The staging areas themselves had been thoroughly customized by the engineering team, outfitted with near-freefall workshops and machine shops. Here was where bulky cargoes were checked out, repackaged and either shipped down the elevators to the valley floor or flown along the axis to the next hole and chamber down the line.

The director of the engineering team, Lawrence Heineman, was talking to a slight, dark-haired young woman in the prime dock staging area as Lanier pulled himself in. They stood in a broad oval of light, hands on guide ropes, watching as large vacuum doors slid across to reveal the OTV's cocoon cargo resting on joists. The cargo dwarfed them.

Heineman, a short, crew-cut, muscular aerospace technician from Florida, smiled broadly and waved his hands, explaining something to the young woman. As Lanier approached, Heineman turned, held out the palm of one hand and bowed slightly in his direction. "Patricia, this is Garry Lanier, the closest thing to a civilian boss we have. Garry, Miss Patricia Luisa Vasquez." He shook his head and blew his breath out with an enthusiastic "Whoo!"

Lanier shook Vasquez's hand. She was small and pretty in a fragile way. Round face, silky dark brown hair, thin wrists, narrow legs, broad hips for her size: an altogether unpractical-looking woman, he thought. Beneath wide square eyes as black as his own, and a small, sharp nose, she had drawn her mouth into a tight line. She looked scared.

"My pleasure," Lanier said. "Larry, what have you told her so far?"

Heineman parried the question with a sidelong glance. "Patricia, I'm only a blue-badge for now—and I hear you're going to get a green. Garry is worried I might pass along some of the ignorant suppositions of an axis-hugger. I've only been telling her about this level of operations, I swear." He held up his right hand and clapped his left to his chest. "Garry, I've read some of this lady's papers in a half-dozen math and physics journals. She's fantastic."

There was a question on his face, however, which Lanier had no trouble interpreting. What in hell is she doing here?

"So I've heard." He pointed at the cocoon. "What's that?"

"My ticket to a green badge, finally," Heineman said. "Packing slips say it's the tuberider. And the V/STOL is coming in on the next OTV, a few hours from now."

"Then let's get it unwrapped and see what sort of modifications we'll have to make."

"Right. Pleased to meet you, Patricia." Heineman started to leave, then stopped and turned back slowly with a puzzled expression. "What you write about, it's really more a hobby for me, way beyond my expertise." He raised his eyebrows hopefully. "Maybe we can talk more later, though, when I get my green badge?"

Patricia smiled and nodded. Teams of men and women in gray jumpsuits were already gathering around the cocoon like ants tending a queen. Heineman joined them, calling out orders.

"Miss Vasquez—" Lanier began.

"Patricia's fine, really. I'm not very formal."