"Where are we going?" Leo asked Van Atta, seated beside him.

"Ah," said Van Atta. "See that speck about thirty degrees above the horizon? Watch it. It's home base for the Cay Project."

The speck grew rapidly into a far-flung chaotic structure, all angles and projections, with confetti-colored lights spangling its sharp shadows. Leo's practiced eye picked out the clues to its function—the tanks, the ports, the greenhouse filters winking in the sunlight, the size of the solar panels versus the estimated volume of the structure.

"An orbital habitat?"

"You got it," said Van Atta.

"It's huge."

"Indeed. How many personnel would you guess it could handle?"

"Oh—fifteen hundred."

Van Atta's eyebrows rose, in slight disappointment, perhaps, at not being able to offer a correction. "Almost exactly. Four hundred ninety-four rotating GalacTech personnel and a thousand permanent inhabitants."

Leo's lips echoed the word, permanent . . . "Speaking of rotation—how are you handling null-gee deconditioning in your people? I don't"—his eyes inventoried the enormous structure—"I don't even see an exercise wheel. No spinning gym?"

"There's a null-gee gym. The rotating personnel get a month downside after every three-month shift."

"Expensive."

"But we put the Habitat up there for less than a quarter of the cost of the same volume of living quarters in one-gee spinners."

"But surely you'll lose what you've saved in construction costs over time in personnel transportation and medical expenses," argued Leo. "The extra shuttle trips, the long leaves—every retiree who breaks an arm or a leg until the day he dies will be suing GalacTech for the cost of it plus mental anguish, whether he had significant bone demineralization or not."

"We've solved that problem, too," said Van Atta. "Whether the solution is cost-effective—well, that's what you and I are here to try to prove."

The shuttle sidled delicately into alignment with a hatch on the side of the Habitat and seated itself with a reassuringly authoritative click. The pilot shut down his systems and unbuckled himself to float past Leo and Van Atta and check the hatch seals. "Ready for disembarking, Mr. Van Atta."

"Thank you, Grant."

Leo released his seat restraints, and stretched and relaxed in the pleasurable familiarity of weightlessness. Not for him the unfortunate nauseas of null-gee that sapped the efficiency of so many employees. Leo's body was ordinary enough, downside; here, where control and practice and wit counted more than strength, he was at last an athlete. Smiling a little to himself, he followed Van Atta from hand grip to hand grip and through the shuttle hatch.

A pink-faced tech manned a control panel just inside the shuttle-hatch corridor. He wore a red T-shirt with the GalacTech logo over his left breast. Tight blond curls cut close to his head reminded Leo of a lamb's pelt; perhaps it was an effect of his obvious youth.

"Hello there, Tony," Van Atta greeted him with cheerful familiarity.