Different customs. Very. They hadn't briefed the crew to expect such things. Mind you, they hadn't been briefed about much. This was supposed to be a routine, if profitable, pick up and transport trip-not an exercise in diplomacy with pa.s.sengers who seemed, at times, more alien than the Quill.

"Thanks," grunted Leland, taking the tube and cracking the top seal with a thumb.

He didn't look around at the echo as sixty-four other seals were cracked. "Whatssir 'tinr'y?"

Linda worked this around, guessing "itinerary;" Leland's broken speech was hard for her to follow at best. "We've dropped out of translight and are vectoring to the station, sir. Captain Maazel-What was that?" That, being a solid thump felt through the floor plates, accompanied by a warning flicker of the interior lights. She grabbed for a hold on the seat rim, almost dropping her tray.

In case any missed the event, the shuttle's alarm gave a brief, self-conscious bleat.

Leland took a casual swallow before answering: "Sommat hit the hull," he said, as if the event was irrelevant. "When'r we dock'n?"

"I'll ask." Linda straightened, embarra.s.sed by the placid looks from the rest of the pa.s.sengers, and almost ran from the hold.

Those from Thromberg sat back and watched. They'd been told there were suits for everyone, plus a spare or two. As if any of them had believed that before boarding, Dave thought, then glanced at the port bulkhead to admire the flagrant wealth on display. Probably the Earthers were scrambling into their suits in the forwardcompartment. His panic-threshold required something a little more imminently threatening than a thump on the outside of a well-maintained ship. After all, if they'd been seriously holed, it would be a little late for suits. Earthers didn't seem very logical folks.

Another thud. This a bit louder, with a ssssshhhhhk at the end, as though something clung to the hull before being left behind. Like the other immies and stationers, Dave tilted his head, listening for signs the 'siders in back were reaching for their own suits, carefully stowed by their seats. Then it'd be time to move, all right.

"Mr. Leland." Dave looked forward with the rest. The voice was the captain's. She stood in the again-open doorway, this time partially suited up, two of the other crew behind her. Her expression made Dave tighten his grip on Annette's hand. He felt Jean leaning closer on the other side. "Would you come with me, please?"

Sammie nodded, standing with an awkward lurch. "Pettersen," he said, bringing one of the 'siders up the aisle to him, bag in hand. "Rest o' you don't fuss," he growled, running his eyes over them all. Dave nodded, knowing the others did the same.

"What are we facing here, Mr. Leland?"

Linda sat shoulder-to-shoulder between her crewmates, Pavel and Lili Wong. The three weren't directly involved in operations, so they waited, strapped into their seats along the starboard side of the little bridge, their backs to one of two emergency air locks, helmets ready in their laps. Pavel, to her left, had snapped on her helmet's tether, muttering under his breath. Null-g was always a possibility-gravity generators were reliable but not perfect. She'd been more grateful than embarra.s.sed.

They were all distracted by the conversation and its cause.

The captain and the two from Thromberg had moved back from the ops stations, though their bodies still screened the displays. Linda didn't need to see what was keeping the bridge somber and those less experienced swallowing repeatedly. The report had been whispered one to the other. What should have been the approach lane to the aft docking ring, their preferred access to Hamilton Station, was littered with debris.

Not just a hazard to ships.

The debris was from ships.

During the trip here, she'd looked over the stats. Hamilton Station was older than Thromberg by a handful of years, a difference reflected more in terms of interior decorating styles than any physical changes in design. What worked, worked. About a quarter of those carried by the shuttles were experts in station operations and should have no problem accessing Hamilton's systems. Stationers. Linda couldn't have told which they were.

