"It's Mark! He's still out there!"

"I don't believe it."

But the silver pressure suit was crawling into view. The dwarf must have clung to the nets throughout that savage acceleration.

"Jeffer, let him in!"

"What a man! I . . . Lawn, I can't. The pressure's too low outside. We'd lose our air."

"He'll die out there! . . . Wait a minute. Open the doors one at a time. Hall that's why Klance calls it an airlocki So did the cassettes-"

"Sure, two doors to lock the air in. Okay." Muffled thumps sounded aft. The silver man wanted in. "Anthon, dave, he may be dangerous. Take the spitgun away from him when he comes in." The Grad cleared all but the yellow display. No fast decisions from now on. He pinched both lines together-make sure they're closed tightl-then opened the outer door with a forefinger.

The silver man disappeared from view, into the airlock.

Good. Now close the outer line, wait-no red borders? Open the

inner. Air shushed into the airlock. The silver man stepped into the carm, handed the spitgun to Anthon, and reached for his helmet.

In her heart of hearts, Lawn may have hoped for a last-breath countermutiny from the Navy's toughest warrior. She gave up that hope when she saw his face. Mark was a dwarf, of course, and the bones of his face were massive, brutal; but his jaw hung slack and his breath came fast and his face was pale with shock. His eyes wavered about the cabin, seeking reassurance. "Minya?"

A dark-haired woman answered. "Hello, Mark."

Her voice was flat and her face was hostile. Mark nodded unhappily. Now he recognized Lawn. "Hello, Scientist's Apprentice. What now?"

"We're in the hands of mutineers," Lawn said, "and I wish they were better at flying what they've stolen."

The mutineers' First Officer said, "Welcome to Quinn Tribe, as a citizen. Quinn Tribe doesn't keep copsiks. I'm dave, the Chairman. Who are you?"

"Navy, point man, armor. Name's Mark. Citizen doesn't sound too bad. Where we going?"

"Nobody seems to know. Now, we don't quite trust you, Mark, so we're going to tie you to a seat. That must have been quite a ride. Maybe you really are made of starstuf."

Mark was letting himself be led forward, to an empty chair. "All things considered, I'd rather ride inside. I was too mad to let go. We're not really going to hit Gold, are we?"

He's turned docile! Lawn thought in disgust. He's given in to the mutineers! Are they really going to win?

And then she saw that they were not.

She kept her silence.

dave counted ten seats and thirteen citizens, one dead. Horse didn't need a chair. Neither did the three jungle giants. Quite the contrary! But even with the wide cargo space aft, the carm was crowded.