Silver grasped at a simple plan. So simple, surely she could carry it out. All she had to do was nothing. Do nothing, say nothing; eventually, the crisis must pass. They could not physically damage her, after all, she was valuable GalacTech property. The rest was only noise. She shrank into the safety of thing-ness, and stony silence.

The silence grew thick as cold oil. She nearly choked on it.

“So,” hissed Van Atta to her, “that’s the way you want to play it. Very well. Your choice.” He turned to Yei. “You got something in the Infirmary like fast-penta, Doctor?”

Yei’s lips rippled. “Fast-penta is only legal for police departments, Mr. Van Atta.”

“Don’t they need a court order to use it, too?” inquired Leo, not looking up from the bean leaf he twirled between his fingers.

“On citizens, Leo. That,” Van Atta pointed at Silver, “is not a citizen. What about it, Doctor?”

“To answer your question, Mr. Van Atta, no, our Infirmary does not stock illegal drugs!”

“I didn’t say fast-penta, I said something like it,” said Van Atta irritably. “Some sort of anesthetic or something, to do in a pinch.”

“Are we in a pinch?” asked Leo in a mild tone, still twirling his leaf; it was getting frayed. “Pramod is substituting for Tony, surely one of the other girls with babies can take over for Claire. Why should the Ops VP know the difference?”

“If we end up having to scrape two of our workers off the pavement downside—”

Silver winced at this echo of her own ghastly scenario.

“—or find them floating freeze-dried outside somewhere up here, it’ll be damned hard to conceal from her. You haven’t met the woman, Leo. She has a nose for trouble like a weasel’s.”

“Mm,” said Leo.

Van Atta turned back to Yei. “What about it, Doctor? Or would you rather wait until someone calls us up asking what to do with the bodies?”

“IV Thalizine-5 is a bit like fast-penta,” muttered Dr. Yei reluctantly, “in certain doses. It will make her sick for a day, though.”

“That’s her choice.” He wheeled on Silver. “Your last chance, Silver. I’ve had it. I despise disloyalty. Where did they go? Tell me, or it’s the needle for you, right now.”

She was driven from thing-ness at last to a more painful, active human courage. “If you do that to me,” Silver whispered in desperate dignity, “we’re through.”

Van Atta recoiled in sputtering outrage. “Through? You and your little friends conspire to sabotage my career in front of the company brass and you tell me we’re through? You’re damn right we’re through!”

“Company Security, Shuttleport Three, Captain Bannerji speaking,” George Bannerji recited into his comconsole. “May I help you?”

“You in charge here?” the well-dressed man in his vid began abruptly. He was clearly laboring under strong emotion, breathing rapidly. A muscle jumped in his clamped jaw.

Bannerji took his feet off his desk and leaned forward. “Yes, sir?”

“I’m Bruce Van Atta, Head of Project at the Habitat. Check my voiceprint, or whatever it is you do.”

Bannerji sat up straight, tapped out the check-code; the word “cleared” flashed for a moment across Van Atta’s face. Bannerji sat up straighter still. “Yes, sir, go ahead.”

Van Atta paused as if groping for words, speaking slowly despite the jostling urgency of thought apparent in his tense face. “We have a little problem here, Captain.”

Red lights and sirens went off in Bannerji’s head. He could recognize an ass-covering understatement when he heard one. “Oh?”

“Three of our—experimental subjects have escaped the Habitat. We interrogated their co-conspirator, and we believe they stowed away on shuttle flight B119, and are now loose somewhere in Shuttleport Three. It is of the utmost urgency that they be captured and returned to us as quickly as possible.”

Bannerji’s eyes widened. Information about the Habitat was under a tight company security lid, but no one could work on Rodeo for long without learning that some kind of genetic experiments on humans were taking place up there, in careful isolation. It usually took a little longer for new employees to figure out that the more exotic monster stories told by the old hands were a form of hazing, practiced upon their credulity. Bannerji had transferred in to Rodeo about a month ago.

The project chiefs words rang through Bannerji’s head. Escaped. Captured. Criminals escaped. Dangerous zoo animals escaped, when their keepers screwed up, then some poor shmuck of a cop got the job of capturing them. Occasionally, horrifying biological weapons escaped. What the hell was he dealing with?

“How will we recognize them, sir? Do they,” Bannerji swallowed, “look like human beings?”

“No.” Van Atta evidently read the dismay in Bannerji’s face, for he snorted ironically. “You’ll have no trouble recognizing them, I assure you, Captain. And when you do find them, call me at once on my private code. I don’t want this going out over broadcast channels. For God’s sake keep it quiet, understand?”

Bannerji envisioned public panic. “Yes, sir. I understand completely.”

His own panic was a private matter. He wouldn’t be collecting the fat salary he did if Security was expected to be all extended coffee breaks and pleasant evening strolls around perfectly deserted property. He’d always known the day would come when he’d have to earn his pay.

Van Atta broke off with a grim nod. Bannerji put in a call on the comconsole for his subordinate, and placed pages for both his off-duty men as well. Something that had the executive hierarchy pouring sweat was nothing for a newly-promoted Security grunt to take chances with.

He unlocked the weapons cabinet and signed out stunners and holsters for himself and his team. He weighed a stunner thoughtfully in his palm. It was such a light little diddly thing, almost a toy; GalacTech risked no lawsuits over stray shots from weapons like these.

Bannerji stood a moment, then turned to his own desk and keyed open the drawer with his personal palm-lock. The unregistered pistol nestled in its own locked box, its shoulder holster coiled around it like a sleeping snake. By the time Bannerji had buckled it on and shrugged his uniform jacket back over it, he was feeling much better. He turned decisively to greet his patrolmen reporting for duty.

Leo paused outside the airseal doors to the Habitat’s infirmary to gather his nerve. He had been secretly relieved when a frantic call from Pramod had pulled him, shaking inside, away from the excruciating interrogation of Silver; as secretly ashamed of his relief. Pramod’s problem—fluctuating power levels in his beam welder, traced at last to poisoning of the electron-emitting cathode by gas contamination—had occupied Leo for a time, but with the welding show over, shame had driven him back here.

So what are you going to do for her at this late hour? his conscience mocked him. Assure her of your continued moral support, as long as it doesn’t involve you in anything inconvenient or unpleasant? What a comfort. He shook his head, tapped the door control.

Leo drifted silently past the medtech’s station without signing in. Silver was in a private cubicle, a quarter-wedge of the infirmary’s circumference at the very end of the module. The distance had helped muffle the yelling and crying.

Leo peered through the observation window. Silver was alone, floating limply in the locked sleep restraints against the wall. In the light from the fluoros her face was greenish, pale and damp. Her eyes seemed drained of their sparkling blue color, blurred leaden smudges. A yet-unused spacesick sack was clutched, hot and wrinkled, in an upper hand.

Sickened himself, Leo glanced up the corridor to be sure he was still unobserved, swallowed the clot of impotent rage growing in his throat, and slipped inside.