While he talked to the Micro, Bigfoot had been sitting in a p-suit. Now he pulled on his helmet, checked his systems, picked up a remote and shoved it into a pocket, and entered the Bay Four airlock. He'd already depressurized the bay, opened its overhead doors, and turned on its touchdown lights.

When the board went green he opened the hatch and stepped into the work area. He'd laid out the umbilicals earlier, lox and powdered aluminum for fuel, others carrying an electrical recharge, water, and air. He'd also put out several transparent plastic bags filled with sealant, patches, wrenches, peanut butter (who knew how long this trip might take?), and spare parts other than those the bus normally carried. He studied them briefly, trying to think if he'd forgotten anything. Nothing came to mind.

He activated his radio. "Tony, I'm in the bay."

"Roger that. We're at twelve hundred meters."

He looked up. The tongue of flame from the main engine was moving against the stars. "I see you."

"How's the comet doing?"

"It's doing fine. It's inside a million kilometers," said Bigfoot.

Right on time.

Routine procedure called for Moonbase personnel to track incoming vehicles and maintain a constant flow of data exchange until they were safely down. But had Bigfoot stayed inside to do that, it would have taken too long to get through the airlock. Still, there was no real risk here. The bay was built to accommodate the much larger 2665 bus, so there was plenty of room, probably an average of ten meters' clearance on a side. Bigfoot wouldn't have worried at all except that he had a pilot in a hurry.

He released the stops on the umbilicals and laid them out close to the pad, setting each so he could activate the flow at the nozzle. When he was satisfied he could do no more, he recalled that Keith Morley had given him the microcam to set up inside the bay. He looked around, found a table, extended the instrument's legs as he'd been shown, and pointed it toward the pad. (He'd warned Morley that he might not have time to recover it, but Morley said that he didn't want it recovered, that he wanted shots of the Micro pulling in and leaving.) Then he climbed behind a heat shield and tapped into the public address system.

"This is Caparatti," he said. "Are you folks at the door?"

Evelyn responded. "We're ready to go, Bigfoot." She still didn't sound so good, he thought.

"Okay. We'll be opening up in about five minutes. Keith, you're all set and ready to go."

"Thanks, Bigfoot," said the newsman. "My director's asked if you can move it a little bit left. Just a few degrees."

Bigfoot complied, changing the angle until Morley said it was okay.

The rim of Earth was visible through the overhead doors.

Tony's voice on the radio: "How do I look, Bigfoot?"

Dammit, he didn't like trying to eyeball the Micro in from here. "Drifting east a couple of points," he said. "As best I can tell."

"Roger."

Bigfoot watched him compensate. "That's good. Keep coming." Safety regulations prohibited personnel from entering this area during landing or launch operations. The chance of getting caught in the backwash was high. The heat shield behind which he hid was designed to protect equipment.

One hundred meters.

A clock on the control room wall showed ten thirteen.

The bay brightened in the glow of the rocket engines. He heard the two pilots talking to each other, switched to another channel, and listened to Keith Morley reporting to his global audience. Damned if he didn't sound as if he were enjoying every minute.

Bigfoot had known people like that during his brief tenure with the Packers, guys who seemed absolutely fearless, who thrived on risk.

Forty meters.

"A little tight at the rear, Tony. Take it forward a touch. That's it. Not too much." Even through the suit he felt the heat from the motors.

Thruster clusters adjusted their angle and fired. The Micro centered itself. "That's good. Bring it in."

A gout of flame arrowed through the overhead doors.

"Passengers, ready up," he said. "The bird is almost down."

Treads and main engine nozzle cleared the roof and the fire licked the launchpad. Now the undercarriage, and finally the sphere itself bellied in. Its weight settled onto the treads, compressing them.

Clouds of steam formed and began to dissipate.

Through the lighted windows he could see movement on the flight deck. The Micro cut power and Bigfoot came out from behind the shield. He pointed the remote at a sensor on the far wall and squeezed. The pad rotated the vehicle until its main airlock lined up with a marker on the deck. Then he pushed a different button. A Fleming tube, considerably shorter than the ones used at L1, unfolded from the Bay Four gate, and like a caterpillar trundled across the bay and connected with the airlock.

Meantime, the ship's cargo hatch opened and Saber, in a p-suit, popped out. Bigfoot laid the remote on the deck. "Refuel first," he said.

"Okay." Saber moved quickly out to help with the umbilicals, while he got the latches up for the fuel receivers. With no wasted motions, they connected both lines and hit the switches.

Now, while Bigfoot went after the other umbilicals, Saber retrieved the remote and checked the readings. She had a green light, which meant a good connection. She aimed the instrument again at the sensor and opened the door that would permit the passengers to enter the Fleming tube. On his radio, Bigfoot heard Morley's broadcast as they scrambled into the passageway: "Bruce, as you can see, the door's open at last and we're moving down the ramp."

Saber connected the electrical line while Bigfoot got the others. They hit the switches, and electricity, oxygen, and water began to flow. Next they threw the plastic bags into the airlock. When that was done, Bigfoot returned to the umbilicals. Flow was steady and normal. His gaze drifted to the clock-twenty after-and back to the gauges, where numbers flicked past.

At ten twenty-three, oxygen and water topped off and Saber disconnected the lines and threw them clear. They couldn't do much about recharging, of course, in the short time they had. Usually the operation needed close to an hour and a quarter. But they'd take what they could get.

The critical area was fuel. Tanks were now about forty percent full.

Tony reported the passengers were through the ship's airlock and filing into the cabin.

Saber spoke to Caparatti on the radio: "Bigfoot, when we're done, we'll go in through the cargo hatch. I want to try to get to the flight deck if I can. You seal the hatch behind us."

"Okay," he said.

Morley was still doing his broadcast, using the low-key voice that was supposed to suggest great drama: "You're watching Bigfoot Caparatti on your screen now. And yes, if you're a football fan, that's the same Bigfoot who once played for the Green Bay Packers."

Once is exactly correct, you dumb son of a bitch. Did you really have to bring that up?

Saber was watching the recharge. "How we doing?" Bigfoot asked.

"Okay. We'll have enough to power the systems. How's the fuel?"

"About halfway."

Tony came back on: "Everybody's in and the hatch is secure. You can disconnect the tube."

Saber aimed the remote. The walkway came loose and began to retract.

Bigfoot's entire world narrowed down to the two fuel counters and the clock. He let the numbers slip out of focus. Saber's eyes were dark pinpoints behind her visor.

The narrow patch of black sky visible through the entry doors had acquired a haze. He found himself torn between terror and an inclination to dismiss the entire affair as hysteria. Earlier, when he'd made the decision to stay, he'd gotten patched through to his mother, who'd cried and prayed on the phone; and an old friend with whom he'd played college football, who'd told him he was a damned fool but that he was proud to have known Bigfoot. It was said in the past tense.