing gunk will stop any leaks.”

“Temporarily.”

“Long enough for this test.”

“But not long enough to save you once you are out in the ring.”

“Which is why we’re running this sim, to see if the suit holds up. So let’s get on with it.”

Fritz gazed up at him, his expression somewhere between discontent and anxiety.

“Come on, Fritz,” Gaeta urged. “Let’s get it over with.”

With a shake of his head, Fritz led the other techs past the airtight door that sealed off the end of the corridor section. Gaeta saw it close.

“Pumping down the chamber,” Fritz’s voice said in his helmet earphones.