INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION

Ever think about how dangerous it is
if a machine forgets—
or how simple it can be to make it happen....

"Well, yeah," Amspaugh admitted, "it was a unique war in a lot of ways, including how it started. But there are so many similarities to other colonial revolutions—" His words faded out, as usual.

"I know. Earth's trade policies and all that," said Lindgren. He thinks of himself as a student of interplanetary history. This has caused quite a few debates since Amspaugh, who teaches that subject, joined the Club. Mostly they're interesting. I went to the bar and got myself another drink, listening as the mine owner's booming voice continued:

"But what started it? When did the asterites first realize they weren't just offshoots of a dozen Earth nations, but a single nation of their own? That's the core of the revolution. And it can be identified, too."

"'Watch out for metaphors!" shouted someone next to me. I turned and saw Missy Blades. She had quietly entered the lounge and was starting to mix a gin and bitters.

The view window framed her white hair against Orion as she walked over to the small group of seated men. She pulled out a thick cigar from her pocket, struck it on her shoe sole, and added her special touch to the blue haze in the room after she sat down.

"Excuse me," she said. "I couldn't help that. Please go on." I hope that eases any worries you might have about her being an Unforgettable Character. Oh, yes, she's as old as time; her hard work, bravery, and scheming make up half the story of the Sword. She operated a gun turret at Ceres and was the first officer of the Tyrfing on some of the early Saturn runs when men risked everything because they needed both hands free. Her sons and grandsons fill the Belt with their rough-and-tumble adventures; she can outdrink any average guy; she's one of the three women ever admitted to the Club. But she's also one of the few genuine ladies I've known in my life.

"Uh, well," Lindgren grinned at her. "I was saying, Missy, the seed of the revolution was when the Stations armed themselves. You see, that meant more than just police powers. It suggested a level of sovereignty. Over time, that suggestion grew."

"Correct." Orloff nodded his bald head. "I remember how the Governing Commission freaked out when the Station managers first asked for that right. They anticipated problems. But if the Stations from one country put up space weapons, what could the others do?"

"They should have stayed united and definitely refused to allow it," Amspaugh said. "I mean, for their own best interests."

"They tried to," Orloff replied. "I don’t even want to imagine how many messages we sent back home from our own office, and the others probably did the same. But Earth was far away. The Station bosses were right here. It’s the inverse square law of political pressure."

"I admit, providing weapons to each new little settlement was important," Amspaugh said. "But honestly, it was just the early signs of asteroid nationalism. The roots of that are a lot more subtle and complicated. For example ... um...."

"You need to have a key event somewhere," Lindgren insisted. "I think this was it."

A silence fell, as often happens in conversation. I returned from the bar and sat down next to Missy. She stared at her drink for a bit, then looked up at the stars. The slow rotation of our planet had now revealed the Dippers. Her faded eyes searched for the Pole Star—but it belongs to Earth now, not to us anymore—and I wondered what memories she was recalling. She snapped out of it slightly and said:

"I’m not really familiar with the social dynamics involved. All I know is a lot happened, and at that moment, there was no clear pattern to any of it. We just pushed through as best as we could, and we weren’t very good at it. But I can point out one of those tangled issues for you, Sigurd. I was there when the topic of arming the Stations first came up. Or, more specifically, when the incident happened that directly led to that question being raised."

Our entire focus was on her. She didn't reflect on the past as much as we would have preferred.

A slow, private smile spread across her lips. She looked past us once more. "As a matter of fact," she whispered, "I got my husband out of it." Then quickly, as if trying to avoid remembering too much:

"Do you want to hear the story? It was when the Sword was just getting off the ground. They had set up on SSC 45—oh, forget the catalog number. Sword Enterprises, because Mike Blades' name suggested it—what kind of name could come from Jimmy Chung, even though he was the senior partner? It would sound too much like a collision with a meteorite—so naturally the asteroid was also named the Sword. They started on the tiny budget that was typical back then. Of course, in the Belt a tiny budget has to be really stretched, and finances were pushed to the limit. The older guys here will remember how much had to be done by hand, at great risk, because machines were too costly. But despite everything, they succeeded. The Station was up and running, and they were ready to start business when—"

It was no coincidence that the Jupiter craft were arriving consistently when the battleship showed up. The construction had been planned with this in mind, so that the Sword would be nearing alignment with the king planet, making direct shuttle service possible, just as the chemical plant was starting operations. We don't need to think about how much struggle and heartbreak went into sticking to that timeline. As for the battleship, it appeared because the news that a Station in this particular orbit was about to begin operations was significant enough to traverse the Solar System and navigate through multiple layers of bureaucracy. The leaders of the recently elected North American government suddenly became fully aware of what had been taking place.

Michael Blades was outside, supervising the installation of a receptor, when his earplug buzzed. He leaned his chin against the tuning plate, switching from the gang to the interoffice band. "Mike?" said Avis Page's voice, "They need you up front."

"Now?" he questioned. "Why?"

"Courtesy visit from the NASS Altair. You've totally lost track of time, kid."

"What the ... the jumping blue blazes are you talking about? We’ve done our courtesy visit. Jimmy and I both went over to pay our respects, and we had Rear Admiral Hulse here for dinner. What more do they expect, for Harry's sake?"

"Don't you remember? Since there wasn't enough space to host his officers, you promised to give them a personal guided tour later. I scheduled the appointment for the very next shift. Now's the time."

"Oh, yes, I remember now. Yeah. Hulse brought a big bottle of champagne with him, and after such a long time drinking recycled water, I couldn't handle much. I started feeling warm and friendly, and I offered—Let Jimmy take care of it, I'm tied up."

"The party's too big, he says. You'll need to take half of them. Their gig will arrive in thirty minutes."

"Well, delegate to someone else."

"That would be rude, Mike. Have you forgotten how sensitive they are about rank at home?" Avis paused. "If what I think about the mood back there is right, we can take advantage of the goodwill from high-ranking Navy personnel. And any other influential people around."

Blades took a deep breath. "You're so annoyingly sensible. Remind me to fire you after I make my first ten million dollars."

"What are you going to do for your next ten million, then?" snapped his secretary-file clerk-confidante-adviser, and so on.

"Nothing. I'll just waste the first."

"Awesome! Can I help?"

"Uh ... I'll be right there." Blades switched off. His ears felt hot, like they often did lately when he argued with Avis, and he let out only a few carefully chosen curses.

"Problems?" asked Carlos Odonaju.

Blades paused for a moment, scanning the area before responding. He was on the wide end of the Sword, which was shaped like a flat-topped pyramid. In front of him and his half dozen men stretched a landscape of rocky terrain, sharp cliffs, and deep, dark shadows, all illuminated by floodlights. A few kilometers away, the distant horizon was cut off abruptly like a cliff. Beyond it lay the stars, filling the endless night. It became very quiet as the group waited for his command. He could hear his own breathing and heartbeat, amplified inside the spacesuit; he could even detect its interior smell, a mix of plastic and the chemicals from the oxygen cycle, along with hints of skin and sweat. He was used to the feeling of being suspended upside down on the surface, with his grip-soled boots keeping him anchored against the weak gravity of the rotating asteroid. But it struck him that this was a strange, bat-like way for a farm boy from Oregon to be standing.

Oregon was far behind him now, not just the food factory where he grew up but also the coasts where he had fished and the woods where he had explored. No big deal. There had always been too many tourists. You couldn't get away from people on Earth. Cold, vacuum, and raw rock—everything about the Belt was better. It bothered him to be interrupted here.

Could Carlos take over as foreman? N-no, Blades thought, not yet. A gas receptor was a complicated piece of equipment. Carlos was skilled with his hands. Everyone at the Station had to be. But he hadn't done this type of work often enough.

"I need to quit," Blades said. "Pack up everything and report back to Buck Meyers at the dock, all of you. His crew is installing another recoil pier, as you probably know. They'll have jobs for you. I'll catch you here again for your next shift."

He waved—owning half of this place didn't give him the right to be snobby, especially when everyone had to work together or fail—and walked toward the nearest entry lock with that smooth spaceman’s stride that always keeps one foot on the ground. Still, he didn't unhook his internal lifeline until he was inside the chamber.

On the way, he climbed a steep ridge and got a clear view of the balloons connected to the finished receptors. The ones that were still full looked enormous, like ghostly moons. The Jovian gases stretching their tough material didn’t really distort the stars visible through them; they were inflated enough to catch the light from the hidden sun and shimmer with it. The nearly empty balloons hung thin, straining outward. Two full ones moved slowly in orbit against the stars. They were waiting to be brought in and secured, ready to release their loads into the Station's eager chemical plant. But there weren't enough facilities to handle them all at once—and the Pallas Castle would be arriving soon with another—Blades realized he needed a few more choice curses.

Having gone through the airlock, he took off his suit and stored it away, along with the heavy gloves that protected him from frostbite when he touched the freezing surface. Dressed in a Navy surplus Long John, he began walking down the corridors.

Now that the first stage of digging into the asteroid was done, most passages ran through its interior instead of being plastic tubes sprawling across the surface. Nothing had been done yet to make them look good. They were just shafts two meters square, equipped with doorways, vent grilles, and fluorescent panels. There were no thermocoils. Once the nickel-iron mass got warm enough, the waste heat from people and their industry kept it that way. The dark, rough tunnels pulsed with machine sounds. Here and there, a provocative picture or a sentimental landscape from Earth was put up. Men hurried through them, carrying tools, instruments, and supplies. They came from many different countries, mostly North Americans, but they had developed a shared look – a lean, rugged appearance and a relaxed stride that went beyond their brightly colored coveralls.

"Hey, Mike... How's everything going?... So, Mike, did you hear the latest story about the Martian and the bishop?... Can you give me a minute? We have issues in the separator manifolds.... What's the rush, Mike, are your batteries overcharged?" Blades brushed off the greetings. There was no time to waste. You could move quickly indoors, where the gravity was lighter as you got closer to the axis of rotation, without worrying about falling off. But it was a few kilometers from the gas receptor side to the people side of the asteroid.

