“Yes, but you do have some talent for the unexpected. That is apparently what Cosmo Corp needs. And soon.”

“Because…?”

“Because certain governmental entities wish to possess the wormhole.”

“The Earthside scientists.”

Another What can one do? shrug. Very expressive. This guy should have gone on the stage, she thought. “They went through the Planetary Nations.”

She let a silence build. This was a critical point. In many negotiations, subtle silences did most of the work. Let the silence run… then…

“Must be tough, dancing around on strings pulled all the way from Earth.”

Tall Guy shrugged, not denying it. Lean and muscular, he was the best man she had seen in years. Also the only man she had seen in years. That is, not counting Fat Guy, who might as well be on Pluto, eyes blank.

She eyed Tall Guy and wondered if he was an all-business type, or if he was attuned to social signals better than his fat friend. She was wearing slickskin tiger pants, and neither of these guys had given that a glance. The oldtime gal rule was that no guy was going to notice what shoes you were wearing, and if he did, he was the wrong guy. Tall Guy was giving nothing away. Poker face, no eye contact, nothing.

Tall Guy said carefully, “The Planetary Nations Scientific Council got a binding injunction, which begins in”—he gazed off to the side, probably consulting a clock in his inboard vision—“seventeen hours.”

“Seventeen hours—”

“And forty-eight minutes.”

“Nobody can—”

“You can,” he said, abruptly urgent. “You have experience with it. And the technical people have tried all they can, without success.”

“Anybody get killed?”

He went deadpan. “I can’t discuss that. Legal matters—”

“Okay, okay.” She felt the fight go out of her. Legal lingo bored her. What the hell, she had slept most of the way to Luna, coming back from the comet fiasco. She was rested, well fed. Other hungers, though…

She could cut short the shower. Get out to the bars, find a guy, get some sack time in, then back up to Silver Metal Lugger—

“Okay, I’m interested.” She put both hands on her hips, a commanding stance. “But we have to negotiate.”

“There’s little time, but we are prepared—”

She sliced a hand through the air, pointed at Fat Guy—who had developed a pout. “No. He goes, you stay. We two negotiate the deal, my fee. And fast. Cosmo Corp needs this done pronto, right?”

“Uh, right.” A gleam in Tall Guy’s eye? Was she that obvious?

Well, maybe. And that could save them both some time. Skip cruising the bars, yes. Not the shower, though. She said quickly, “Let’s, well, let’s do it.” Maybe a shower for two?

3.

We must either go in or out. Soon. The ringhole is frame-dragging spacetime itself in its vicinity. Theory predicted this. I can feel its tug. This is not a safe place.

“No place is, when you think about it.”

She recalled Tall Guy. Some things were better than they looked. Maybe this wormring was okay, once you dove through? None of their probes had really quick grit-savvy, after all. Artificial intelligences had plenty of craft, but little intuition. No animal instincts.