"They're scattered all over Rodeo by now," Dr. Yei remarked, "back to their downside leave quarters, most of them."

Bannerji cringed visibly. "And do you have any idea the kind of legal liability that situation would present to Security?"

"So deputize 'em—"

A beeping from Chalopin's desk console interrupted Van Atta; a com tech's face appeared in the vid.

"Administrator Chalopin? Com Center here. You asked us to advise you of any change in the status of the Habitat or the D-620. They, um—appear to be preparing to leave orbit."

"Put it on up here," Chalopin ordered.

The com tech produced the flat view from the satellite again. He upped the magnification, and the Habitat–D-620 configuration half-filled the vid. The D-620's two normal-space thruster arms had been augmented by four of the big thruster units the quaddies used to break cargo bundles out of orbit. Even as Van Atta watched in horror, the array of engines flared into life. Stirring a glittering wake of space trash, the monstrous vehicle began to move.

Dr. Yei stood staring open-mouthed, her hands clapped to her chest, her eyes glistening strangely. Van Atta felt like weeping with rage himself.

"You see"—he pointed, his voice cracking—"you see what all this interminable dithering has resulted in? They're getting away!"

"Oh, not yet," purred Dr. Yei. "It will be at least a couple of days before they can possibly arrive at the wormhole. There is no just cause for panic." She blinked at Van Atta, went on in an almost hypnotically cloying voice, "You are extremely fatigued, of course, as are we all. Fatigue invites mistakes in judgment. You should rest—get some sleep. . . ."

His hands twitched; he burned to strangle her on the spot. The shuttleport administrator and that idiot Bannerji were nodding, reasonable agreement. A choked growl steamed from Van Atta's throat. "Every minute you wait is going to complicate our logistics—increase the range—increase the risk—"

They all had the same bland stare on their faces. Van Atta didn't need his nose rubbed in it—he could recognize concerted noncooperation when he smelled it. Damn, damn, damn! He glowered suspiciously at Yei. But his hands were tied, his authority undercut by her sweet reason. If Yei and all her ilk had their way, nobody would ever shoot anybody, and chaos would rule the universe.

He snarled inarticulately, wheeled on his heel, and stalked out.

*      *      *