He hurried down a ladder and stumbled into his small office, panting. Avis Page glanced up from her desk and scrunched her freckled nose at him. "You should really take a shower, but there's no time," she said. "Here, use my antistinker." She tossed him a spray can with a quick flick of her wrist. "I grabbed your suit and beardex from your cabin."

"Do I have no privacy?" he grumbled, but smiled at her. She wasn't much to look at— not ugly, just short, brunette, and unremarkable— but she was an amazing assistant. She would make someone a great wife someday. He wondered why she hadn't used her position here to find a husband. There were a dozen women, all but two married, and a hundred men, making the imbalance even more pronounced than usual in the Belt. Of course, with so much work to do, and everyone aware of the need to keep things friendly, there wasn't much opportunity for romance to flourish. Still—

She smiled back with a softness that he found unsettling when he realized it. "Shoo," she said. "Your guests will be here any minute. You need to meet them in Jimmy's office."

Blades slipped into the small washroom. He wasn’t any 3V star himself, he thought as he applied cream to his face: big, unattractive, with red hair. But not someone you’d be afraid to run into in a dark alley, he added with a smirk. Actually, there had been an alley in Aresopolis.... Things were supposed to be going so smoothly by the time they got close to Mars that he could head over to that wild, fun city for a vacation. Long overdue ... whooee! He wiped off his stubble, took off the zipskin, and put on the white pants and high-collared blue tunic that served as formal attire.

Emerging, he paused again at Avis' desk. "Any messages from the Pallas?" he asked.

"No," the girl said. "But she should be here in another two shifts, right on schedule. You worry too much, Mike."

"Someone has to, and I don't have Jimmy's laid-back, go-with-the-flow attitude."

"You should take care of it." She became curious. The brown eyes stayed focused on him. "Worry spreads easily. You’re making me anxious about you."

"Nothing's going to stress me out except the lack of booze on this island. Uh, if Bill Mbolo calls about those catalysts while I'm away, tell him—" He quickly listed a bunch of instructions and then headed for the door.

Chung's hangout was located halfway around the asteroid, allowing one chief or the other to be closer to any emergencies. They didn't really spend much time at their desks. With a shortage of staff and equipment, they were constantly pulled into the actual construction work. Occasionally, Blades found himself nostalgically thinking about his days as an engineer with Solar Metals: great pay, interesting if dangerous work on flying mountains that no one had ever been to before, and no extra responsibilities. But most asterites dreamed of becoming their own bosses.

When he arrived, the Altair officers were already there, a group of proper young men in white dress uniforms. Short, stocky, and calm-looking, Jimmy Chung was engaged in polite conversation. "Ah, there," he said, "Lieutenant Ziska and gentlemen, my partner, Michael Blades, Mike, let me introduce—"

Blades' gaze landed on Lieutenant Ziska. He vaguely recalled that she was the head quartermaster officer. But mostly, she was tall, blond, and blue-eyed, with a charming dimple when she smiled, and her dress hugged her figure like a Cellini Venus fit its mold.

"Great to meet you, Mr. Blades," she said as if she really meant it. Maybe she actually did! He gasped for air.

"And Commander Leibknecht," Chung said across several light-years. "Commander Leibknecht. Commander Leibknecht."

"Oh. Sure. Excuse me." Blades quickly let go of Lieutenant Ziska's hand with some reluctance. "Hardjado, Commander Leibfraumilch."

Somehow, we managed to get through the introductions. "I apologize for our lack of hospitality," Chung said, "but you’ll see how crowded it is here. The best we can do is give you a tour, if you’re interested."

"Of course you're interested," Blades said to Lieutenant Ziska. "I'll show you some tricks I came up with myself."

Chung frowned at him. "We should split up the group and take different paths," he said, "We'll reconvene in the mess for coffee. Lieutenant Ziska, would you like to—"

"Come with me? Sure," Blades said.

Chung's look turned deadly. "I thought—" he started.

"Sure." Blades nodded enthusiastically. "Since you're the senior partner, you'll take the top-ranking of these guys, and I'll be in Scotland before you. Come on, let's get going. Can I?" He extended his arm to the quartermistress. She smiled and took it. He figured that about eight or ten of her colleagues were following them.

The first unsettling sound came from the porch.

They had looked at the cave-like dorms where most of the staff lived; at the recreation dome on top that made life bearable; at the kitchen, sick bay, and other service facilities; at the hydroponic tanks and yeast vats that provided a lot of the Station's food; at the tiny cabins carved out for the senior engineers and married couples. Before leaving this part of the asteroid, Blades took his group to the balcony. It was a clear dome extending from the surface, softly lit, set up like a basic officers' lounge, with a view of half the sky.

"Oh," murmured Ellen Ziska. Without realizing it, she moved closer to Blades.

Young Lieutenant Commander Gilbertson gave her a skeptical look. "You've been out in deep space plenty of times before," he said.

"Through a doorway or a helmet." Her eyes shone brightly in the dim light. "Never like this."

The stars gathered tightly in their countless numbers. The Milky Way sparkled like diamonds against the endless dark. Our sight stretched endlessly outward, towards the distant, mysterious glow of the Andromeda Nebula; silence wasn’t just the lack of sound, but a grand presence, the energy of burning stars.

"What about the observation terrace at Leyburg?" Gilbertson asked.

"That was different," Ellen Ziska said. "Everything felt safe and civilized. This is like being on the brink of creation."

Blades understood why Goddard House had resisted adding female officers to warships for so long, despite the political pressure at home and the example set by Russia. He was glad they had finally changed their minds. Now, if only he could shape himself into a charming, romantic figure... But how much longer would the Altair remain? Her stopover already seemed quite lengthy for a casual visit during a routine patrol. He needed to act quickly.

"Yeah, we’re pretty cut off," he said. "The Jupiter ships just drop off their balloons, pick up the empty ones, and go straight back for another load."

"I don't get how you can set up an industry here when your raw materials only come together," Ellen said.

"Things will change once we’re fully up and running," Blades assured her. "At that point, we'll have enough business to cover a constant supply, shipped from whichever depot is closest to Jupiter at that moment."

"You really built this just to process ... gas?" Gilbertson interjected. Blades couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or if it was a real question. It was surprising how clueless Earth-dwellers, even those who traveled in space, often were about stuff like this.

"Jovian gas is valuable stuff," he explained. "Mainly hydrogen and helium, of course; but the scoop ships filter out most of that during a pickup. The rest consists of ammonia, water, methane, and a bunch of important organic compounds, including some of the wildest metallic complexes you’ve ever heard of. We need them as the foundation for a chemosynthetic industry, which is essential for our survival, allowing us to extract the minerals that were the reason we colonized the Belt in the first place." He gestured toward the sky. "Once we really get moving, we’ll draw in settlers. This asteroid has nearby companions, waiting for people to come and mine them. Homeships and orbital stations will be constructed. In ten years, there’ll be quite a little city built around the Sword."

"It's happened before," nodded the stern-faced Commander Warburton of Gunnery Control.

"It's going to happen a lot more often," Blades said excitedly. "The Belt's going to expand!" He directed his words at Ellen. "This is the real frontier. The planets won't really amount to much. It's actually harder to keep human-like conditions on such a massive body with a useless atmosphere than on a rock floating in space like this. And the gravity wells are so deep. Even with nuclear power, the energy costs of fully exploiting a planet are just too high. Plus, the valuable minerals are buried under kilometers of rock. On a metallic asteroid, you can find almost everything you need right beneath your feet. There's no limit to what you can do."

"But your own energy expenditure—" Gilbertson replied.

"That's no problem." Just then, the worldlet's spin brought the sun into view. Small but impossibly bright, it flooded the dome with harsh light. Blades pulled down the blinds on that side. He pointed in the opposite direction, toward several sparks of equal brightness that had appeared.

"Hundred-meter parabolic mirrors," he said. "They're easy to make; you just spray a thin metallic coating on a plastic backing. They're orbiting around us, each with a small thruster unit to control drift and keep it aimed straight at the sun. The concentrated radiation charges heavy-duty batteries, which we then collect and use as our power source for all our mobile work."

"Are you saying you don't have a nuclear generator?" asked Warburton.

He seemed strangely focused on it. Blades was curious but just nodded. "That's right. We don't need one. It's too dangerous for us. Plus, it's not necessary. Even at this distance from the sun, and considering various inefficiencies, a mirror provides over five hundred kilowatts, twenty-four hours a day, year after year, completely free."

"Hm-m-m. Yeah." Warburton's thin head turned slowly around to scrutinize Blades with a calculating look. "I get that this is the usual power system in Stations like this one. But we weren't sure if it was applied in your situation as well."

Why should you care? Blades wondered.

He pushed aside his slight unease and guided Ellen toward the dome railing. "Maybe we can see your ship, Lieutenant, um, Miss Ziska. Here's a telescope. Let me check, her orbit should be about like this...."

He hunted until the Altair came into view. From this distance, the spherical ship looked like a small crescent moon, painted in dull colors; but he could make out the ominous outlines of a rifle turret and a couple of missile launchers. "Check it out," he said. Her hair brushed against his nose, tickling him. It had a pleasant, sunny scent.

"She looks so small," the girl said, with the same sense of amazement as before. "And so huge when you're on board."

Big, sure, Blades knew, and packed to the brim with nuclear destruction. But not huge. A civilian spacecraft had meteor plating, but that was basically worthless against modern weapons, so military ships traded it for better mobility. The self-sealing hull was made of thin magnesium, and the outer shell was regularly refreshed as cosmic dust wore it down.

"I'm not surprised we orbited instead of docking," Ellen said. "We would have crashed into your radar and ended up against your control tower."

"Well, actually, no," Blades said. "Even if it's only half done, our dock is big enough for you, as you'll see today. Don't forget, we expect a lot of traffic in the future. I'm curious why you didn’t accept our invitation to use it."

