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It went against my instincts, but I nodded and touched the weapon under my left armpit. It had been loaded aboard ship, and logic dictated that it still was. I wished I could make
sure. The shuttle rocked gently as the pressure tube made contact with the hull. The hatch opened, air hissed as pressures equalized, and the seat belt light went out. A newbie forgot to
compensate, jumped to his feet, and hit the overhead. The resulting thud could be heard all over the ship. The Mars hands laughed, shook their heads in disgust, and stood with
exaggerated slowness.
Sasha and I stayed in our seats until most of the passengers had left, stood, and eased our way forward. The last thing we wanted to do was follow the newbie s example. The
stew with the purple hair and matching day-glo nails looked at my head, nodded politely, and let us pass. Was she more interested than she should be? Or was she attracted to my size,
skull plate, and rugged good looks?
My heart beat faster as we walked down the pressure tube towards the terminal beyond. It might have been comical if it wasn t so frightening. There were thirty or forty people in
the waiting area. The moment we stepped out of the pressure tube, three or four of them pointed in our direction and shouted, There they are!
The only thing that saved us was the fact that neither group had expected the other to be there. Weapons appeared, darts flew, and people screamed. Innocent bystanders, of
which there were damned few, slid-scurried out of the way as the rest of us took cover behind the chrome-and-black-vinyl furniture. I placed my body in front of Sasha s, but she moved
around me. A woman popped up, tried to get a bead on us, and did a slow-motion tumble as Sasha shot her in the chest. I made a note to keep my movements slow and precise.
Alarms went off as a dart whirred by my ear. It came from behind! I turned, saw the stewardess with the purple hair fire again, and felt something graze my arm. I put two darts
through her throat. Blood pumped, day-glo nails clutched at her neck, and she slow-fell backwards.
The voice came over the PA system. THROW YOUR WEAPONS ON THE FLOOR AND PLACE YOUR HANDS ON THE TOP OF YOUR HEAD!
We never got a chance to obey, because a volley of sleep-gas canisters tumbled end over end into the waiting area and went off with a sibilant hiss. I had just started to react
when the darkness rolled me under.
10
The Class IV environment suit is not intended for prolonged use on planetary surfaces. Such use constitutes an abuse of said suit and serves to nullify all warranties offered by the
manufacturer.
A sticker found in the right armpit of each Jiffy Corp Class IV environment suit
Someone slapped my face. I felt my head rock back and forth. It hurt and, worse than that, forced me up out of the nice black hole where I d been hiding. I made a conscious decision to
hurt the person who was hurting me, gathered my energy, and reached for their throat. Or would have, if my arms had been free.
Someone laughed, a deep grunting sound, not unlike that made by primates in the zoo.
That made me really angry, angry enough to open my eyes and squint up into the harsh white light. It came from a ceiling-mounted fixture and served to silhouette my tormentor.
I couldn t see his features, but the outline was big. Bigger than I am. He saw my eyes open and nodded his satisfaction. So. sleeping beauty awakes. Time to rise and shine, sweet
cakes. We re going for a little hike.
I heard a series of clicks and felt the restraints drop away. The blob withdrew and I forced myself to sit. I had what felt like a hangover and decided the knockout gas was to
blame. The ambush! Sasha! Where was she? My head throbbed as I looked around. It seemed as though I was inside some sort of cylindrical vehicle, an impression that was confirmed
when it hit a bump and the back of my head bounced off a heavily padded bulkhead.
A corridor ran the length of whatever it was that I was in. It was filled with half-dressed men and women. They swore when the vehicle rocked from side to side and struggled to
don what looked like space suits. Almost all of them had the whipcord-thin look of people teetering on the edge of starvation. Some eyed me with open hostility. The rest seemed
determined to ignore me.
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