Half were immigrants or their descendants. Immies. They had expertise of their own, as well as being willing hands. The rest? Not s.p.a.cers. Not now. Outsiders, who'd existed during the blockade by attaching their ships to the exterior of Thromberg and bleeding off her power, air, and water. Parasites or survivors. Linda hadn't made up her mind on that yet, thoroughly offended by the sight of so many star-ships turned into sc.r.a.p, stuck seemingly at random to Thromberg's hull. Outsiders were easy to spot: their coveralls showed wear from suit connectors-the kind of wear that only came after unimaginable use. For some reason, only older ones had volunteered for life on other stations.

Like the one standing between Leland and the captain, introduced as Torbjxrn Pettersen. Tall, skeleton-thin, with ragged white hair that had likely been blond, hehadn't spoken, only consumed everything on the bridge with quick furtive glances.

"What are we facing, Captain?" Leland seemed oblivious to the startled looks his suddenly educated voice attracted, turning to his companion. "Torbjxrn?"

Pettersen's voice was equally cultured, but quieter, almost shy. "This is deliberate.

They don't want company."

The captain leaned forward and consulted with the com operator, then straightened with a curse. "Approach to the stern ring is worse. We'll have to move in slowly, that's all. This material is matching the station in speed and trajectory-shouldn't be too difficult to do the same, and slide through the worst of it."

The 'sider stiffened. Leland held up a thick-fingered hand to stop whatever Pettersen might have wanted to say, instead reminding them unnecessarily: "Other ships didn't make it."

"These are asteroid mining shuttles, Mr. Leland, as requested by your station administration," Captain Maazel countered. "My crew and I are used to working in heavy dust and particle areas. These ships can take a substantial amount of impact if we do the pushing."

Linda should have been rea.s.sured by this, but something in the rigidity of the 'sider's back kept her hands clenched on her helmet. She hadn't realized she'd meant to speak until hearing her own voice: "Captain, recommend we suit up the pa.s.sengers before proceeding into the debris field. As a precaution." Pettersen swiveled his head, washed-pale eyes expressionless.

Captain Maazel nodded, her attention on what she and the others watched. "Take Romanov. See there's no panic."

"No need," Pettersen said, before Linda and Pavel could unstrap.

Leland explained: "If they need to suit up-they will. Let your people concentrate on getting us through this mess."

To Linda's disgust, Captain Maazel agreed, immediately gesturing them to stay as they were. It didn't help when she took the 'sider with her, forward in the bridge compartment, to engage the three ops crew in private discussion.

Leland had stayed behind. He walked over to stand in front of Linda, most of his bulk trespa.s.sing within her personal s.p.a.ce. She tried not to stare up his nostrils, which were bent and populated by large, black hairs.

"We appreciate your concern, Linda Gulliver," the stationer told her. "But you won't get our people to move until those in the back rows give the word."

"Why? Are they s.p.a.cers?" Pavel's voice contained something of awe. Linda supposed deep s.p.a.ce explorers were exotic beasts to those used to plying the Mars-t.i.tan run.

" 'Siders," Leland corrected, propping an unwelcome thong-enclosed foot beside Linda's thigh. "We each bring our skills to this adventure, Earther. Stationers to get Hamilton working, immies to bring the place to life again, and 'siders-" He paused, his attention caught by something forward.

"-'siders?" Linda prompted, even as she froze with alarm. Pettersen was tearing open the bag he'd brought, pulling out what appeared to be damaged bits of a s.p.a.cesuit.

" 'Siders? They deal with disaster." With this, Leland left them, hurrying to the others.

"So our pa.s.sengers have nothing in common-no wonder they almost killed one another," came from Lili, to Linda's left."They have something in common," Linda said almost to herself, trying not to be afraid. "They all survived."

The situation might have been death-imminent, or merely pandering to Earther-paranoia, but Dave couldn't resist taking the time to enjoy the novelty of not only wearing a suit, but having such a fine one. He stroked its smooth, flawless sleeves and connectors. He could see most of the others doing the same, even Annette, who'd professed disdain for Earther extravagances. Their generation had experienced very little this new. He couldn't imagine why the 'siders chose to put on their own gear, taping up the untrustworthy seams, making do-but no one from Thromberg bothered trying to think like a 'sider.