"Doctrine!" Warburton said sharply.

The sun came through the blinds and lit up the officers' faces. Did some look surprised, one or two opening their mouths like they wanted to say something, then quickly closing them at a warning glance? Blades felt a tingle down his spine. I’ve never heard of any such rule, he thought, especially when a North American ship shows up at a North American station.

"Is ... um ... is there an international crisis happening?" he asked.

"Why, no." Ellen straightened up from the telescope. "I'd say relationships have rarely been as good as they are now. What makes you ask?"

"Well, the reason your captain didn't—"

"Never mind," Warburton said. "Let's just keep going with the tour, if that's okay."

Blades put his worries aside for later. He could have stressed out right then, but Ellen Ziska's presence made that impossible. It was like a Pauli exclusion principle. You can’t have two spins at once, right? He offered her his arm again. "Let’s head to Central Control," he suggested. "It’s right behind the people section."

"You know, I can't stop thinking about it," she said to him softly. "This amazing thing you've done. I've never felt prouder to be human."

"Is this your first long space journey?"

"Yes, I was assigned to Port Colorado before the new Administration reorganized the military assignments."

"They did? How?"

"I don't know. Well, during the election campaign, the Social Justice Party talked a lot about outdated officials who were too stuck in their ways to implement modern policies effectively. But it just sounded kind of silly to me."

Warburton pressed his lips together. "I don't think it's right for service officers to talk about political issues in public," he said sharply.

Ellen blushed. "S-sorry, commander."

Blades felt a helpless anger about her situation. He wasn't sure why. What was she to him? He'd probably never see her again. An incredibly attractive target, for sure; and after so much time without intimacy, he was very vulnerable; but did she actually matter?

He turned away from Warburton and focused his attention on her—a five thousand percent improvement—and helped her shake off her embarrassment by asking, "So, are you from Colorado, Miss Ziska?"

"Oh no. Toronto."

"How did you end up joining the Navy, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Gosh, that's tough to express. But I think mainly I felt really crowded at home. Like I was boxed in. The world seemed to be just a bunch of neat little boxes."

"Uh-huh. Same here. I was also a square peg in a round hole." She laughed. "Luckily," he added, "Space is too vast for compartments."

Her agreement lacked enthusiasm. The Navy must have been a letdown for her. But she couldn't really say that in front of her shipmates.

Hm-m-m ... if she could be gotten away from them—"How long will you be here?" he asked. His heart raced.

"We haven't been told," she said.

"Some work needs to be done on the missile launchers," Warburton said. "It's better to do that here, where there are extra facilities available if we need them. Not that I think we will." He paused. "I hope we won't disrupt your operations."

"Not at all." Blades smiled at Ellen. "Or, to be more precise, I don’t mind this kind of interference at all."

She blushed and her eyelids fluttered. Not that she was shallow, he realized. But to avoid issues, Navy regulations enforced an unrealistic strictness between men and women. After weeks in the dark, meeting a guy who could give a compliment without risking a court-martial must feel like a rush of adrenaline. Better and better!

"Are you sure?" Warburton pressed on. "For example, won't we be in the way when the next ship arrives from Jupiter?"

"She'll head to the other side of the asteroid," Blades said. "She won't stick around for long, either."

"How much longer?"

"One watch, so the crew can chill a bit with those of us who are off duty. It would be a little longer if we didn’t have an empty bag right now. But never very long. Even traveling at thrust the whole way, Jupe’s quite a distance away. They don't have time to waste."

"When is the next ship arriving?"

"The Pallas Castle is expected in the next two hours."

"Second watch. Got it." Warburton walked on with a gloomy look on his Puritan face.

Blades might have thought about that, but someone asked him why the Station relied on spin for gravity. Why not use an internal field generator, like a ship? Blades explained patiently that an Emett large enough to create a uniform pull in a volume as big as the Sword was pretty expensive. "Eventually, when we're a few megabucks ahead of the game—"

"Do you really think you can get rich?" Ellen asked, her tone filled with wonder. No one from Earth had that opportunity anymore, except for the major corporations. "Individually rich?"

"We can't fail to. I'm telling you, this is a frontier like nothing since the Conquistadors. We could have easily been wiped out in the first couple of years—financially or physically—by any number of accidents. But now we're too far along for that. We've got it made, Jimmy and I."

"What are you going to do with your money?"

"Live like a classic sultan," Blades grinned. Then, because it was true and he wanted to impress her: "But mostly, we'll move on to new things. There's so much that needs to be done. Not just more asteroid mines. We need farms, timber, parks, passenger and cargo ships, every kind of machine. I’d like to see if we can access some of that water frozen in the Saturnian System. In total, I see endless opportunities for work. We can't rely on Earth for anything. It's too expensive and too risky. The Belt has to become completely self-sufficient."

"With a nice cut for Sword Enterprises," Gilbertson scoffed.

"Of course. Don't we deserve some sort of return?"

"Yes. But not to the extent that the Belt companies seem to think. They're just using natural resources that rightfully belong to the people, along with the skills and wealth that society has built up."

"Huh! The People didn't do anything with the Sword. Jimmy, our boys, and I did. There was no Society here digging up nickel-iron and dealing with gravel storms; we were."

"Let's not talk about politics," Warburton snapped. But it was mainly Ellen's expression of distress that made Blades quiet down.

To everyone's relief, they arrived at Central Control around that time. It was a complex of domes and rooms, packed with more equipment than Blades could identify. Computers were Chung's area, not his. He couldn't answer all of Warburton's unsettlingly sharp questions.

But generally speaking, he could. Racing through space with a cargo of delicate humans and complex equipment, the Sword had to function as a machine, an ecosystem, and a single living entity all at once. Everything had to work together. A failure in the thermal balance, a miscalculation in the inventory, or a few mirrors thrown off course could lead to disaster. The chemical plant's purifications and processes were already a network too vast for the human mind to fully comprehend, and it was still expanding. Even in situations where people could take charge, automation was cheaper, more dependable, and less likely to risk lives. The computer system in Central Control was not just the brain, but also the nerves and heart of the Sword.

"Fully cryotronic, huh?" Warburton remarked. "That seems to be the standard approach at the Stations. What's the reason?"

"The cheapest option for us," Blades replied. "There's no issue with keeping liquid helium here."

Warburton's gaze was unusually intense. "Cryotronic systems are vulnerable to magnetic and radiation disruptions."

"Yeah. That's one reason we don’t have a nuclear power plant. Being this far from the sun, we don’t get enough radiation to be concerned. The asteroid’s mass blocks out what little might reach us. I know the TIMM system is used on ships, but honestly, the initial cost is more than we want to spend."

"What's TIMM?" asked the chaplain of the Altair.

"Thermally Integrated Micro-Miniaturized," Ellen said sharply. "Basically, ultraminiaturized ceramic-to-metal-seal vacuum tubes powered by thermionic generators. They're resistant to gamma rays and magnetic pulses, can be easily shielded from particle radiation, and are energy-efficient." She smiled. "Don't tell me there's nothing about them in Leviticus, Padre!"

"That's great for a ship's autopilot," Blades agreed. "But like I mentioned, we don't have to stress about radar or magnetic units here, we're okay with spreading out a bit, and when it comes to thermal efficiency, we actually want to waste some heat. It helps keep the internal temperature steady."

"In other words, efficiency depends on what you need to accomplish," Ellen joked. She became serious again and observed him for a moment before she said, "The same person who swung a pick a couple of years ago is now dealing with something as amazing as this...." He stopped worrying.

But he remembered later, when the gig had wrapped up and Chung called him to his office. Avis came too, at his request. As she walked in, she asked why.

"You visited your family on Earth last year," Chung said. "Nobody else on the Station has been back that recently."

"What should I say?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe it's the background. The vibe of the place. We really don’t know what's happening out in the Belt. The beamcast news is barely a trickle. Plus, you have more common sense in your left pinky toe than that big fool over there has in his entire thick skull."

They sat down in the dusty low-gravity chairs around Chung's desk. Blades pulled out his pipe and packed it with his tobacco for the day. Wouldn't it be amazing, he thought dreamily, if this old pipe magically turned into an Aladdin's lamp, and the smoke transformed into a blonde Canadian woman—?

"Wake up, will you?" Chung snapped.

"Huh?" Blades said, surprised. "Oh. Sure. What's wrong? You look like a fish out of water."

"Maybe for a good reason. Did you notice anything strange about that party you were accompanying?"

"Sure thing."

"What is it?"

"About one hundred seventy-five centimeters tall, blonde hair, blue eyes, and some of the smoothest curves I’ve ever—"

"Mike, cut that out!" Avis sounded shocked. "This is important."

"I agree. She'll be leaving in a few more hours."

The girl bit her lip. "You're way too old for that nonsense, and you know it."

"Agreed again. I feel more like a bull." Blades made digging motions on the desktop.

"There's a woman here," Chung said.

Blades noticed that Avis had turned pale. "I’m sorry," he said quickly. "I never thought ... I mean, you’ve always seemed like—"

"One of the boys," she completed for him in a sharp tone. "Sure. Forget it. What's the issue, Jimmy?"

Chung folded his hands and stared at them. "I can't really put my finger on it," he replied, choosing his words carefully. "Maybe I’ve just gone a bit dizzy. But when we visited Admiral Hulse, and later when he visited us, didn’t you get the feeling of, well, caution? Didn’t he seem to be observing and questioning us every moment we were together?"

"I wouldn’t say he’s a happy guy," Blades nodded. "As stiff as molasses on Pluto. But I guess ... I guess he’s just naturally like that."

Chung shook his head. "It wasn't just typical aloofness. You remember me talking about the time I was on Vesta with the North American tech rep, when they were negotiating the Convention."

"Yeah, I've heard that story a few times," Avis said flatly.

