"Who knows what that damn fool Graf thinks?" Van Atta growled. "The man's run mad. There are a dozen ways we can stand off at a distance and knock that installation to bits even without military supplies. Or just wait and starve them out. They've trapped themselves. He's not just crazy, he's stupid."

"Maybe," said Yei doubtfully, "they mean to just go on quietly living up there, in orbit. Why not?"

"The hell you say. I'm going to hook them out of there, and double-quick, too. Somehow . . . No bunch of miserable mutants are going to get away with sabotage on this scale. Sabotage—theft—terrorism . . ."

"They are not mutants," began Yei, "they are genetically-engineered childr—"

"Mr. Van Atta, sir?" piped up another com controller. "I have an urgent memo for you listed on my all-points. Can you take it here?"

Yei, cut off, spread her hands in frustration.

"Now what?" Van Atta muttered, seating himself before the com unit.

"It's a recorded message from the manager of the cargo marshaling station out at jump point. I'll put it online," said the tech.

The vaguely familiar face of the jump-point station manager wavered into focus before Van Atta. Van Atta had met him perhaps once, early in his stint here. The small jump-point station was manned from the Orient IV side, and was under Orient IV's operations division, not Rodeo's. Its employees were regular Union downsiders and did not normally have contact with Rodeo, nor with the quaddies once destined to replace them.

The station manager looked harried. He gabbled through the preliminary IDs, then came abruptly to the meat of his matter: "What the hell is going on with you people, anyway? A crew of mutant freaks just came out of nowhere, kidnapped a jump pilot, shot another, and hijacked a GalacTech cargo superjumper. But instead of jumping out, they've headed back with it toward Rodeo. When we notified Rodeo Security, they indicated the mutants probably belonged to you. Are there more out there? Are they running wild or something? I want answers, dammit. I've got a pilot in the infirmary, a terrorized engineer, and a crew on the verge of panic." From the look on his face the station manager was on the verge of panic himself. "Jump-point station out!"

"How old is this memo?" said Van Atta rather blankly.

"About"—the com tech checked his monitor—"twelve hours, sir."

"Does he think the hijackers are quaddies? Why wasn't I informed"—Van Atta's eye fell on Bannerji, standing blandly at attention by Chalopin's elbow—"why wasn't I informed of this at once by Security?"

"At the time the incident was first reported, you were unavailable," said the security captain, devoid of expression. "Since then we've been tracking the D-620, and it's continued to boost straight toward Rodeo. It doesn't answer our calls."

"What are you doing about it?"

"We're monitoring the situation. I have not yet received orders to do anything about it."