Finally, he put on the helmet, drawing in its fresh plastic smell with delight, only to freeze as words roared through his helmet com: "...the approach to Hamilton is not routine. Check seals; keep coms open. Repeat. The approach is not routine."

Pettersen's voice, the 'sider who'd gone forward with Sammie. Calm, cold, staccato urgent. Not routine. Station code for anything about to turn deadly. Another 'sider, now an unknown in a patched suit, began checking Annette's suit. Dave felt a touch from behind as someone else checked his. Suit air didn't taste the same, he found, fear drying his mouth.

The 'siders pushed them out of the way, into the seats, a tighter fit with suit bulk and air tanks added, but workable with the addition of the back rows and Sammie's.

This done, the 'siders, moving with rea.s.suring ease despite their suits, grabbed bags and loose gear and pa.s.sed it hand to hand, to be dumped into the compartment parallel to this one. Earthers' crew quarters-bigger than most families used on Thromberg-that they'd been using as a galley and exercise room. That door was closed and both aisles freed, but the 'siders kept moving, this time opening up the rear door-an air lock giving access to the cargo compartment. Several went inside, and didn't return.

Stationers and immies stayed put, silent, so the com could carry Pettersen's continuing report.

"Sammie wants me to remind you we're in the right ship to handle this-miners are built to shove their way through. Can take a fair hit as well, not that the crew plans to collide with anything avoidable. They might be Earthers, but they know their stuff." This last with a wry reluctance that brought a chuckle from a few. "Might be some sudden maneuvers, loss of g."

A pause, into which a question fell: "What's out there?"

Dave listened hard, straining for anything past his own breathing and the suit's background hum.

"Hamilton put up a fence, seems like," came the slow an-swer. "Bit of a waste, if you ask me. Recyclables. Other-things."

Hamilton Station hadn't replied to their messages, or those from Thromberg. As far as anyone could determine, she couldn't-a failure of equipment, knowledge, or, most likely, a lack of anyone to speak.

Dave now considered an even more terrifying possibility, given they were docking within the hour.

Maybe Hamilton chose not to answer.

"Bodies?"

"Shh." An unnecessary admonishment, since no one was paying attention to them, but Lili made it anyway. "That's what Sinshi says. Thousands of them. Along with ship debris and who knows what else.""I thought they ate their dead," Pavel hissed, leaning over Linda.

Common enough belief back home; a nightmare as they approached the grimly silent station. Linda shoved Pavel back. "You know that's c.r.a.p," she said firmly but quietly. "Thromberg buried her dead by sending them toward her sun. They're a posted ship hazard. Other stations did the same." She'd been in a cla.s.s debating if that had been respect-or to avoid terrible temptation. People who'd know now shared the shuttle's air supply with her.

Finding Hamilton had kept her dead close was not rea.s.suring.

Seconds became minutes, the time crawling down Linda's neck, arms, and legs like spiders she couldn't brush away. The captain had ordered a slow, careful approach, pa.s.sing that recommendation to the other ships. Agony, to sit, strapped in place- Concussion!

The shuttle's alarm covered any unprofessional outcries, profane or terrified.

Linda locked her helmet into place as others did the same, cutting off ambient sound.

Pettersen had put his on earlier, and now she knew why, hearing his voice, not the captain's, in her ear.

"...stop the shuttle," he was saying, no trace of emotion in his soft, quick voice.

"Those are suits. They aren't just bodies. They're mines! Stop all your ships."

The captain: "How can you know-"

Leland's voice crashed over both: "Because we never had enough suits, Captain.

No one would jettison one without d.a.m.ned good reason, let alone this many."

Emotion in plenty there, all of it dark. "Stop the ships! Now! Before we lose anyone else."

"Too late-" someone shouted.

