“It is.” She sets her shoulder against a battered old airlock. It’s the biggest we’ve seen so far, and the only one that doesn’t open on command. It’s bent into its frame, and its surface is pitted with what could only be gunshot wounds.

“At least—”

She heaves, her boots struggling for traction.

“—for anything—”

The bolts are clear—she’s checked twice—but the door is stuck fast.

“—the company—”

She stops and flicks a bead of sweat away.

“—wanted it to do.”

I hook my helmet on my belt and lean in next to her, spread my feet and mag-lock my bootsoles to the deck. “Doesn’t sound like it’ll do us any better.”

We heave together, work our boots on and off, set ourselves again. The hinges give just a little.

“Normally, it wouldn’t.” She straightens, and rests a hand on the doorframe while she catches her breath. “But we’re using it off-label.”

And again. The hinges sing.

“Christs,” I manage, between breaths. At 1 g, this would probably be easy. Half a gee, and at least we’d have something to go on. We’re almost in freefall out here, and the best we can do is skate around on the floor and try to keep our feet from flying off.

We take a second to survey the progress, if you can call it that. We’ve managed to scratch the deck, and left little silver tracks where our boots have cut through the dust. The door is open enough to fit fingertips.

“We’re doing well,” growls Hail.

“Only the whole thing to go.”

For a while, we let ourselves stand.

“What are we doing, Hail?”

She doesn’t look back at me.

“We’ve got an old Obs post and not a whole lot else. We don’t have a line to Andrade, and Horizon isn’t going to be happy to see us any time soon.”

She waves the last away. “Horizon doesn’t know any more than those patrols do.”

“Assuming they weren’t sunk in the chaos.”

“Assuming that. Assuming they even bother to put in a report.”

“If they do, they’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”

Hail winks at me. “See?”

“I guess so.”

“All we need is the right operator when we call in to Tower.” She raps a knuckle on the door, and this time there’s an echo on the other side. “And this should help us with the beacon.”

I cross my arms. “What about the wind? The noise?”

“What about it?” she asks. She gives me a ragged smile. “We’re looking for noise.”

We shove, earning enough space to fit a couple fingers more through the gap. Again, and the hinges shriek for a whole second before the door stops dead.

“Snagged.”