"Remember, that was right after the Europa Incident. We had come really close to a space war—undeclared, but it would have been brutal. We were still on edge. Every delegate showed up to that conference ready for anything."

"Hulse had the same vibe."

A silence descended. Blades finally said, "Well, now that I think about it, he did ask some pretty strange questions. He seemed to steer the conversation every now and then to figure out our exact layout, emergency plans, and stuff like that. But it didn't seem important to me, though."

"Me neither," Chung admitted. "On its own, it didn’t mean anything. But these visitors today—Sure, most of them clearly didn’t suspect anything off. But that Liebknecht, though. Why was he so curious about Central Control? There’s nothing new or secret there. Yet he kept asking for specifics like the shielding factor of the walls."

"So did Commander Warburton," Blades recalled. "He also wanted to know exactly when the Pallas is arriving, how long she’ll be here... hmm, yes, whether we have any radio connection with the outside, like to Ceres or even the closest Commission base—"

"Did you tell him that we don't?" Avis asked sharply.

"Yes. Should I not have?"

"It barely matters," Chung said with a resigned tone. "After all the checking they did, they'd have noticed what we have installed and what we don't."

He leaned in. "Why are they just standing around?" he asked. "I got some story about updating the missile system."

"Same here," Blades said.

"But you don’t consider a job finished until it’s been tested. And you don’t fire a test shot, not even a dummy one, this close to a Station. Besides, what could have gone wrong? I can’t imagine a ship leaving Earth orbit for a long journey without everything being in order. They didn’t mention any meteorites or any issues on the way. Plus, why do the work here? The Navy yard is at Ceres. We can’t spare them any decent amount of materials or tools or help."

Blades frowned. His own half-formed doubts pushed to the front, which was even more frustrating after he had been thinking about Ellen Ziska. "They say the international situation back home is fine," he said.

Avis nodded. "The news we get in the mail suggests that," she said. "So why all this nonsense?" After a moment, in a different tone: "Jimmy, you’re starting to scare me a bit."

"I freak myself out," Chung said.

"Every morning when you shave," Blades said, but he didn’t mean it. He pulled himself together and argued, "Damn it, they’re our own people. We're running a legitimate business. Why should they mess with us?"

"Maybe Avis can shed some light on that," Chung suggested.

The girl entwined her fingers. "Not me," she said. "I'm not a politician."

"But you were home just a little while ago. You chatted with people, caught up on the news, watched TV. Can't you at least share your thoughts?"

"N-no—Well, of course, the initial shots of the election campaign were already being fired. The Social Justice Party was making a big deal about ... oh, it just seemed so absurd that I didn’t really pay much attention."

"They talked about how the government had been spending billions and billions of dollars on space, while overpopulation was creating urgent needs right in America’s backyard," Chung said. "We know that much, even in the Belt. We know the funding is set to be cut now that the Essjays have come in. So what?"

"We don't need a subsidy anymore," Blades said. "It would help a lot, but we can manage without it if we have to, and honestly, I prefer that. Less government money means less government control."

"Sure," Avis said. "But there was more to it than that. The Essjays were unhappy about the low return on their investment. Not enough minerals were making it back to Earth."

"Well, for Jupiter's sake," Blades exclaimed, "what do they expect? We need to build up our capabilities first."

"They even said, some of them, that there would never be enough reward. That under the current financial policies, the Belt would focus on its own growth, using almost everything it produced for itself and only exporting a small amount to America. I had to explain to several of my parents' friends that I wasn't actually a socially irresponsible capitalist."

"Is that everything you have?" Chung asked when she stopped speaking.

"I... I guess so. Everything felt so unclear. No big events. It was more of a vibe than something solid."

"Still, you confirm my own impression," Chung said. Blades yanked his wild imagination away from the thought of a creature with bug eyes and tentacles, made of reinforced concrete, and listened as his partner wrapped things up:

"The common sentiment at home has shifted against private business. You can't really consider a giant corporation like Systemic Developments a private business! The new President and Congress feel the same way. We can expect this to show up in new laws and regulations. But what does this have to do with a battleship sitting a couple of hundred kilometers away from us?"

"If the government doesn't want the asterites to progress much more—" Blades bit down hard on his pipe. "They have to know we have a caviar mine here. We'll be the only city in this whole sector."

"But we're still a baby," Avis said. "We won't matter for a long time. Who would target a baby?"

"Besides, we're Americans, too," Chung said. "If that were a foreign ship, the story might be different—Wait a minute! Could they be considering setting up a new base here?"

"The Convention won't allow it," said Blades.

"Treaties can always be renegotiated or even canceled. But first, you need to quietly look into it and see if it's worth your time."

"Hoo rah, what great money that would mean!"

"And those charming bureaucrats crawling out of every file cabinet," Chung said grimly. "No, thank you. We'll fight any attempt like that to our last lawyer. We have a solid foundation in our charter, too. If the lawsuit is tried on Ceres, which I believe it has to be, we'll get a sympathetic court as well."

"Unless they call in a judge from Earth," Avis warned.

"Yeah, that could happen. Also, they might launch proceedings against us without warning. We need to figure this out ahead of time so we can get ready. Is there any chance we can get some info from those officers?"

"'Afraid not," Avis said. "The few who would know are safely back on the ship."

"We could invite them here one by one," said Blades. "Actually, I already have a date with Lieutenant Ziska."

"What?" Avis was stunned.

"Yeah," Blades said casually. "At the end of the next shift, so she can see the Pallas arriving. I'm supposed to pick her up on a scooter." He blew a big smoke ring. "Look, Jimmy, can you keep everyone off the porch for a bit? Starlight, some privacy, soft music on the piccolo—who knows what I might discover?"

"You won't get anything from her," Avis said angrily. "No secrets or anything."

"Still, I’m eager to give it a shot. Come on, buddy, spread the word. I’ll do the same for you sometime."

"Times like that never seem to happen for me," Chung groaned.

"Oh, let him mess around with his suicide blonde," Avis said angrily. "The rest of us have things to do. I ... I'll tell you what, Jimmy. Let's skip the mess tonight. I'll grab our rations and make us something special in your cabin."

A scooter wasn’t exactly the best ride for a knight to take his lady around. It was basically three seats and a storage compartment, built on top of a battery-powered gyrogravitic engine that could lift you off an asteroid and move at low speed. There were no navigation tools. You just set the autopilot's radar-gravitic sensors on your target, and it would get you there, dodging any space debris in the way; but you had to keep an eye on the distance gauge and hit the slowdown button in time. If the autopilot was off, you could steer freely, but that could be risky unless you were really close to your destination. Stereoscopic vision doesn’t work beyond six or seven meters, and the human body isn’t designed to judge cosmic momentum.

Nevertheless, Ellen was mesmerized. "This is like a dream," her voice whispered in Blades' earplug. "The entire universe surrounds us. I could almost reach out and grab those stars."

"You must have trained in powered spacesuits at the Academy," he said, not having a more clever response.

"Yeah, but that's not the same. We had to stick close to Luna's night side to avoid solar particles, and it really cut a big chunk out of the sky. Everything was so controlled and strict—we just did what we were told, and that was it. Here, I feel free. You can’t imagine how free." Quickly: "Do you use this machine a lot?"

"Well, yeah, we have about twenty scooters at the Station. They’re the easiest way to zip around with supplies: out to the mirrors to swap out batteries, for example, or over to one of the nearby rocks where we're mining some ores that the Sword doesn’t have. That kind of stuff." Blades would honestly have preferred to have her behind him on a motorskimmer, holding on as they sped through a spring countryside. He felt relieved when they got to the main forward air lock and got off.

He was even happier when the suits were off. Lieutenant Ziska in dress uniform looked amazing, but Ellen in casual clothes—a soft low-cut blouse and fitted pants—was explosive. He wanted to roll over and pant, but he settled for saying, "Welcome back" and holding her hand a bit longer than necessary.

With a shy smile, she handed him a package. "I drew this before I left," she said. "I thought, well, your life is so simple—"

"A glass of Sandeman," he said with respect. "I won't say you shouldn't have had it, but I will say you're a lovely girl."

"No, really." She blushed. "After all the trouble we've caused you."

"Let's go check this out," he said. "The Pallas has reported in, but she won't be visible for a little while."

They headed to the porch, grabbing a couple of glasses along the way. Bless his jealous heart, Jimmy had told the other guys to stay away as asked. I hope Avis makes him a Cordon Bleu dinner, Blades thought. Nice girl, Avis, if she'd just stop trying to ... what? ... mother me? He brushed her off, with Ellen to sit by the railing.

The Milky Way turned her hair icy and sparkled in her eyes. Blades filled the port with great ceremony and lifted his glass. "Here's to your regular return," he said.

Her enjoyment faded slightly. "I’m not sure if I should drink to that. We probably won't be back, ever."

"Drink up anyway. Cheers!" The glasses clinked together. "Besides," Blades said, "this isn't the entire universe. We'll both be traveling. See you on Luna?"

"Maybe."

He wondered if he was pushing things too hard. She didn't seem comfortable. "Oh, well," he said, "at least this has been a nice break from the usual routine for us. I don’t wish any harm on the Navy, but if trouble had to arise, I’m glad it happened here."

"Yeah—"

"How's the repair work going? Slowly, I hope."

"I have no idea."

"You should have some idea, since you’re in QM."

"No supplies have been taken."

Blades rigid.

"What's the matter?" Ellen sounded worried.

"Huh?" I'm such a great conspirator if she can read my feelings like they're in neon lights! "Nothing. Nothing. It just seemed a bit odd, you know. Not getting any replacement units."

"I get that the work is just about making some adjustments."

"Then they should have finished a lot faster, right?"

"Please," she said sadly. "Let's not discuss it. I mean, there are security regulations."

Blades abandoned that approach. But maybe Chung's idea was worth exploring a bit. "Sure," he said. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry." He took another sip while searching for the right words. A beautiful girl, a nice drink ... and vice versa ... why couldn't he just relax and have a good time? Did he really need to worry about what was likely just a harmless puzzle?... Yes. Still, leisure might mix with work.