Lights were half power-on emerg, probably. Nothing new, Dave told himself, refusing to think about what was new about their situation.

"Don't panic on me now," Annette said, reading his state of mind with the accuracy of practice. She'd switched their corns to privacy-it hadn't taken her long to puzzle out the helmet controls and take advantage of them. "You heard Pettersen and Sammie. The Earthers lost three shuttles-" a thickness to her voice the only acknowledgment of what else had been lost. Thankfully, station caution had insisted on several small ships, rather than the single large transport TerraCor had offered.

"-ours stayed intact. Solid ship; smart flying. Gotta give the Earthers some credit.

Dave. Are you listening?"

He nodded, exaggerating the motion through neck and shoulders so she could see it. "Good," she snapped. More gently. "Counting on you, husband."

"I'll do my part," he said gruffly. "If they get us into the station. Better switch us back to the general com."

Her gloved hand rested on his, then his helmet filled with other voices again, this time in debate.

The captain's: "The docking ring is undamaged. At least fifteen ports show green and available. Tell me again, Mr. Leland, why we're not to use them?"

"It's another trap."

"And you know this how?" the question courteous despite the tension.

The stationer didn't hesitate. "Because we did the same on Thromberg."

Open coms had their disadvantages. Linda listened to Leland's revelation and felt her stomach twist itself into a tighter knot. Docking ports were sacrosanct-the first rule of s.p.a.ce was to give unquestioned access to air and safety. Arguments could beresolved later, if need be.

Thromberg's actions had been against those who became the 'siders, yet Linda heard Pettersen's gentle voice supporting Sammie: "Hamilton doesn't want visitors.

Why would she leave her doors open and the welcome mat out?"

"So what can we do? Three shuttles are gone, Mr. Leland. Seven are incapable of translight without repair-two are bleeding air. We can't just sit here and wait for help."

"Your shuttles have ore grapples," Pettersen said. "They can be fired into the outer hull and used to winch us tight. Then we'll make our own door if necessary."

"'Sider methods." If there was a note of horror in the captain's voice, Linda was sure every Earther listening could echo it.

"I can attest they work, Captain," this from Leland.

Grapples. Linda stared at the suited figures, all but one in pristine Earther suits.

So. It was by no coincidence they were in a mining shuttle. The stationers had antic.i.p.ated trouble docking with Hamilton all along, and had come prepared to do things their way.

It put the "gear" in cargo into an entirely new light. And her pa.s.sengers-who were now anything but useless weight.

She unstrapped and stood, staggering a little as circulation returned to limbs tensed in one position too long. "Captain Maazel."

"I'm busy, Gulliver-"

"I've had training in emergency hookups," Linda interrupted. "I'd like to go back and help."

"Beats sitting here," came from Pavel. Linda felt more than saw Lili join them.

Pettersen turned. His battered helmet was lit a garish red from within, turning his face to that of some demiG.o.d. "Can you take orders from us, Earther?" he challenged.

"Mr. Leland said you were the experts in dealing with disaster, sir," Linda refused to back down. "Looks to be what we have here."

A noise from Leland, loud and rude, filled their helmets. "Got you there, Torbjxrn.

Go ahead, girl. If your captain has no objection."

"I object to everything except heading back to Thromberg," Captain Maazel muttered darkly. "Gulliver-take these two and see if you can lend a hand."

Earthers had helped. Side by side in the holds; out there, on the hulls of ship and station, drilling in feeds to tap air, power, and water from Hamilton's mains. Dave didn't know what to make of it. It was happening on the other shuttles as well, reports said. It took exhausting hours, but eventually the ships were declared snug and secure.

For now.

"Guess that makes us all 'siders," Annette had joked. They'd already begun thinking of themselves as stationers, not immies, acknowledging their futures would be on a station, not a world. Dave wasn't quite ready to be a 'sider, and had told her so, but he did appreciate their skills.

And the Earthers'.