Up in the pilot's seat was a black-clad figure already strapped in. He wore his helmet with the gold-anodized faceplate pulled down. Looking at him, I only saw my own reflection.

"Canfield," I said, "think we can get out of here in time?"

"We will if you put on your helmets and strap in." His voice sounded tinny and odd coming from the speaker mounted on his chest controls.

I helped Bridget, Ann, and Isadora climb up to their seats. Then I had to use their seats as a step to reach the forward right-hand seatthe co-pilot's chair. We retrieved the helmets from the clasps on the seat backs and fastened them onto the metal neck rings.

"T-minus two minutes," Launch Control said in our helmet speakers.

"Get comfortable," our pilot informed us. "We'll be pulling over five Gs at blastoff."

The kid piped up. "Don't you have anything to say to Launch Control?"

"It's nearly all automatic until we reach high earth orbit, little lady." His voice sounded relaxed and self-assured. "I'm here mostly for the unexpected."

Something clanked behind and below us. Canfield turned his helmet toward the hatch, his expression hidden behind golden reflections.

"Gantry arm retracting," Launch Control reported. "All personnel clear the launch pad."

The pilot relaxed in his seat.

At T-minus one minute, a confused chatter of voices jammed the airwaves. The voice of Launch Control shouted, "Quiet!" loud enough to jangle my hearing, then said, "Starfinder, we have choppers reported within our long-range attack boundaries. Do you wish to scrub the launch?"

"Negative, Launch Control." I liked the sound of that. "Continue the countdown."

"I suggest we scrub," Canfield interjected.

"Any technical reason?" I asked.

The pilot shook his head. "No. I simply think we should postpone the launch to a safer time."

"There won't be a safer time. We go now."

"They could pick us off with a heat-seeking miss-"

"They could kill us on the ground as well. We stand a better chance of surviving by launching now!"

Canfield sighed. "It's your choice, Mr. Ammo. I can't make the decision myself."

The ground rumbled beneath us.

"This is it," I said. "Blastoff!"

"Those are bombs!" the pilot shouted. "Abort, man! For God's sake!"

"That's exactly why I can't," I said.

"T-minus ten seconds. Ignition sequence start."

An explosion somewhere to port rocked like thunder over the spacecraft. It coincided with the rumble of four powerful rocket engines firing up.

"There's another one!" shouted Launch Control.

At that instant, a black Huey roared directly in front of our forward windows. It fired all its missiles at once.

But not at us.

"Okay, tough guy," radioed a familiar voice, "you're in the clear! Ace the son of a bitch for me!"

"Corbin?" I managed to mutter as the cabin began to shake like a giant attempting to dislodge us.

"Blastoff," a disembodied voice said, just as the giant started squeezing my chest.

"Yeah," echoed a voice a few million light-years away. "It occurred to me that this chopper might be of some assistance if the Ecclesia found you. Guess I was right. So long again!"

The giant sat on my heart and lungs and other organs for daysmaybe years. I couldn't answer our rescuer. I couldn't hear another word. My senses collapsed into a red-black throbbing mass of dizzying discomfort. I could only think about an amusement park ride I'd been on years before that supposedly shoved riders forward at four times the acceleration of gravity. It lasted a few seconds and made me giddy. This was lasting forever. I was far beyond giddy.

A couple of millennia later, the pounding faded from my ears. A distant voice heralded my salvation.

"Engine shutdown at T-plus six minutes, seventeen seconds. Stand by to jettison outboard tanks."

A sudden feeling of unease washed over me. A feeling of being dropped from a great height. And falling, falling, falling.

Weightlessness.

They didn't call it free fall for nothing. My first instinct was to grip the chair arms and try to hang on. No good. Everything was fallingthat's what it meant to be in orbit. My stomach, though, refused to listen to reason.

Something buzzed on the pilot's side of the control panel. Canfield did nothing. He seemed to be taking it as badly as the rest of us, which didn't make sense.

"Do you read me, Starfinder? Jettison outboard tanks."

The pilot still made no move. A small hand reached forward from behind us to punch a flashing button on the console. Explosive bolts sheared with a sound that vibrated through the shuttle's hull.

"Outboard propellant tanks jettisoned. About time, Starfinder."

The figure in the pilot's seat remained silent.

"Oh, shit," Isadora said, pulling her arm back from the shuttle controls.

"Invoke and ye shall receive," said the pilot. He reached up to unfasten his helmet.

"It's you!"

I had a bad feeling about whom she meant.

"Now that I have a captive audience," Emil Zacharias said, doffing his helmet, "I'd like to discuss our little contract." He smiled as coldly as ever.

"Where's Canfield?" I struggled to get my helmet off.

He laughed and tossed me a brass bottle about the size of a thimble.

"Don't open it," he said. "The cabin's crowded enough as it is." He turned to view the three other passengers. "Crowded with members of the weaker gender." He smiled at them as sweetly as any cat would at cornered rats.

I heard helmets coming undone behind me. One of the three was unzipping her pressure suit.

"I finally have all four of you together and under my power. Ordinary physical power." He looked forward at the steady, unblinking stars that blazed in the Cimmerian darkness of space. He smiled. "By the simple act of smashing this console, our tiresome contract will be canceled regardless of your desires." He turned to smirk at the women. "Or of Her…"

Bridget's hand smacked him on the face and held on tight.

"By the magician's oath with Fate," she cried, "I bind you!"

Zack made a weak sort of hiccupping sound, incapable of speech. Even so, the old crone maintained her grip. A piece of paper crackled crisply inside her palm.

"Nice little trick-"

"Shut up, Dell." She gazed deeply into his hateful, frozen stare. Her voice grew deep, ominous.

"By powers older than your own,

"From spark of Life by Woman grown.

"I bind your soul inside your hate

"And curse you to your chosen Fate!"

Her hand withdrew to reveal a square of parchment stuck to his forehead. A weird, intricate design had been drawn on it in purple ink. Zack just sat there, motionless as a wax dummy.

"How soon till we dock?" she asked calmly.

"Uh, I'll find out." I pulled the stopper from the little brass bottle and pointed it away from me. I don't know what I expected, but after a moment I hazarded a peek inside.

Nothing.

A muffled voice from behind the payload area hatch hollered in bewilderment. The hatch hissed open. A disoriented Canfield-still wearing his coveralls-pulled himself into the cockpit.

"I must've blacked out. I'm-hey! How did we get into orbit? Whenwho's that?"

"A stowaway," I said, unstrapping myself. "Leave him there and use my seat." I floated back to the economy section. At least the events of the last few minutes had distracted my stomach. I was almost getting used to the perpetual sensation of dropping. I unstrapped Isadora and slipped between her and the seat. Strapping us both in securely proved to be a difficult feat in free fall.

Canfield glanced ruefully at the flight suit Zacharias had expropriated. He strapped himself in and made contact with Flight Control.