Eddie Juliana kept working, kept packing containers. "We'll get everything up," he said. "One way or another, we'll save it all." He urged Hutch to work harder. "These," he said. "These go first. Just in case. Forget the stuff that's down in the bay. In case Truscott decides to drop any more bombs on us." He stared at the ceiling as if observing her attitude on the space station. "Yes," he said, "load these." He indicated a line of red-tags. "I'll get the others." He nodded to himself. "Most definitely."

Hutch worried about him.

"By the door," he said, as they entered his workshop, oblivious of her concern. He was indicating three containers. "These are weapons. From the lower level outpost." He went after the first, signaling Hutch to bring over a cart. "Whatever else happens, we don't want to lose them. They're invaluable." Ordinarily she would have grumbled or gone on strike. But she felt sorry for Eddie, and did what she could. "There's another red-tag next door," he said.

But the container wasn't sealed. She looked in. "It needs a dash of poly-6," she said.

"Take care of it." He arrowed off toward the washroom.

She picked up the gun, aimed it into the container, and pulled the trigger. A thick white stream gushed over the plastene-wrapped artifacts, and the room filled with a faintly acrid aroma. She watched the foam rise, and shut it off. The poly-6 began to inflate, and Hutch hefted the gun and aimed it at an imaginary Melanie Truscott. Eddie reappeared and looked at her impatiently. She pointed the nozzle toward him, and her index finger tightened slightly on the trigger. "Pow," she said.

Pow.

He was in no mood for games. He capped the container, and rolled it onto the cart.

And Hutch had the beginning of an idea. "Eddie, how much of this stuff do we have?"

"Poly-6? Plenty. Why do you ask?"

"How does it work?"

"I don't know the chemistry," he said. "You make it with two barrels." They were in plain sight, labeled «A» and "B." "They're separate compounds. The stuff is inert until it gets mixed. That's what the gun does. When they combine, the urethane expands and hardens. It's been around for centuries. And it's ideal for safeguarding artifacts in shipment."

"Do you have an extra dispenser? A gun?"

"Sure." He frowned. "Why?"

She was calculating storage space on Alpha. "Listen, we may have to cut down the size of this next shipment a little."

"What?" He sounded wounded. "Why?" he asked again.

"Because I'm going to take two barrels of poly-6 with me."

Eddie was horrified. "There isn't room."

"We'll make room."

"What on earth for?"

"I'm going to use it to say hello to Melanie Truscott."

An hour later, Alpha climbed toward orbit, carrying Hutch, Janet, Maggie, Karl, and Maggie's number one analyst, Phil Marcotti. Also on board were twenty-nine containers filled with artifacts, and two barrels of poly-6 components.

Maggie Tufu turned out to be younger than Hutch had expected. She'd heard so much about the woman's accomplishments, that she was startled to discover Maggie was probably still in her twenties. She was tall, taller in fact than either of the men. Her black hair was full and luxuriant, worn in a twist that was probably designed to make her look older. Her eyes were also black, and her features retained much of the Micronesian cast of her forebears. If she'd been able to loosen up, to smile occasionally, she would have been lovely.

She tended to set herself apart from the others. Hutch did not sense arrogance, but rather simply a preoccupation with work. Maggie found people, and maybe everything except mathematics and philological theory and practice, boring.

Her colleague, Phil Marcotti, was a beefy, easygoing extrovert. About forty, he enjoyed his work, and was among those who would have preferred to stay until they'd recovered what everyone was now referring to as "George's printing press." He confided to Hutch that, if he'd had his way, nothing short of armed force would have moved the Academy team. Curiously, this amiable, happy man was the most militant among Henry's true believers.

Maggie took Hutch's right-hand seat. During the ascent she tied into the auxiliary computer and busied herself with rows of alphanumerics. "In one way, we're very lucky," she told Hutch. "We don't get as many Linear C samples as we'd like to. Of course, you never have enough samples of anything. The language is just too old. But a fair amount of what we do get comes with illustrations. We have the beginning of a vocabulary."

"Really," said Hutch, interested. "Can you show me some examples?"

"Sure. This" — a cluster of characters appeared on the screen—"is 'sun. They were letters, not ideograms. And that" — another group—"is 'moon. " She smiled, not at Hutch, but at the display. "This is 'hoe. »

"Hoe" said Hutch. "How did you arrive at that?"

"The group was used to illustrate an epigram about reaping what you plant. I think."

Karl stared moodily out at the clouds. His eyes were distant, and Hutch wondered whether he was thinking about his future.

Janet fell asleep within minutes after their departure. She was still out when the shuttle nosed into its bay on Wink.

Hutch calibrated the B ring spin to point one gee. They unloaded the artifacts, now only a tenth of their planetary weight, and carried them through double doors into Main Cargo. Here, Hutch passed out footwear that would grip the Teflon deck. The storage area was wide and high, spacious enough to play basketball. They crossed to the far bulkhead, and secured the containers beside the two earlier shipments.

Main Cargo had been designed to stow heavy excavation equipment, large quantities of supplies, and whatever the Academy teams deemed worth bringing back. Except for the shuttle bay, it occupied the entire ring. It was compart-mented into four sections, each equipped with outside loading doors.

When they'd finished, Hutch conducted a brief tour. She took her passengers to A Deck, pointed out their cabins, showed them the lounge and rec facilities, demonstrated how the food dispensers worked, and joined them for dinner. They drank to their new home. And they seemed to brighten somewhat.

After they'd finished, she took Janet aside. "Are you interested in a little payback?" she asked.

Janet looked at her curiously. "What are we talking about?" Then she smiled. "You mean Truscott?"

"I mean Truscott."

She nodded. "I'm willing to listen."

"There'll be a risk."

"Tell me what you have in mind. I'd love to see her get hers."

"I think we can arrange it."

She led the way back to B ring. Full ship's gravity, which was a modicum over point five, had been restored. The outside loading doors were located in the deck. In each of the four cargo sections, they were of different dimensions. She'd picked the No. 2 hold, where they were biggest, large enough, in fact, to accommodate an object twice the diameter of the shuttle.

Hutch inspected the doors, satisfied herself they were adequate to the task, and explained her idea. Janet listened skeptically at first, and then with mounting enthusiasm. By the time Hutch had finished, she was grinning broadly. "I don't think I'd want you mad at me," she said.

"If we get caught at it, we'll both wind up out on Massachusetts Avenue with tin cups."

"Will they be able to figure out who did it?"

"Maybe. Listen, I owe you. And I wouldn't want to be responsible for your getting into trouble. I'll understand if you want to keep clear."

"But you can't do this alone."

"No. I can't."

"I wouldn't miss it. The only real problem I can see is that we won't be able to brag about it afterward."

Hutch was feeling pretty good. "It's a small price to send Melanie Truscott a message from the downtrodden."