“I’m not sure I could even do that to Mr. Van Atta,” said Silver slowly. “Have you ever seen a bad burn, Leo?”

“Yes.”

“So have I.”

A brief silence fell.

“We can’t bluff our teachers,” said Silver finally. “All Mama Nilla would have to do is say ‘Give that over now, Siggy!’ in that voice of hers, and he would. It’s not—it’s not a smart scenario, Leo.”

Leo’s hands clenched in exasperation. “But we must get the downsiders off the Habitat, or nothing else can be done! If we can’t, they’ll just re-take it, and you’ll be worse off than when you started.”

“All right, all right! We’ve got to get rid of them. But that’s not the way.” She paused, looking at him more doubtfully. “Could you shoot Mama Nilla? Do you really think—say—Pramod, could shoot you?”

Leo sighed. “Probably not. Not in cold blood. Even soldiers in battle have to be brought to a special state of mental excitement to shoot total strangers.”

Silver looked relieved. “All right, so what else would have to be done? Saying we could take over the Habitat.”

“Re-configuring the Habitat can be done with tools and supplies already aboard, though everything will have to be carefully rationed. The Habitat will have to be defended from any attempt by GalacTech to recapture it while this is going on. The high-energy-density beam welders could be quite effective discouragements to shuttles attempting to board us—if anybody could be induced to fire one,” he added with a dry edge. “Company inventory doesn’t include armored attack ships, fortunately. A real military force would make short work of this little revolution, you realize.” His imagination supplied the details, and his stomach bunched queasily. “Our only real defense is to get gone before GalaTech can produce one. That will require a Jump pilot.”

He studied her anew. “That’s where you come in, Silver. I know a pilot who’s going to be passing through the Transfer Station very soon who might be, um, easier to kidnap than most. Especially if you came along to lend your personal persuasion.” “Ti.”

“Ti,” he confirmed. She looked dubious. “Maybe.” Leo fought down another and stronger wave of queasiness. Ti and Silver had a relationship predating his arrival. He wasn’t really playing pimp. Logic dictated this. He realized suddenly that what he really wanted was to remove her as far from the Jump pilot as possible. And do what? Keep her for yourself? Get serious. You’re too old for her. Ti was what—twenty-five, maybe? Perhaps violently jealous, for all Leo knew. She must prefer him. Leo tried virtuously to feel old. It wasn’t hard; most of the quaddies made him feel about eighty anyway. He wrenched his mind back to business. “The third thing that has to be done first,” Leo thought over the wording of that, and concluded unhappily that it was all too accurate, “is nail down a cargo Jumper. If we wait until we boost the Habitat all the way out to the wormhole, GalacTech will have time to figure out how to defend them. Such as Jumping them all to the Orient IV side and thumbing their noses at us until we are forced to surrender. That means,” he contemplated the next logical step with some dismay, “we’ve got to send a force out to the wormhole to hijack one. And I can’t go with it, and be here to defend and reconfigure the Habitat both… it’ll have to be a force of quaddies. I don’t know…” Leo ran down, “maybe this isn’t such a great idea after all.”

“Send Ti with them,” suggested Silver reasonably. “He knows more about the cargo Jumpers than any of us.”

“Mm,” said Leo, drawn back to optimism. If he was going to pay attention to the odds against this escapade succeeding, he might as well give up now and avoid the rush. Screw the odds. He would believe in Ti. If necessary, he would believe in elves, angels, and the tooth fairy.

“That makes, um, suborning Ti step one in the flow chart,” Leo reasoned aloud. “From the moment he’s missed we’re out in the open, racing the clock. That means all the advance planning for moving the Habitat had better be done—in advance. And—oh. Oh, my.” Leo’s eyes lit.

“What?”

“I just had a brilliant idea to buy us a head start…”

Leo timed his entrance carefully, waiting until Van Atta had been holed up in his Habitat office nearly the first two hours of the shift. The project chief would be starting to think about his coffee break by now, and reaching the degree of frustration that always attended the first attack on a new problem, in this case dismantling the Habitat. Leo could picture the entangled stage of his planning precisely; he’d gone through it himself about eight hours previously, locked in his own quarters, brainstorming on his computer console after a brief pause to render his programs inaccessible to snoops. The leftover military security clearance from the Argus cruiser project worked wonders. Leo was quite sure no one in the Habitat, not Van Atta and certainly not Yei, possessed a higher key.

Van Atta frowned at him from the clutter of printouts, his computer vid scintillating multi-screened and colorful with assorted Habitat schematics. “Now what, Leo? I’m busy. Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach.”

And those who can’t teach, Leo finished silently, go into administration. He maintained his usual bland smile, not letting the edged thought show by any careless gleam or reflection. “I’ve been thinking, Brace,” Leo purred. “I’d like to volunteer for the job of dismantling the Habitat.”

“You would?” Van Atta’s brows rose in astonishment, lowered in suspicion. “Why?”

Van Atta would hardly believe it was out of the goodness of his heart. Leo was prepared. “Because as much as I hate to admit it, you were right again. I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to bring away from this assignment. Counting travel time, I’ve shot four months of my life—more, before this is done—and I’ve got nothing to show for it but some black marks on my record.”

“You did it to yourself.” Van Atta, reminded, rubbed his chin upon which the bruise was fading to a green shadow, and glowered.

“I lost my perspective for a little while, it’s true,” Leo admitted. “I’ve got it back.”

“A bit late,” sneered Van Atta.

“But I could do a good job,” argued Leo, wondering how one could achieve the effect of a hangdog shuffle in free fall. Better not overdo it. “I really need a commendation, something to counterweight those reprimands. I’ve had some ideas that could result in an unusually high salvage ratio, cut the losses. It would take all the scut work off your hands and leave you free to administer.”

“Hm,” said Van Atta, clearly enticed by a vision of his office returning to its former pristine serenity. He studied Leo, his eyes slitting. “Very well—take it. There’s my notes, they’re all yours. Ah, just send the plans and reports through my office, I’ll send ‘em on. That’s my real job, after all, administration.”

“Certainly.” Leo swept up the clutter. Yes, send ‘em through you—so you can replace my name with your own. Leo could almost see the wheels turn, in the smug light of Van Atta’s eyes. Let Leo do the work, and Van Atta siphon off the credit. Oh, you’ll get the credit for how this project ends all right, Brucie-baby—all of it.

“I’ll need a few other things,” Leo requested humbly. “I want all the quaddie pusher crews that can be spared from their regular duties, in addition to my own classes. These useless children are going to learn to work like they never worked before. Supplies, equipment, authorization to sign out pushers and fuel—gotta start some on-site surveying—and I need to be able to commandeer other quaddie spot labor as needed. All right?”

“Oh, are you volunteering for the hands-on part too?” A fleeting vindictive greediness crossed Van Atta’s face, followed by doubt. “What about keeping this under wraps till the last minute?”