“Pump away,” said Gaeta.

The only aspect of his flight through Saturn’s B ring that this test couldn’t simulate was the lack of gravity. Gaeta didn’t think that was important; he had experienced micro-g many times, it wasn’t a problem for him. But standing in the middle of a superblizzard and allowing himself to be pelted by supersonic stainless steel ball bearings, that was something else. Like facing a firing squad. Yeah, he said to himself, but I’m inside an armored suit. Like Superman. Those bullets’ll just bounce off my chest.

He hoped.

James Colerane Wilmot sat alone in his living room, staring into infinity. Ruined. Tripped up by my own stupidity.

He sighed heavily. I could fight him. Most of the population here is in this habitat because they couldn’t stand the rules and regulations that were strangling them. So I have rather bizarre taste in entertainment. I could offer to take counseling, even psychotherapy. I don’t have to knuckle under to this snotty Eberly and his clique. Not unless I want to.

He thought about that. Not unless I want to. Why should I go through the embarrassment and stress of public revelation, public ridicule? Accusations and defenses, excuses, pleading for understanding? No, I won’t subject myself to all that. I can’t.

In a way, actually, this is better than ever. Now I’m totally removed from any semblance of control, any hint of responsibility. The experiment is completely free now from any possible interference. I’ll have to inform Atlanta about that.

He hesitated, frowning. Eberly’s been watching every move I make. Every communication. Even what I do here in the supposed privacy of my own quarters. He’s watching me now.

What to do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Atlanta will find out about this power play of Eberly’s soon enough. They must have plenty of spies scattered through the population.

Holly had debated for hours about calling Kris. At last she decided she would do it from a phone up topside. She didn’t want Kananga or anyone else to know that she was using the underground tunnels as her hiding place. So just before the habitat’s solar windows opened for “sunrise,” she climbed up the ladder that opened into the cafeteria’s storeroom. She could hear people stirring in the kitchen, just beyond: pots clanging and voices calling back and forth. A robot trundled in from the kitchen, rolled right past her and went to a shelf where it grasped a carton of preserved fruit in its gripper-tipped arms, then turned a precise one hundred and eighty degrees, rolled past her again, and pushed through the double doors to the kitchen.

Holly tiptoed to the wall phone near the kitchen door and made her hurried call to Kris. Somebody’s got to know that I’m alive and being hunted by Kananga, she told herself.

After her swiftly spoken message to Kris, she went back to the trapdoor, down the ladder, and ran nearly a kilometer along the main tunnel before slumping down to the floor, panting.

You flaming dimdumb, she said to herself. You were in the warping storeroom and you never thought to get something to eat. Stupid!

Her stomach agreed with a growl.

“She made a call?” Kananga asked eagerly. “When? From where?”

His aide, wearing the black tunic and slacks that Kananga demanded for his security staff, replied, “From the cafeteria storeroom, sir. About an hour ago.”

“An hour ago?” Kananga snarled, rising from his desk chair.

The woman glanced at her handheld. “Actually fifty-two minutes ago, sir.”

“And you’re just telling me now?”

“We only had a skeleton staff on at the time, sir. They can’t monitor every phone in the habitat in real time. It’s—”

“I want an automated program set up immediately. Use her voice-print as the key to trigger an automatic alarm. Immediately!”

“Yessir.”

“This woman is a dangerous psychopath. She’s got to be apprehended before she kills someone else!”

The aide scampered from Kananga’s office and his baleful glare.

He slowly settled himself back in his chair. The cafeteria. Of course. She’s got to eat. We’ll simply stake out teams at the cafeteria and the restaurants. She’ll be drawn to the food, sooner or later. And once she is, we’ll have her.

Gaeta had never been in a blizzard, never tried to trudge through drifts of snow while a cold wind battered at him and drove flakes of ice stinging against his face.

For nearly half a minute, though, he faced the fiercest maelstrom that Fritz’s ingenuity could devise. Ice crystals flew all around him, enveloping him in a blinding whirl of gleaming, glinting white. Steel pellets peppered him, rattling against his armored suit so loudly that Gaeta knew it was going to crack. He worried especially about the faceplate. It was bulletproof, he knew, but how bulletproof could it be?

He was being machine-gunned, strafed by supersonic pellets of stainless steel.

Yet he stood it. He remained on his feet and even took a few plodding steps upstream, into the blinding whiteout blowing at him. The rattling of the pellets was so loud, though, that he had trouble hearing Fritz’s voice counting down the time in his helmet earphones.

All he could do was stand and take it. And look at the lighted displays splashed across the inside of his visor. Every damned light was green, every monitor was showing that the suit was functioning normally. Whoops! One went yellow. Nothing important, he saw; one of the knee joints had suddenly lost lubrication. The backup came on and the light switched back to green.

The noise was damned near deafening. Like a thousand crazy woodpeckers attacking the suit. Why the hell do I put up with this crap? Gaeta wondered. Why am I spending my life getting the shit kicked out of me? Why don’t I take whatever money I make out of this and retire while I’ve still got all my arms and legs?

The classic answer rang in his head: What, and quit show business? He laughed aloud.

And then it was over. As suddenly as it had started, it all disappeared, leaving Gaeta standing there inside the cumbersome suit, his ears ringing from the pounding bombardment.

“What are you laughing about?” Fritz demanded.

Gaeta replied, still grinning, “I laugh at danger, Fritz. Don’t you read my media releases? I think you wrote that line yourself.”

It took the better part of half an hour for them to refill the corridor section with air and for Gaeta to crawl out of the suit.

Fritz inspected it minutely, going over every square centimeter of the hulking suit with a magnifying glass.

“Dimpled, but not penetrated,” was Fritz’s estimation.

“Then we can go as planned.”

“Yes, I believe we can.”

Gaeta’s handheld buzzed. He flicked it open and saw Nadia Wunderly’s face on the minuscule screen.

“If you’re worried about the test—”

“No, no, no!” she said, brimming with excitement. “I just had to tell you right away. You’re the luckiest guy in the solar system!”

“Whattaya mean?”

“There’s going to be a capture event!” Wunderly was almost shouting. “Three days after we arrive in orbit Saturn’s going to capture an asteroid from the Kuiper Belt.”

“What? What do you mean? Slow it down a little.”

“Manny, a small chunk of ice-covered rock is approaching Saturn from deep in the Kuiper Belt, out beyond Pluto. It’s already fallen into Saturn’s gravity well. I’ve done the calculations. It’s going to fall into orbit around Saturn smack in the middle of the A ring! Three days after we arrive in orbit outside the rings!”

“Three days?” Fritz asked, looking over Gaeta’s shoulder at Wunderly’s ecstatic face.

“Yes! If you delay your excursion for three days, you can be there when the capture takes place!”