He said it casually, as though this was a routine operation that he did every day.

Jan said, “Suppose he won’t come?”

“I wasn’t proposing to give him an option.” Paul studied the sky ahead. “We have plenty of time. Let’s take ten minutes.”

“Why?” To Jan’s eye, Jupiter seemed awfully close.

“To be sure that you know how to fly this ship — just in case.”

“Paul, I’m the reason that Sebastian came to Ganymede. I must be the one who goes to him.”

“How many spacewalks have you done? That’s what I thought. And these scooters are designed to practically fly themselves. Let me squeeze past you. We have to change seats.”

The move was tricky, but within less than five minutes Jan was facing the bank of controls. After that… Maybe it was the sight of Jupiter, swelling ahead; maybe it was fatigue or nerves; maybe Paul was an optimist. For whatever reason, it seemed far longer than five minutes before Jan felt confident enough to say, “All right. I can handle simple maneuvers.”

“Good. If I don’t come back—”

“Don’t say that.” They had their suit helmets closed, and Jan stared at his face through the hard transparent visor. “You come back, Paul Marr. Do you hear?”

Then she had to say the hardest words ever. She gripped his arm, hard. “Whatever happens to Sebastian, don’t risk your own life. You come back with Sebastian or without him, but you come back to me.”

“I’ll come back, and I’ll have Sebastian with me. Remember, I still-need to get a portrait of you that I’m satisfied with.” He turned away and opened the hatch. He left it wide open as he left, and Jan had a clear view of Sebastian’s ship as Paul floated off toward it. The distance separating them was no more than fifteen meters. Surely she could have made that jump herself.

But Paul possessed information that Jan lacked. He used his suit’s controls to bring him close alongside the Mayfly, and gestured to Sebastian to open its hatch. When that produced no result — it seemed to Jan that Sebastian was not even aware of Paul’s presence — he moved backward along the ship’s hull, and ran his glove in a certain pattern over selected points.

The Mayfly hatch opened. Paul approached it slowly, easing his way along the hull. Jan saw Sebastian turn in his cramped seat, a puzzled look on his face.

“Emergency opening,” Paul said to Sebastian, and Jan added, “This is for your own good. We’re going to take you home.”

“Home?” The moon face showed a spark of interest, then settled back into indifference. “I can’t go home until I finish my job.”

“Sebastian, you’re imagining things. There is no ‘job’ that has to be done. Your job will be out on the Saturn orbiting weather station. Let Paul help you. He’ll bring you over to our ship, and we can all go back to Ganymede.”

To her surprise and huge relief, he nodded and said, “All right.” And to Paul, hovering outside the Mayfly cabin, “This is a tight fit. Help me.”

He reached out his left hand, and Jan saw Paul take it in both of his. Then she saw Sebastian’s right hand move upward, fast. He had his body braced in his seat, and he used that leverage to slam the hatch down. Its sharp edge smashed onto Paul’s forearms, just above the wrists. Jan heard a crunch of breaking bones, and Paul’s cry of agony over his suit radio.

The hatch sprang wide. Sebastian leaned out and pushed. Paul spun away, turning end over end. Jan could not tell if the tough material of the suit had been punctured, but his arms hung uselessly in front of him.

“Emergency opening, emergency closing,” Sebastian said calmly. “You don’t seem to understand, Jan. When a man has a job to do, he must do it. He cannot allow anyone to stop him.”

He closed the hatch. “Don’t bother me anymore with talking. We can talk when I’ve finished my task.”

The Mayfly and the Flyboy scooter moved on, side by side, but Paul was spiraling away from both with the momentum provided by Sebastian’s push.

Was he still alive? Jan sat rigid, until she heard harsh, pained breathing and the words, “Can’t — use hands. Can’t work suit controls.”

“It’s all right, Paul. I’m here. I’m coming to get you.”

If she was smart or lucky. She knew how to make large-scale maneuvers, but this called for delicacy. She edged the scooter slowly forward, then sideways. How was she going to bring Paul inside, when he could do nothing to help himself?

There would be no painless way to do it. The rotation of Paul’s body about its center of mass must be stopped. The only way she knew to cancel that rotation was by impact with the Flyboy. Already he must be suffering terribly, and she was going to make it worse.

“I’m sorry, Paul.” She felt like crying as the ship traveled the last twenty meters. The agony was her own, deep in her guts, as his shattered arms smacked into the edge of the scooter’s open hatch. He groaned at new and intolerable pain. But the collision had slowed his body’s rotation. She leaned across the seat, and at last she could reach out and pull him in.

She inspected his suit. The forearms showed deep cuts in the tough material, but they did not run all the way. Paul was going to be all right; rapid re-set and growth hormones would fix him, once they were back on Ganymede. He had to be all right.

She had a bizarre thought as she closed the hatch. Captain Kondo was going to kill her when he learned what she had done to his first officer. She repressed a hysterical laugh and looked outside the ship. Where was Sebastian?

While she had been occupied with Paul, the Mayfly had moved ahead of them. Free-falling under gravity it was heading for the exact center of Jupiter’s disk. The planet had swelled to fill the sky.

Jan set the scooter’s drive, hard enough to catch up with Sebastian’s ship but not enough to add crucifying weight to the pain in Paul’s arms. As she did so, a warning buzz sounded through the cabin.

“You can’t do that, Jan.” Paul was nursing his forearms, holding them across his chest. “That’s the autopilot. Trying to take over. Means we’re on a collision course.”

“With Sebastian’s ship?”

“With Jupiter.” Paul found the strength to nod his head forward, toward the giant planet. “Stop the override. You’ve got to give control to the autopilot.”

“But Sebastian.” The Mayfly was still in sight. “If we don’t go after him…”

Paul said nothing. After a long, miserable moment, Jan abandoned manual control. Immediately, the scooter fired its attitude control jets to turn them tangential to their previous path. A fraction of a second later, the main engines came on at maximum thrust.

The sudden weight was painful, even for Jan. For Paul it had to be indescribable. He said nothing, but as she turned she saw his white face behind the visor and the sweat on his forehead.

“Paul, I’m returning to manual.”

“Not unless you want to — kill both of us.” He spoke with difficulty, through hard-clenched teeth. “Trust the autopilot, Jan. It knows. Going to be touch and go, either way. We left it late.”

Glancing to the right she could see what he meant. The engines were thrusting them sideways, at two or three gees, but the ship was still falling toward Jupiter. There was infinite detail in those cloud layers — detail that Sebastian loved so much, and understood better than anyone else in the System; but entry into them meant death.

She looked up to the screen, changing its field of view to scan behind the scooter. A solitary red dot blinked its message. The Mayfly was still in free-fall, and already it had attained the outermost wisps of the Jovian atmosphere.

“Paul, we can’t just leave him there.”

“We have to — unless you know a way to change the laws of dynamics.” Paul straightened in his seat, groaning as the bones of his forearms grated to a new position. “You did your best, Jan, your very best. Everything that you possibly could do, you did. He wouldn’t let you save him. He didn’t want you to save him.”