"Let me daydream for a second," he said, leaning in toward her. "The Navy is going to set up a new base here, and the Altair will be assigned to it."

"Daydream, for sure!" she laughed, happy to return to just flirting. "Have you ever heard about the Convention of Vesta?"

"Treaties can be renegotiated," Blades copied.

"What do we need an extra base for? Especially since the government plans to spend so much on social welfare. They definitely don't want to kick off an arms race too."

Blades nodded. Jimmy's idea did seem pretty flimsy, he thought with a slight chill, and now I guess it's totally missed the mark. Mostly to keep the conversation flowing, he shrugged and said, "My partner—and me too, apart from the pleasure of your company—wouldn't have wanted it anyway. Not that we're unpatriotic, but there are plenty of other potential options, and we’d prefer to keep government agencies out of here."

"Can you do that now?"

"Pretty much. We're under a new type of charter as a private partnership. It's the first charter of this kind in the Belt, as far as I know, but there will be more in the future. The Bank of Ceres funded us. We haven't taken a dime of federal money."

"Is that doable?"

"Just barely. I'm not an economist, but I can see how it works. Money represents goods and labor. Up until now, those have been really scarce out here. Government subsidies made up the difference, allowing us to buy from Earth. But now the asterites have built up enough population and industry that they have some extra capital of their own to invest in projects like this."

"Still, to be honest, I'm surprised that two guys on their own could get such a loan. It has to be huge. Wouldn't the bank prefer to lend the money to a corporation?"

"Honestly, we have friends who helped us out. It was also motivated in part by ideology. Many asterites want to see more locally grown businesses, not tied to anyone on Earth. That's the only way we can thrive. Otherwise, our profits—our net production, that is—will just keep getting drained for the benefit of the mother country."

"Well," Ellen said, a bit annoyed, "that was the whole point of establishing asteroid colonies. You can't expect us to invest heavily in your business—things we could have done back home—and just get a simple 'Thanks' in return."

"Don't worry, we'll pay you back with interest," Blades said. "But whatever we earn from our own work, beyond that, should stay here with us."

She got angrier. "Your attitude is exactly what pushed the voters to choose Social Justice candidates."

"Nice name, that," Blades thought aloud. "Who could be against social justice? But you know, I think I'll get into politics myself. I'll start the North American Motherhood Party."

"You wouldn't be so dismissive if you went to see how people have to live back there."

"As bad as it is? Whew!"

"Nonsense. You know that isn’t true. But it’s bad enough. And you’re not going to stay under these conditions. Just a few hours ago, you were bragging about the millions you plan to make."

"Millions and millions, if I can keep going," Blades grinned, remembering the alley in Aresopolis. But he figured that was in the past and Ellen was right now, and what had begun as a fun little party was turning into a depressing argument about politics.

"Let's not argue," he said. "We have different views and would just end up upsetting each other. How about we talk about our next drink instead ... at the Coq d'Or in Paris, what do you think? Or maybe Morraine's in New York?"

She calmed down, but her expression was still troubled. "You're right, we are different," she said quietly. "We're isolated, living and working in conditions that are hard to even imagine on Earth—and you can't really grasp our problems—yes, you’re becoming another group of people. I hope it never goes so far that—No. I don’t want to think about that." She finished her drink and held out her glass for a refill, smiling. "So, sir, when do you plan to be in Paris next?"

An incredibly enjoyable while later, it was time to go watch the Pallas Castle come in. In fact, they had somehow lost track of time and were late; but they didn’t rush their walk back. Blades took Ellen's hand, and she didn’t object. It was certainly a schoolboy move, but he had come to the unwilling conclusion that despite his dishonorable intentions, this situation probably wouldn't go beyond the schoolboy stage. Not that he wouldn’t keep trying.

As they moved through the refining and synthesizing area, which took up half of the asteroid, the sound of pumps and regulators grew until it pulsed in their bones. Ellen pointed at one of the pipes running across the corridor above them. "Do you really manage such a large volume at once?" she asked over the noise.

"No," he said. "Didn't I explain that already? The pipe's thick because it's so heavily reinforced."

"I'm glad you don't use that awful word 'cladded.' But why the armor? Stress?"

"Partly. Also, there's an inner lining. Jupiter gas is extremely reactive at room temperature. The metallic complexes are especially dangerous; just imagine how chaotic that mixture is in every way. Once it's been refined, we deal with fewer issues. That specific pipe is transporting it in its raw form."

They left the noise behind and moved on to the approach control dome at the receptor end. The two men on duty looked up briefly and then returned to their instruments. Voices from the radio crackled in the air. Blades guided Ellen to an observation port.

She took a deep breath. Outside, the shattered ground dropped away to the void and the stars. The ship, shaped like an egg, hung in front of them, illuminated by the hidden sun, massive even from her distance but overshadowed by the enormous bubble she towed. As that bubble slowly tried to spin, rainbow flashes danced across it, obscuring and then revealing the constellations. Here, on the asteroid’s axis, there was no gravity, and movement felt smooth and weightless, almost like being disembodied. “Oh, a fairy tale,” Ellen sighed.

Four sparks flashed out of the boat blisters along the ship's hull. "Scoopships," Blades told her. "They bring in the cargo since they're way more maneuverable. But actually, the mother ship is going to park its load in orbit while those guys bring in another one... see, there it is coming into view. We still can't keep up with our deliveries."

"How many are there? Scoop ships, I mean."

"Twenty, but you only need four for this job. They've got amazing power. They have to, if they're going to dive from orbit into the Jovian atmosphere, fill themselves up with gas, and come back. There they go."

The Pallas Castle was maneuvering the massive sphere she had brought in from Jupiter into a stable path set by Central Control. Meanwhile, the scoop ships, only small in comparison to her, locked onto the other balloon as it floated nearby. Energy surged into their drive fields. Spiraling downwards, the transparent globe and four struggling spacecraft disappeared behind the horizon. The Pallas finished her task, released her tow bars, and vanished from sight, heading for the dock.

The second balloon floated up again, like a giant glass moon on the other side of the Sword. It kept getting bigger in Ellen's eyes, closing in kilometer by kilometer. Such a large object wasn’t easy to manage, but the braking curve looked effortlessly smooth. Soon, she could see the scoopships clearly, elongated teardrop shapes with the intake gates wide open at the blunt front end, and the cockpit canopies slightly raised.

Instructions echoed from the men in the dome. The balloon awkwardly turned toward the only free receptor. A tower-like structure let go of one end of a cable, which shot up into the sky. Actions that Ellen couldn't fully grasp in this tricky light were carried out by the four tugs, using their own extensions to secure their tow to the cable.

They didn't let go immediately but kept dragging a bit, reducing the force of centrifugal movement. Still, a slight shudder went through the dome as the slack was taken up. Then the job was done. The scoop ships released and quickly returned to their mother ship. The balloon was pulled in. Men in spacesuits moved in close, getting ready to connect the valves.

"And eventually," Blades said into the sudden silence, "that cargo will turn into food, fabric, vitryl, plastiboard, reagents, fuels, a hundred different things. That's why we're here."

"I've never seen anything so amazing," Ellen said with excitement. He wrapped an arm around her waist.

The intercom suddenly blared: "Attention! Emergency! All personnel to emergency stations! Blades, get to Chung's office right away! All personnel to emergency stations!"

Blades was running before the siren even started to wail.

Rear Admiral Barclay Hulse had shown up in person. He stood like he was on display, towering over Chung. The asterite was steaming with anger. Avis Page crouched in a corner, her eyes filled with fear.

Blades burst through the doorway and barely avoided a collision. "What's going on?" he gasped.

"Lots!" Chung snapped. "These clumsy buffoons—" His voice wavered. When he gets angry, it means something!

Hulse shot a piercing look at Blades. "Good day, sir," he said sharply. "I have to inform you about an unfortunate incident that will require you to leave the Station. Hopefully just for a short time."

"Huh?"

"As I mentioned to Mr. Chung and Miss Page, a nuclear missile has gotten away from us. If it detonates, the radiation will be deadly, even in the core of the asteroid."

"What ... what—" Blades could only stammer at him.

"Luckily, the Pallas Castle is here. She can take your entire crew on board and move to a safe distance while we look for the object."

"How the heck?"

Hulse let out a frustrated sigh. "Looks like I'll have to say this again for you. Fine. As you know, we've had to make some changes to our launchers. What you didn’t know is the reason why. Given the situation, I think it's okay to share that several of them have a new, secret, experimental control system. One of our missions on this trip was to conduct field tests. Well, it turns out the system still has quite a few issues. Gunnery Command has been struggling with it and has had to keep tweaking it all the way from Earth."

"About half an hour ago, while Commander Warburton was finishing a reassembly—lower ranks aren't allowed in the test turrets—something went wrong. I can't share my guess as to what happened, but if you want to picture a stuck relay, that works for now. A missile was launched under power. Not a dummy—the actual missile. And releasing it automatically activates the warhead."

The news hit him hard. Blades cursed. Sweat started to flow under his arms and ran down his sides.

"No one expected anything like this," Hulse continued. "It's a total disaster, and the people who designed the system probably won't get any more contracts. But as it stands, we didn't get a radar fix on it, and it quickly moved out of range for gyrogravitic pulse detection. The thrust vector is unknown. It could be nearly anywhere now."

"Well, naval missiles are set to reverse acceleration if they don't hit a target within a certain time. This one should return in less than six hours. If it detects our ship first, everything will be fine. It has optical recognition circuits that can identify any North American warship by type, disarm the warhead, and guide it back home. However, if it comes within fifty kilometers of another mass—like this asteroid or one of the nearby rocks—it will explode. We'll do everything we can to intercept it, but space is vast. You'll need to move your people to a safe distance. They can return even after an explosion, of course. There's no shockwave in a vacuum, and the fireball won't reach here. It's mainly an anti-personnel weapon. But you must stay outside the lethal radiation zone."

