She twisted the gauntlet, snapped the wrist collar into place, and clamped down the seal. The hissing noise stopped and his suit began to reinflate. “There, step one, two, then three. It only works if you follow the procedures.” She didn’t think Fitzpatrick would lose his hand, but he might have an awful lot of pain for a few months. Maybe he’d even be mail-dropped home with a full disability discharge … and some equally obnoxious kleeb would take his place. Better to keep the problem she already knew about.

Tasia could see in Fitzpatrick’s eyes that he was utterly terrified, more stunned than in physical agony. For now. The real pain would hit him later, back in the infirmary.

“You fixed it,” Robb Brindle said, drifting up beside her as the drill continued.

“He’ll need to get to the medics as soon as the bay is repressurized.”

She didn’t really expect any acknowledgment or thanks, but maybe they would lighten up a bit. In the barracks, a lot of the trainees had criticized her because of EA, who had accompanied her into the service. Although keeping the talented compy was permitted—designated as “personal property”—having a special servant around gave the other recruits plenty of excuses to give Tasia grief.

But she could hardly put EA back in the Tamblyn family spacecraft and send her back to Plumas alone. Her furious father would probably dismantle the compy in a fit of pique just to get back at his impulsive daughter. Instead, Tasia had enhanced EA’s programming to let her perform chores around the barracks and help with necessary tasks on the moon base.

The yawning dome remained open to vacuum for only a few more seconds, then the jaws clamped shut. Air blasted in great coughs from ventilation openings, filling the hangar bay again. When the room was repressurized, the drill sergeants marched back inside, accompanied by a team of medics. They hustled Fitzpatrick away, and one other man whose suit pumps had failed; he had nearly suffocated before one of his companions noticed his distress and cracked open his faceplate as soon as the air returned.

“Regroup and change,” called one of the sergeants. “We’ll debrief after mess hall—though in my opinion, half of you don’t deserve the credits we’re wasting to feed you.”

Tasia took off her helmet and turned away to hide her grin, but Robb Brindle saw it and shared the smile with her. “Thanks again,” he said, taking the helmet and helping her stow the suit, though Tasia was perfectly capable of doing it herself. Still, part of her appreciated his attempt at gallantry. She found it amusing.