“Hey! I’m icing up. They’re covering me with ice.”

“That shouldn’t happen,” Wunderly said, sounding almost annoyed.

“I don’t give a shit what should happen. These little cabróns are covering me up!”

More red lights flashed on his faceplate. One by one the sensors on the skin of the suit were going down. Covered with ice.

“Can you still move your arms and legs?” Fritz asked.

Gaeta tried. “Yeah. The joints are running a little stiff but they still — uh-oh.” Several particles of ice attached themselves to his faceplate.

“What’s the matter?”

“They’re on my faceplate,” Gaeta said. He stared at the particles, more fascinated than frightened. The little fregados are crawling across my faceplate, he realized.

“They’re moving,” he reported. “They’re walkin’ across my faceplate!”

“They can’t walk,” Wunderly said.

“Tell it to them!” Gaeta answered. “They’re covering up my faceplate. The whole suit! They’re wrapping me up in ice!”

“That’s impossible.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Whatever they were, the tiny particles were crawling over his faceplate. He could see it. More of them were coming in, too, covering more and more of the visor. Within minutes Gaeta could see nothing of the outside. His suit was completely encased in ice.

PRISONERS

Wunderly was in her own cubbyhole office, a pair of video monitors on her desk, trying to watch Gaeta on one display screen and the new moon that had joined the main ring on the screen beside it.

All she was getting from Gaeta was data from his suit’s interior sensors and his own excited report that the ice particles were encasing the suit. They can’t move, she told herself. They’re not alive, not motile. They’re just flakes of dust covered with ice.

But what’s making them cover Manny’s suit? Electromagnetic attraction? Temperature differential?

She was running through possibilities that grew more and more fanciful while she absently switched to the spectrographic sensor from the minisatellite that was watching the newly arrived moonlet on the other side of the ring. Wunderly frowned at the display. It didn’t look right. She called up the spectrograph’s earlier data. The moonlet was definitely icy, but laced with dark carbonaceous soot. Yet the real-time spectrogram showed much less carbon: it was practically all ice. Where did the carbon get to?

Intrigued, she switched back to the minisat’s visual display. And sank back in her little chair, gasping.

The moonlet was in the center of what looked like a maelstrom. A whirlpool of ice flakes was swirling around the moonlet, like a huge family engulfing a newly arrived member.

“My God almighty, they’re alive!” Wunderly shouted, leaping out of her chair. “They’re alive!”

Gaeta had learned long ago that panic was the worst enemy. Even with his faceplate covered so thickly that he could see nothing outside, he kept calm as he checked the suit’s systems. Life support okay, power okay, communications in the green, propulsion ready. No need to push the red button yet.

“Try rubbing the ice off your faceplate,” came Fritz’s voice, also calm, methodical.

Fritz’ll keep on recommending different fixes until I go down in flames, Gaeta knew.

“I’ve done that,” he said, raising his left arm to wipe at the faceplate again. The arm felt suffer than it had just a few moments earlier. “They just come back again.”

As he spoke, Gaeta rubbed the pincers of his left arm across the faceplate. They scraped some of the ice off enough so that he could see more particles rushing toward him. Within seconds the faceplate was covered up again.

“No joy,” he said. “They just swarm in and cover everything. It’s like they’re alive. I can see them crawling across my faceplate.”

“They are alive!” Wunderly broke in, her voice shrill with exhilaration. “Get some in the sample box!”

Gaeta huffed. “Maybe they’re gonna get me in their sample box.”

He wondered how much thickness of ice it would take to block his antennas and cut off communications. I’m getting freeze-wrapped like a Christmas turkey and she’s worried about getting samples to study. He checked the temperature inside the suit. The display was normal, although Gaeta thought it felt chillier than normal. Just my imagination, he told himself. Yeah. Sure.

He called to Fritz, “I think maybe I oughtta light off the jets and get outta here.”

“Not yet!” Wunderly pleaded. “Try to collect some samples!”

Fritz’s voice, icy calm, said, “Your suit functions aren’t being impaired.”

“Not yet,” Gaeta agreed. “But what chingado good am I sitting out here, blind as a bat and covered with ice?”

Wunderly asked, “Can you at least wait until the minisat swings over to your side of the planet, so I can get spectrographic readings on the ice that’s covering you?”

“How long will that take?” Fritz asked.

A pause. Then Wunderly answered, her voice much lower, “Eleven hours and twenty-seven minutes.”

“The suit is designed for a forty-eight-hour excursion,” said Fritz.

“But if the ice covering continues to build up, his communications and propulsion functions might be disabled.”

Before Wunderly could reply, Gaeta said, “I’m okay for now, Fritz. Let’s see what happens.”

Berkowitz spoke up. “This is terrific stuff, people, but all your suit cameras are covered up. We’re getting nothing but audio from you, Manny. If we can get outside video from the minisat, we’ll be golden.”

Gaeta nodded inside his helmet, thinking sardonically, And if I get killed, the ratings’ll be even better.

Feeling shaky after her near drowning, and even shakier knowing that somehow Kananga’s people were tracking her, Holly walked as fast as she could to the end of the tunnel, climbed the metal ladder that led up to the surface, and pushed open a hatch disguised to look like a small boulder. She was at the endcap; she paused for a moment and took a deep breath of air. It seemed fresh and sweet. The entire habitat spread before her eyes, green and wide and open.

She pulled herself up from the hatch, swung the plastic boulder shut again, and started across the springy green grass toward the grove of young elms and maples sprouting farther up toward the centerline.

Somebody was already there, she saw as she approached the woods. Lying stretched out on the mossy ground in among the trees.

Holly froze, feeling like a deer that’s spotted a mountain lion. But the man — she thought it looked like a man — seemed to be asleep, or unconscious or even dead. He wasn’t wearing the black outfit of the Security Department, either; just tan coveralls.

Cautiously, Holly approached near enough to make out his face. It’s Raoul! she realized. What’s he doing out here? A thought stopped her in her tracks. Is he working for Kananga? Is he part of some search group, looking for me?

Then she realized she was standing out in the open, perfectly visible to anyone within a kilometer or more. Raoul wouldn’t go over to Kananga, she decided. He’s a friend.

She went to him, feeling a little safer once she was within the shadows of the trees.

Tavalera stirred as she approached him, blinked, then sat up so abruptly it startled Holly.

He blinked again, rubbed his eyes. “Holly? Is it you, or am I dreaming?”

She smiled warmly. “It’s me, Raoul. What are you doing all the way out here?”

“Lookin’ for you,” he said, getting to his feet. “Guess I dozed off. Some searcher, huh?” He grinned sheepishly.

“You’re just going to get yourself in trouble, Raoul. Kananga’s people are following me. I’ve been trying to stay a jump ahead of them.”

Tavalera took in a deep breath. “I know. I came to help you.”

Holly thought that if Raoul knew enough about her to wait for her here at the endcap, Kananga’s people must have figured out her habits, too.