"The hell we can come back!" Avis shouted.

"I’m sorry, what did you say?" Hulse asked.

"You idiot! Don't you know Central Control here is cryotronic?"

Hulse didn’t even blink. “That’s right,” he said without any emotion. “I forgot.”

Blades controlled his shock well enough to say, "Well, we definitely haven't. If that thing goes off, the gamma burst will create so many minority carriers in the transistors that the p-type crystals will behave like n-type, and the n-type will act like p-type, for a whole couple of microseconds. Every single one of them will flip at the same time! The computers' memory and program data systems will be completely scrambled beyond any hope of reorganization."

"Magnetic pulse, too," Chung said. "The fireball plasma will be full of irregularities moving at several percent of light speed. Their electromagnetic output, hitting our magnetic core units, will switch them from superconduction to regular conduction. Same effect, total computer shutdown. We don’t have enough shielding against it. Your TIMM systems can handle that kind of hit. Ours can’t!"

"That's really unfortunate," Hulse said. "You'd have to reprogram everything—"

"Reprogram what?" Avis shot back, tears welling up in her eyes. "We've explained what our chemical plant is dealing with. We can't just shut it down on such short notice. It'll go out of control. There'll be sodium explosions, hydrogen fires, and organic combustion—nothing left here but a mess!"

Hulse didn't budge at all. "I truly apologize. If any real damage happens, I'm sure the government will compensate you. And, of course, my team will provide any supplies you need for the Pallas Castle to take you to the closest Commission base. Right now, though, all you can do is evacuate and hope we can intercept the missile."

Blades clenched his fists. A sudden realization hit him and he shouted, "There’s not going to be an interception! This wasn’t an accident!"

Hulse stepped back and stood up even taller. "Don't get too worked up," he advised.

"You little pest, egg-sucking, bloated loser! How dumb do you think we are? As dumb as your Essjay bosses? I swear, we're staying! Just see if you have the guts to kill a hundred people!"

"Mike ... Mike—" Avis grabbed his arm.

Hulse turned to Chung. "I'm going to let that inappropriate outburst slide," he said. "But given my responsibilities and the Constitution's provisions, I'm placing this asteroid under martial law. You need to have all personnel on the Pallas Castle and within a thousand kilometers at a minimum distance in four hours, or they'll be subject to arrest and trial. Now I've got to head back and start the operations. The Altair will keep in touch with you. Have a good day." He gave a curt bow, turned sharply, and walked out of the room.

Blades started to rush after him. Chung grabbed his free arm. Together, he and Avis pulled him to a stop. He stood there cursing the air until Ellen walked in.

"I couldn't keep up with you," she gasped. "What’s going on, Mike?"

The strength left Blades. He slumped into a chair and covered his face.

Chung expressed himself with a few blunt words. "Ohhh," Ellen exclaimed. She approached Blades and placed her hands on his shoulders. "My poor Mike!"

After a moment, she glanced at the others. "I should report back, obviously," she said, "but I won't be able to before the ship speeds up. So I'll need to stick around until afterward. Miss Page, we left about half a bottle of wine on the porch. I think it would be a good idea if you went to grab it."

Avis snapped back. "And why not you?"

"This isn’t the time for personal feelings," Chung said. "Go ahead, Avis. You can think about what records and other papers we should grab while you're on your way. I need to handle the evacuation. And as for Miss Ziska, well, Mike needs someone to help him get back on track."

"Her?" Avis cried, and ran.

Chung sat down and switched his intercom to Phone Central. "Connect me to Captain Janichevski on the Pallas," he said. "Hey, Adam? About that general alarm—"

Blades lifted a tired face toward Ellen's. "You should leave, along with the women and any men who don't want to stick around," he said. "But I think most of them will gamble on it. They're in a profit-sharing plan, and they stand to lose too much if this place gets destroyed."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a risk, but I don't think Hulse's sealed orders include murder. If enough of us hold our ground, he'll have to track that thing down. He definitely knows its exact path."

"You forget we're under martial law," Chung said quietly to him. "If we don't go willingly, he'll send in some soldiers and force us out at gunpoint. There's no choice. We've already been through this."

"I don't get it," Ellen said, trembling.

Chung went back to his intercom. Blades fumbled for his pipe and rolled it empty between his hands. "That missile was fired intentionally," he said.

"What? No way, you must be joking, that's impossible!"

"I get that you didn't know about it. Only three or four officers have been informed. The task had to be carried out very, very discreetly, or there would be a scandal, possibly even an impeachment. But it’s still sabotage."

She pulled away from him. "You're not making any sense."

"Their story doesn't add up. It's absurd. A new missile system wouldn’t be sent out for field trials all the way to the Belt before it had undergone enough testing nearby to iron out the major issues. A warhead missile wouldn’t be stored anywhere close to something that unreliable, let alone put under its control. The testing ship wouldn’t stick around a civilian station while her gunnery chief made adjustments. And Hulse, Warburton, Liebknecht, they were asking in such detail about how well we’re protected against radiation."

"I can't believe it. No one will."

"Not back home. Communication with Earth is so limited and jumbled. The public will only find out there was an accident; who’s going to care about the details? We couldn’t even prove anything in an asteroid court. The Navy would just say, ‘Classified information!’ and that would shut down the proceedings immediately. Sure, there’ll be an inquiry—made up of naval officers. Probably good guys, too. But what are they going to believe, the sworn statement of their colleague from Goddard House, or the rants of a space bum?"

"Mike, I know this is awful for you, but you’ve let it get to your head." Ellen placed her hand over his. "What if the worst happens? You’ll be compensated for your loss."

"Yeah. Considering how much we’ve put in personally, the Bank of Ceres still has almost all the money that was invested. We didn’t expect to pay them off for at least another ten years. They, or their insurance company, will receive the compensation. And after our mess, they won’t give us another loan. They were barely convinced to lend to us the first time. I bet Systemic Developments will make them a tempting offer to take this job over."

Ellen colored. She stomped her foot. "You're sounding paranoid. Do you really think the North American government would send a battleship all the way out here to screw you over?"

"Not the whole government. Just a few men in the right places is all that's needed. I’m not sure if Hulse was bribed or persuaded into this. But he probably went along with it out of a sense of duty. He’s definitely the prim type."

"A duty—to take down a North American business?"

Chung wrapped up at the intercom just in time to respond: "It's not permanent physical destruction, Miss Ziska. As Mike pointed out, some corporation will likely take over the Sword and fix the damage. But a private, purely asteroidal business... yes, I’m afraid Mike is correct. We are the target."

"In the name of mercy, why?"

"Of course, it's from the highest motives," Chung scoffed bitterly. "You know how the Social Justice Party feels about private capitalism. But what's really important is that the Sword is the first Belt venture completely independent from Earth. We have no obligations to anyone back there. We can sell our products wherever we want. It's well-known that the asterites are eager to establish their own self-sufficient industries. Beyond just feelings, we can make way more profit in the Belt than back home, especially when you consider the cost of transporting goods in and out of Earth's gravity. So, yes, we'll be doing most of our business out here."

"Our charter can't just be taken away. First, a lot of laws would need to be changed, and that's impossible politically. There's still a strong individualist mindset in North America, as seen by the fact that businesses do start up and that the Essjays faced a tough campaign to get elected. What the new government wants is something like the Eighteenth Century English approach to America. They want to keep the colonies as a source of raw materials and a market for manufactured goods, but they don't want them to build their own industries. You can't outright say that, but you can let things unfold on their own."

"Only ... here the Sword is, clearly set to become wealthy and grow in every direction. If we're allowed to develop and reinvest our profits, we'll become the center of independent asterite business. If, however, we’re wiped out by an unfortunate accident, there’s no center; and a minor adjustment in the banking laws is all it takes to stop others from getting started. Q.E.D."

"I bet Hulse thinks he's doing his patriotic duty," Blades said. "He wants to secure North America's natural resources—maybe even our loyalty in the long run. If he has to resort to sabotage, too bad for him, but it won't keep him up at night."

"No!" Ellen nearly screamed.

Chung slumped in his chair. "We're really stuck here," he said like an old man. "I don't see any way out. Do you think you can start working now, Mike? You can pick group leaders for the evacuation—"

Blades jumped up. "I can fight!" he growled.

"With what? Can openers?"

"You mean you're just going to lie down and let them defeat us?"

Avis came back. She shoved the bottle into Blades' hands as he paced the room. "Here you go," she said in a detached voice.

He held it out to Ellen. "Have some," he said.

"Not with you ... you troublemaker!"

Avis brightened a lot, took the bottle, and held it up. "Then here's to victory," she said, took a drink, and handed it to Blades.

He started to gulp, but the wine was too rich, and he found himself enjoying the way it flowed down his throat. Why, he thought vaguely, do people always look down on Dutch courage? The Dutch have real guts. They fought to free themselves from Spain and the ocean itself; when the French or Germans came, they turned the enemy sea into their ally—

The bottle slipped from his grip. In the slow-motion fall, it hadn't even hit the ground by the time Avis caught it. "Give me that, you clumsy oaf," she said, grabbing his arm with her other hand. "No matter what happens, Mike," she told him, "we're not giving up."

Still Blades stared past her. His fists tightened and relaxed. The sound of his breathing filled the room. Chung looked around in confusion; Ellen watched with growing horror; Avis' eyes lit up.

"Holy smoking cigars," Blades whispered at last. "I really think we can pull this off."

Captain Janichevski recoiled. "You’ve lost your mind!"

"Probably," Blades said. "Fun, right?"

"You can't do that."

"Let’s give it a go."

"Do you even know what you're talking about? It's an uprising, that’s what. Probably even piracy. Even if your plan actually worked, you'd be stuck in rehab for the next ten years—at least."

"Maybe, if it ever goes to trial. But it won't."

