Gaeta said, “Lemme get aboard the shuttleboat first, man.”

Timoshenko nodded his silent agreement. Get safely aboard the shuttlecraft. Then we can head for the airlock that’s easiest to reach.

Deftly he tapped out commands on the control panel, edging the shuttlecraft closer to Gaeta. Timoshenko knew that if he’d had the time he could have set up the rendezvous problem for the craft’s computer and have it all done automatically. But there was no time for that. He had to bring Gaeta in manually. He almost smiled at the irony of it. The computer could solve the problem in a microsecond, but it would take too long for him to set up the problem in the computer.

There was no way to match their velocities exactly. He had to close the distance to Gaeta, move the shuttlecraft on a trajectory that would intersect Gaeta’s path at the smallest possible difference in velocity. Timoshenko wiped sweat from his eyes as he stared at the radar display. Ten meters separated them. Eight. Six.

Gaeta saw the cargo hatch inching closer and closer. Come on, pal, he encouraged silently. Bring it in. Bring it in. He wished he had some drop of fuel left in the propulsion unit; even the tiniest nudge of thrust would close the gap between him and the cargo hatch.

“Almost there.” Timoshenko’s voice sounded tense, brittle.

Gaeta raised both arms and tried to reach the hatch’s rim. Less than a meter separated his outstretched fingertips from safety.

“Get ready,” Timoshenko said.

“I’m ready.”

The hatch suddenly lurched toward Gaeta, engulfing him. He slammed into the cargo bay with a thump that banged the back of his head against the inside of his helmet.

“Welcome aboard,” said Timoshenko. Gaeta could sense the huge grin on his face.

“A little rough, but thanks anyway, amigo.”

They both heard Fritz breathe an astonished, “Thank God.”

AIRLOCK JUSTICE

Fritz and the three other technicians, accompanied by Wunderly and Berkowitz, raced out to the endcap to meet Gaeta and Timoshenko when they docked. Much to Fritz’s amazement, pudgy, wheezing Berkowitz kept up with him as they pedaled madly along the length of the habitat. Even Wunderly was not far behind, while his technicians lagged farther along the bike path.

He waited impatiently for them at the hatch to the endcap’s central airlock, thinking, I’ll have to see that they get considerably more physical exercise. Watching how they panted and sweated, he shook his head. They’ve turned into putty globs since we’ve been aboard this habitat.

Flanked by Wunderly and the still-puffing Berkowitz, with the technicians behind him, Fritz marched along the steel-walled tunnel that led to the airlock. They got as far as the chamber that fronted the airlock’s inner hatch. A trio of black-clad security people stopped them. A taller black man in gray coveralls was with them.

“This area is restricted,” said the guard leader.

“Restricted?” Fritz spat. “What do you mean? A shuttlecraft is going to dock at this airlock within minutes.”

The guard drew his baton. “You can’t go in there. I have my orders.” A woman’s scream rang off the steel walls, curdling Fritz’s blood. “What the devil is going on in there?” he demanded.

As Timoshenko guided the shuttlecraft to the endcap airlock, he called to Gaeta in the cargo bay. “Do you want to get out of your suit? I can come back and help you.”

“No can do,” said Gaeta. “I’ve got this hijo de puta pulled muscle in my thigh. I’m gonna need a couple guys to help pull me out.”

Timoshenko shrugged. “Hokay. We’ll be at the airlock in less than ten minutes.”

But when they reached the habitat and Timoshenko mated the cargo bay hatch to the airlock’s outer hatch, his command screen showed, AIRLOCK ACCESS DENIED.

“Access denied?” Timoshenko grumbled. “What stupid shit-for-brains has put this airlock off-limits?”

“Try the emergency override,” Gaeta suggested.

Timoshenko’s fingers were already dancing across his keyboard. “Yes, good, it’s responding.”

He got out of the cockpit chair and ducked through the hatch into the cargo bay. Looking at Gaeta in the massive suit, he grinned. “At least I can enter the habitat in shirtsleeves.”

“Tell you the truth, amigo, the way my fregado leg feels, if I weren’t inside this suit I wouldn’t be able to walk without somebody propping me up.”

Through a haze of agony, Holly forced her mind to center on only one thought. Don’t give them what they want. Don’t let them drag Kris down. I’m already dead, I’m not going to let them kill Kris, too.

One of her eyes was swollen shut, the other down to a mere slit. She felt a hot breath on her ear. Morgenthau’s voice, heavy and dark, whispered, “This is nothing, Holly. If you think you’ve felt pain, it’s nothing to what you’re going to feel now. So far we’ve merely given you a beating. If you don’t speak, we’ll have to start tearing up your insides.”

Holly concentrated on the pain, tried to use it to keep the fear out of her mind. They’re going to kill me, whatever she says, they’re going to kill me. All the pain in the world isn’t going to change that.

Someone shouted, “The airlock’s cycling!”

“Impossible. I gave orders—”

“Look at the indicators.” That sounded like Eberly’s voice. “The outer hatch is opening.”

Inside the bulky suit Gaeta watched the telltales on the airlock’s inner wall flick from red through amber to green. Jezoo, he thought, it’ll be good to get out of this suit. I must smell to high heaven by now.

The inner hatch slid open slowly, ponderously. Gaeta expected to see Fritz and the techs waiting for him. Instead, he saw a group of strangers. Eberly, he recognized after a disoriented moment. And those others -

Then he saw two figures on the floor. Bloody. Beaten. Jesus Christ almighty! That’s Holly!

“What the fuck’s going on here?” he demanded.

Gaeta’s voice boomed like a thunderclap in the steel-walled chamber.

Eberly blurted, “They’re trying to kill Holly!”

Morgenthau whirled on Eberly, hissing, “Traitor!”

Kananga stepped in front of the huge suit, looking almost frail in comparison. “This doesn’t concern you. Get out of here immediately.”

“They’re killing Holly!” Eberly repeated, even more desperately.

Kananga called up the tunnel, “Guards! Take this fool out.”

The three security personnel raced toward him, but skidded to a stop at the sight of Gaeta’s suit, looming like some monster from a folk tale. A taller man in gray coveralls hovered uncertainly behind them.

“Shoot him!” Kananga bellowed. “Kill him!”

From inside the suit, Gaeta saw the three guards drawing laser cutting tools from their belts. Behind them, Fritz and the others came up cautiously. His eyes returned to Holly, lying on her back on the floor, her face bloody and swollen, one arm bent at a grotesque angle, the fingers of her hand caked with blood.

The guards fired their lasers at him. They’re trying to kill me, Gaeta realized, as if watching the whole scene from a far distance. The sons of bitches!

The red pencil lines of three laser beams splashed against the armor of the suit’s chest. With a growl that the suit amplified into an artillery barrage, Gaeta pushed Kananga aside and advanced on the three guards. One of them had the sense to aim at his faceplate, but the heavily tinted visor absorbed most of the laser pulse; Gaeta felt a searing flash on his right cheek, like the burn of an electric shock.

He barged into the guards, smacking one backhanded with his servo-amplified arm, sending the man smashing into the wall. He grabbed the laser out of the hand of the woman and crushed it in the pincers of his right hand. They turned and fled, running past Fritz and his openmouthed companions. The guard that Gaeta had hit lay crumpled on the floor, unconscious or dead, he didn’t care which.