"That’s what you think. You’re asking me to make the crime worse and steal my boss's property on top of that." Janichevski shook his head. "Sorry, Mike. I feel terrible about this situation. But I won’t be part of making it worse."

"In other words," Blades replied, "you'd prefer to be involved in sabotage. I'm suggesting an act of legitimate self-defense."

"If there really is a plot to take down the Station."

"Adam, you're a spaceman. You know how the Navy works. Can you buy that story about a missile accidentally getting loose?"

Janichevski bit his lip. The sounds from outside filled the captain's cabin—voices, footsteps, the whir of machines, and the clash of doors—as the Pallas Castle prepared for departure. Blades were ready.

"You might be right," Janichevski said after a long pause, feeling miserable. "But why would Hulse risk his career—"

"He's not. There's someone ready to take the fall back home, you can bet on that. Like a company that will get banned from military contracts for a while... and then score lucrative deals in other areas. I've been around the system long enough to understand how it all operates."

"If you're mistaken, though ... if this is a genuine mistake ... then you risk committing treason."

"Yeah. I'll take the risk."

"Not me. No way. I have a family to take care of," Janichevski said.

Blades looked at him grimly. "If the Essjays get away with this move, what kind of life will your family have ten years from now? It's not just that we'll be low-level workers in the Belt. But being completely tied to a shortsighted government, how much progress can we really make? Other countries have colonies out here too, you know, and some are already offering their people more freedom than we have. Do you want the Asians, the Russians, or even the Europeans to take over the asteroids?"

"I can’t set policy."

"In other words, mom knows best. Trust, follow, anything put out by some bureaucrat who’s never set foot outside Luna. Is that your idea of being a citizen?"

"You're really putting a nice shine on getting yourself out of trouble!" Janichevski snapped.

"Sure, I'm not an idealist. But I'm not a slave either," Blades hesitated. "We've been friends for too long, Adam, for me to try to bribe you. But if things go wrong, we'll help you out ... somehow ... and if by chance we win, we'll soon be hiring captains for our own ships and you'll get the best offer any spaceman has ever received."

"No. Go away. I have work to do."

Blades got ready. "I didn't want to bring this up. But I've already told a few of my guys. They're just as furious as I am. They're waiting in the terminal. A monkey wrench or a laser torch can be pretty effective weapons. We can take over by force. That way, you'll be legally in the clear. But with so many witnesses here, you'll have to press charges against us later."

Janichevski started to sweat.

"We'll get sent up," said Blades. "But it will still have been worth it."

"Is it really that important to you?"

"Yeah. I admit I’m not a crusader. But this is a matter of principle."

Janichevski stared at the big red-haired man for a long time. Suddenly he tensed up. "Alright. For that reason only, I'll go along with you."

Blades swayed on his feet, almost collapsing with relief. "Good man!" he said hoarsely.

"But I won't have any of my officers or crew involved."

Blades quickly responded, "You don’t need to. Just give the order that my crew can access the scoopships. They can set up the equipment, maneuver the boats to the full balloons, and even connect them."

Janichevski's fears disappeared as soon as he made his decision, but now a bit of doubt set in. "That's a pretty skilled job."

"These guys are pretty skilled. It's not a big deal, not like doing a sky dive on Jupiter."

"Alright, I'll take your word for their skills. But what if the Altair sees those boats moving around?"

"She's already several hundred kilometers away and getting farther, following a search pattern that I'm risking my freedom—and my reputation on; I really don't want to betray my own country's Navy—I’m convinced that search pattern won’t find the missile in time. They'll see the Pallas as you leave—oh, yes, our people will be on board as instructed—but no further details will be captured in such a casual observation."

"Once again, I'll trust what you say. What else can I do to assist you?"

"Nothing you weren't doing before. Leave the piracy to us. I should get going." Blades held out his hand. "I can't find the right words to thank you, Adam."

Janichevski accepted the handshake. "No need to thank me. You kind of forced my hand." A grin appeared on his face. "I have to admit, though, I'm not sorry you did."

Blades left. He found his crew in the terminal, a group of about twenty engineers and rockjacks gathered closely together.

"What's going on?" Carlos Odonaju shouted.

"Clear track," Blades said. "Go right on board."

"Good. Fine. I’ve always wanted to do something mean and destructive," Odonaju laughed.

"The goal is to avoid destruction," Blades reminded him, and walked toward the office.

Avis met him in Corridor Four. Her freckled face was twisted into a scowl. "Hey, Mike, hold on for a second," she said, softly and quickly. "Have you seen La Ziska?"

"The lieutenant? No, I left her with you, remember? I was hoping you could help her relax."

"Uh-huh. She was extremely angry. Called us a bunch of thieves and—But then she started crying. She seemed to fall apart completely. I took her to your cabin and went back to help Jimmy. But when I checked there a minute ago, she was gone."

"What? Where are we?"

"How am I supposed to know? But that she-devil is capable of anything to ruin our chances."

"You're not being fair to her. She has a promise to uphold."

"Sure," said Avis nicely. "I wouldn’t want to stop her from meeting her responsibilities. Later on, she might even send you an occasional letter. I bet that’ll really brighten up your Rehab cell."

"What can she do?" Blades argued, with a nervous feeling like whistling in the dark. "She can't leave the asteroid without a scooter, and I've already got Sam's crew working on all the scooters."

"Is there no other option? The radio shop?"

"There's a guy on duty there. That's a no-go." Blades patted the girl's arm.

"O.K., I'll get back to work. But ... I’ll be really glad when this is all done, Mike!"

Looking into the desperate brown eyes, Blades felt a sudden urge to kiss their owner. But no, there was too much else to do. Maybe later. He raised his thumb up. "Keep going."

It's a shame about Ellen, he thought as he walked to his office. What a terrible waste to turn someone with her looks into a permanent enemy. And her personality—Come on, get a grip, you idiot! She's probably the type who wants to get married anyway.

In her position, what would I do? Not much; they’d hurt my feet. But—damn, Avis is right. She's not safe to have wandering around. The radio shack? Sparks isn't one of the few who knows the full story and is part of the plan. She could—

Blades cursed, spun, and ran.

His path was clear. Most of the guys were still in their dorms, getting ready to head out. He moved in big, low-gravity jumps.

The radio shack emerged from the ground near the porch. Blades tried the door. It didn't move. A chill ran through him. He stepped back down the hall and ran at it. The door was just made of plastiboard—

He crashed down with a thud and a grunt, and bounced back with a numb shoulder. But it seemed so effortless for the cops on 3V!

No time to learn the tricky skill of breaking in. He threw himself against the door, again and again, ignoring the pain that shot through his body. When the door finally splintered and opened, he stumbled across the room, crashed into a control panel, regained his footing, and stared in shock.

The operator was lying on the floor, swearing in a calm monotone. He had been effectively tied up with his own shirt and pants, which showed off his preference for maroon shorts with zebra stripes. There was a bump on the back of his head, and a hammer was lying nearby. Ellen must have taken the tool and come in here with it hidden behind her back. The operator wouldn’t have had any reason to suspect her.

She hadn't moved from the sender's chair, not even when the door was being attacked. Only a carrier beam connected the Sword with the Altair. She kept stubbornly tinkering with dials and switches, trying to adjust it and lift the ship.

"Praise you ... you haven't had any advanced training ... in radio," Blades choked. "That's ... a long-range set ... pretty special system—" He moved closer to her. "Come on, now."

She gave a rude refusal.

Theoretically, Blades should have enjoyed the struggle that followed. But he was in bad shape right from the start. And he was in much worse condition by the time he managed to pin her down.

"O.K.," he gasped. "Will you come quietly?"

She didn't bother to answer, unless you considered her headbutting him in the nose as a response. He had to shout for help to drag her onto the ship.

"Pallas Castle to NASS Altair. Do you copy, Altair?"

The huge oval drifted freely in space, surrounded by a million cold stars. The asteroid had vanished from view. A radio signal flickered through the void. Inside the ship, the crew and a hundred refugees were packed closely together. The air was thick with their breath, sweat, and tension.

Blades and Chung, sitting by the transmitter, sensed a different kind of heaviness, the gravitational pull of the internal field. Normal Earth weight weighed down every move; the enclosed cabin started to feel unbearably cramped. We'd adapt to this again pretty fast, Blades thought. Our bodies would, anyway. But ourselves, stuck on Earth forever—no.

The screen lit up. "NASS Altair acknowledging Pallas Castle," said the person in uniform.

"O.K., Charlie, go outside and don’t let anyone else in," Chung told his operator.

The spaceman shot him a confused look but went along with it. "I want to report that the evacuation of the Sword is now complete," Chung said formally.

"Sounds great, sir," the Navy officer said. "I'll let my superiors know."

"Hold on, don't disconnect just yet. We need to speak with your captain."

"Sir? I'm transferring you to—"

"Forget about your stupid chains of command," Blades interrupted. "Put me through to Rear Admiral Hulse right away, or I’ll take out whatever part of you he doesn’t. This is an emergency. I need to warn him about an immediate danger that only he can handle."

The other person looked, first at Chung's clear exhaustion, then at the black eye and various bruises, scratches, and bites on Blades' face. "I'll send the message through Channel Red right away, sir." The screen went blank.

"Alright, here we go," Chung said. "I wonder what the food in Rehab is like these days."

"Want me to handle the talking?" Blades asked. Chung wasn't made for the chaos of the last few hours and was completely exhausted. Blades himself felt really pumped up. He'd always enjoyed a good fight.

"Sure." Chung pulled a crumpled cigarette from his pocket and started filling the cabin with smoke. "You have a bigger supply of rudeness than I do."

Presently, the screen displayed Hulse, standing stiffly at his station on the bridge. "Good day, gentlemen," he said. "What’s going on?"

"Sure," Blades replied. "Get everyone else out of there; let your ship orbit freely for a while. And lock your system."

Hulse blushed. "Who do you think you are?"

"Well, my birth certificate has me listed as Michael Joseph Blades. I have some news for you about that super secret gadget you mentioned. You definitely don’t want any unauthorized people overhearing."

Hulse leaned forward as if he was going to fall through the screen. "What’s this about a hazard?"

"Fact. The Altair is in serious danger of getting blown to pieces."

"Have you lost your mind? Get me the captain of the Pallas."

"Very tiny bits."

Hulse pressed his lips together. "Fine, I'll hear you out for a little while. You'd better make it worth my time."

He issued commands. Blades scraped his back as he waited for the bridge to clear and wondered if there was any chance of a hot shower coming up soon.

"All done," Hulse said. "Hand over your report."

Blades glanced at the indicator. "You haven't sealed your circuit, Admiral."

Hulse said some harsh words but went along with it. "Are you going to talk now?"

"Of course. This confidentiality is for your own safety. You could face court-martial otherwise."

Hulse held back a reply.

"O.K., here's the deal." Blades met the intense stare with an almost tangible clash of eye contact. "Mr. Chung and I have decided that any missile system as malfunctioning as yours poses a threat to navigation and public safety. If you can't manage your own nuclear weapons, you shouldn't be free to roam. Our charter gives us local authority as peace officers. Based on that, we ordered certain precautionary measures to be implemented. As a result, if that warhead goes off, I'm afraid NASS Altair will be destroyed."

"Are you ... have you—" Hulse froze. Despite everything, he was a capable officer, Blades thought. "Please explain yourself," he said flatly.

"Sure," Blades agreed. "The Station doesn't have any weapons, but you can always count on people to improvise. We took control of the scoop ships belonging to this vessel and filled them with Jovian gas at maximum pressure. If your missile goes off, they'll come after you."

Something like amusement colored Hulse's shocked expression. "Do you really think that's a weapon?"

"I really do. Let me explain. The ships are currently orbiting freely, scattered across a large area of space. There’s no one on them. What’s on each ship, though, is an autopilot from a scooter, connected to the drive controls. Each 'pilot has its sensors locked onto your ship. You can't maneuver quickly enough to shake off radar and mass detectors. You're the target, and there's nothing to tell those dumb computers to slow down as they get closer to you."

"Of course, no moves are being made yet. A switch has been installed in every scooter circuit, and it's left open. Right now, only the meteorite evasion units are active. So, if anyone tried to get close to one of those scoopships, they’d be detected, and the ship would take off. Keep in mind, a scoopship isn’t very heavy, and it has engines designed for quick entries and exits from Jupe's gravitational pull. It can out-accelerate either of our vessels or any of yours, and it can dodge any of your missiles. You can't catch it."

Hulse scoffed. "What’s the point of this joke?"

"I mentioned that the autopilots are currently off when it comes to heading toward the target. However, each of those switches is connected to two other units. One is just the sensor box. If you move beyond a certain distance, the switches will close. That means the autopilots will be activated if you try to go out of range of the beams now focused on you. The other unit we've installed in every boat is a standard two-for-a-dollar radiation meter. If a nuclear weapon detonates anywhere within a couple of thousand kilometers, the switches will also close. In either case, the scoopships will come after you."

"You might take out a few with missiles before they hit. Sure, you can shoot through them with laser guns. But that won't help much, unless you’re lucky enough to hit a critical part. There's no one on board to be harmed. Not even much gas will be lost in such a short time."

"So to sum it up, buddy, if that rogue missile goes off, your ship will get hit by ten to twenty scoopships, each packed with concentrated Jovian air. They'll punch through your thin hull, but since they're already overfilled past the safety limits, the impact will burst them open and the gas will rush out. Do you know what Jovian air does to materials like magnesium?"

"You can probably save your crew, take to the boats, and reach a Commission base. But your nice battleship will be totally wrecked. Is your game worth that risk?"

"You're totally crazy! Releasing something like this—"

"Oh, not for good. There's one more switch on each boat, linked to the meteorite evasion unit and powered by a small battery. When those batteries run out, in about twenty hours, the pilots will be completely shut down. Then we can detect the scoopships on radar and retrieve them. And you'll be free to go."

"Do you really believe for a second that your outrageous claim of acting legally will hold up in court?"

"No, probably not. But it won’t need to. Clearly, you can’t make anyone believe your story if a second missile goes off. And as for the first one, since it didn’t achieve its goal, your superiors aren’t going to want this getting out. It would embarrass them a lot and wouldn’t do anything except get back at Jimmy and me—which isn’t worth it, since the Sword would still be privately owned. You should check with Earth, admiral, before saying anything. They’ll tell you that both sides in this dispute would be better off forgetting about taking legal action. Both would end up losing."

"So I'm afraid your only option is to locate that missile before it detonates."

"And what about you? What are your options?" Hulse had turned pale, but he still spoke confidently.

Blades grinned at him. "None at all. We've burned our bridges. We can't do anything about those scoop ships now, so there's no point in trying to scare us or arrest us or whatever else you might come up with. What we've done is set up an automatic deterrent."

"Against an attempt ... at sabotage ... that only exists in your imagination!"

Blades shrugged. "That argument doesn't matter anymore. I genuinely believe the missile was released on purpose. We wouldn't have acted the way we did otherwise. But there's no point in throwing accusations and denials around anymore. You should just go get the thing."

Hulse straightened up. "How do I know you're being honest?"

"Well, you can send someone to the Station. They'll find the scooters all stripped down. Send another person over to the Pallas. They'll see the scoopships missing. I also took some photos of the autopilots being set up and the ships being released. Go ahead. However, I should remind you that the fewer people who know about this little situation, the better for everyone involved."

Hulse opened his mouth, closed it again, glanced around, and finally slumped slightly. "Alright," he said, carefully enunciating each word. "I can't gamble with a ship of the line. Since the rogue is still further away than your deterrent allows the Altair to reach, we'll have to hang out in space for a bit."

"I'm fine with it."

"I'll share the whole story with my bosses back home ... but unofficially."

"Great. I want them to know that we asterites have teeth."

"Logging off, then."

Chung stirred. "Hold on a second," he said. "We have one of your crew here, Lieutenant Ziska. Can you send a small boat for her?"

"She didn't work with us," Blades added. "You can see the signs of her loyalty all over my face."

"Good girl!" Hulse said fiercely. "Yeah, I'll send a boat. Signing off."

The screen went dark. Chung and Blades exhaled deeply. They sat there for a moment, shaking, before Chung whispered, "That guy practically admitted everything."

"Sure," said Blades, "But we won't have any more issues with him."

Chung crushed his cigarette. Both men were regaining their composure. "There might be other attempts in the next few years," he frowned. "I think we should equip the Station. At least a couple of laser guns. We can say it's for protection in case of war. But it will also make our own government take us more seriously."

"Well, you can take it up with the Commission." Blades yawned and stretched, trying to relax his muscles. "You’d better get a bunch of other owners and managers to sign your petition, though." The next thing popped into his head. He stood up. "Why don’t you go share the good news with Adam?"

"Where are you heading?"

"To let Ellen know the fight is over."

"Is it, as far as she’s concerned?"

"That's what I'm about to find out. Hope I won’t need an armored escort." Blades walked out of the cubicle, past the watchful radioman, and down the empty hallway ahead.

The cabin assigned to her was at the far end, locked from the outside. The key was held in place by a magnet on the wall. Blades unlocked the door and knocked on it with his knuckles.

"Who’s there?" she called.

"Me," he said. "Can I come in?"

"If you have to," she said coldly.

He opened the door and stepped inside. The overhead light shimmered off her hair and cast shadows around her figure. His heart raced. "You, um, you can come out now," he stumbled over his words. "Everything's fine."

She said nothing, just looked at him with her glacier-blue eyes.

"No harm's been done, except to me and Sparks, and we're not upset," he said hesitantly. "Should we just forget the whole thing?"

"Your choice."

"Ellen," he begged, "I had to do what felt right to me."

"Me too."

He couldn't find any more words.

"I assume I'll be sent back to my own ship," she said. He nodded. "Then, if you don't mind, I should make myself as presentable as possible. Have a good day, Mr. Blades."

"What's great about it?" he snapped, and slammed the door as he left.

Avis stood outside the crowded saloon. She saw him coming and ran to meet him. He waved with his fingers and joy radiated from her. "Mike," she exclaimed, "I'm so happy!"

The only polite thing to do was hug her. His mood improved a little as he did. She felt nice to hold. Not bad looking, either.

"Well," Amspaugh said. "So that's the inside story. How fascinating. I've never heard that before."

"No, clearly it never got into any official record," Missy said. "The only announcement made was that there had been a near accident, that the Station tried to turn scoopships into counter-missiles, but that the quick action of NASS Altair is what saved the situation. Her captain was praised. I don’t think he ever received a further promotion, though."

"Why didn't you share the facts afterward?" Lindgren asked. "When the revolution started, that is. It would have made great propaganda."

"Nonsense," Missy said. "So much has happened since then. Besides, neither Mike, Jimmy, nor I wanted to stir up cheap emotions. We knew the asterites weren't some little pink-bottomed angels, nor were the people back sunward a bunch of devils. There were rights and wrongs on both sides. We did what we could during the war and hated every minute of it, and when it was over, we cracked open two cases of champagne and invited as many Earthsiders as we could to the party. They had a lot of love to take home for us."

A quiet settled in. She took a long sip from her glass and sat gazing at the stars.

"Yeah," Lindgren said at last, "I suppose that was the worst part, fighting against our own people."

"Well, I was better off in that way than some," Missy admitted. "I made my commitment long before the issues arose, so my connections were mostly out here. Twenty years is plenty of time to establish new roots."

"Really?" Orloff was surprised. "I haven't met you often before, Mrs. Blades, so it seems I've had the wrong idea. I thought you were a more recent immigrant than that."

"Aw, no," she laughed. "I only needed six months after the Altair incident to figure things out, quit my position, and catch the next ship heading to the Belt. You don't think I'd let a guy like Mike slip away, do you?"