"Have you been talking to Themis?"

"No."

"Very well. You will not, repeat not, deviate from your patrol. You are on a very thin line with us, Gollem. If your log shows anything whatever in connection with Themis you're out of the Company and there will be a lien against you for your overdrawn pension. And there will be no transport rights. Do I make myself clear?"

Gollem cut channel. When he could control his hands he punched Weather for the updated rogue orbits. Both rocks were now computed to node in sector Themis, but well clear of Themis main. He frowned. Who was hurting? His ephemeris showed only the new medbase in the general volume, listed as Nonaffiliated, no details. It seemed to be clear, too. If that polluted Hara...

Gollem grunted. He understood now. Quine was hoping for some ha.s.sle in Themis which might persuade Ceres Control to rea.s.sign part of that sector to him. And the medbase wasn't Company, it was expendable for publicity purposes. Truly fine, he thought. Much gees for Quine if it works.

He was coming into West Hem Chemicals. Before he could signal, his audio cut loose with curses from the cyborg chief. Gollem swerved to minimize his intrusion on their body lines and the chief cooled down enough to let him report that he had killed their bogy.

"It was an old field-sounder," Gollem lied. Had they identified Ragnarok?"Slope out. Go." The old cyborg op couldn't care less. He had electrode jacks all over his skull and his knuckles sprouted wires. Much as Gollem loved metal, this was too much. He backed out as gingerly as he could. The men-or maybe the creatures-in there were wired into the controls of robot refining plants on all the nearby rocks, and he was hashing across their neural circuit. Wouldn't be surprising if they fired on him one day.

His next stop was the new aggregation franchise in Eleven. It was a slow-orbit complex on the rim of the Kirkwood Gap, a touchy location to work. If they started losing rocks they could spread chaos in the zone.

Aggregation meant power units, lots of them. Gollem began figuring Ragnarok's parameters. His stomach also began to gripe him; the outfit that had leased Eleven had big plans for a self-sustaining colony on a slim budget. They needed those units to bring in gas-rich rocks.

When he got inside Gollem saw they had other problems too.

"We've computed for two-sigma contingency," the Eleven chief repeated tiredly. They were standing beside a display tank showing the projected paths of the rocks they intended to blast.

"Not enough," Gollem told him. "Your convergence-point is smeared the h.e.l.l all over. You lose a big one and it'll plow right into Ten."

"But Franchise Ten isn't occupied," the chief protested.

"Makes no difference. Why do you think you got this franchise cheap? The Company's delighted to have you aggregating this lode, they're just waiting for you to lose one rock so they can cancel and resell your franchise. I can't certify your operation unless you recompute."

"But that means buying computer input from Ceres Main!" he yelped. "We can't afford it."

"You should have looked at the instability factors before you signed," Gollem said woodenly. He was wishing the chief didn't have all his hair; it would be easier to do this to a skinhead.

"At least let me bring in the rocks we have armed," the chief was pleading.

"How many one-gee units have you got out there?" Gollem pointed.

"Twenty-one."

"I'll take six of them and certify you. That's cheaper than recomputing."

The chief's jaw sagged, clenched in a snarl.

"You polluted b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

Suddenly there was a squeal behind them and the commo op tore off her earphones. The chief reached over and flicked on the speaker, filling the bubble with an allband blare. For a minute Gollem thought it was a flarefront, and then he caught the human scream.

"MAYDAY! MA-A-Y-DAY-AAY! GO-OLLEE-".

Oh no! Oh Jesus, no. He slammed down the speaker, the sweat starting out all over him.

"What in s.p.a.ce-" the chief began.

"Old beacon in the Gap." Gollem bunted through them. "I have to go kill it."

He piled into his boat and threw in the booster. No time for power units now. That yell meant Topanga was in real trouble, she wasn't calling dead men.

If he tied in the spare booster he could override the field-forms for a straighter course. Strictly verboten. He did so and then opened his commo channels. Topanga wasn't there.

Fire? Collision? More like, Leo and friends had made their move.

He hurtled downstream in a warp of wasted power, his hands mechanically tuning the board in hopes of pulling in some phagers' signals, something. He picked up only far-off mining chatter and a couple of depot ops asking each other what the Mayday was. Someone in Sector Themis was monotonously calling Inspector Hara. As usual Hara wasn't answering, there was only the automaticstandby from Themis main. Gollem cursed them all impartially, trying to make his brain yield a plan.

Why would the phagers move in on Ragnarok so fast? Not their style, confrontation. If he blew they'd lose the ship, they'd have to cope with a new inspector. Why risk it when they had him by the handle already?

Maybe they figured it was no risk. Gollem's fist pounded on the tuner in a heavy rhythm. Paint it black.... But they have to keep her alive till I get there. They want me.

What to do? Would they believe a threat to call Ceres Control? Don't bother to answer. They know as well as I do that a Company bust would end with Topanga in a gerry ward, Ragnarok in Quine's trophy park and Gollem in a skull-cage.... How to break Topanga loose from them? If I try to jive along the first thing they'll do will be to shoot us both up on phage. Addicition dose. Why, why did I leave her there alone?

He was going around this misery orbit for the nth time when he noticed the Themis voice had boosted gain and was now trying to reach Coronis, his home base. Correction, Quine's home base. No answer.

Against his stomach's advice he tuned it up. "Medbase Themis to Coronis main, emergency. Please answer, Coronis. Medbase Themis calling Coronis, emergency, please-"

The woman was clearly no commo op. Finally Quine's girl chirped: "Medbase Themis, you are disturbing our traffic. Please damp your signal."

"Coronis, this is an emergency. We need help-we're going to get hit!"

"Medbase Themis, contact your sector safety patrol officer, we have no put-of-sector authorization.

You are disturbing our traffic."

"Our base won't answer! We have to have help, we have casualties-"

A male voice cut in. "Coronis, put me through to your chief at once. This is a medical priority."

"Medbase Themis, Sector Chief Quine is outstation at present. We are in freight shuttle a.s.sembly for the trans-Mars window, please stand by until after launch."

"But-"

"Coronis out."

Gollem grimaced, trying to picture Quine going outstation.

He went back to pounding on his brain. The Themis woman went on calling. "We are in an impact path, we need power to move. If anyone can help us please come in. Medbase Themis-"

He cut her off. One Ragnarok was enough and his was just ahead now.

There was a faint chance they weren't expecting him so soon. He powered down and drifted. As his screens cleared he saw a light move in the bubbles behind the freightlock.

His one possible break, if they hadn't yet moved that phage inboard.

He grabbed the wrecking laser controls and kicked the patrolboat straight at Ragnarok's main lock.

The laser beam fanned over the bubbles, two good slices before he had to brake. The crash sent him into his boards. The docking probes meshed and he sprang headfirst into Ragnarok's lock. As it started to cycle he burned the override, setting off alarms all over the ship. Then he was through and caroming up the shaft. Among the hoots he could hear more clanging. Phagers were piling out through the freightlock to save their bubbles. If he could get to the bridge first he could lock them out.

He twisted, kicked piping and shot into the bridge, his arm aimed at the emergency hatch-lock lever.

It hadn't been used for decades-he nearly broke his wrist, yanking the lever against his own inertia and was rewarded by the sweet grind of lock toggles far below.

Then he turned to the command couch where Topanga should be and saw he was too late.

She was there all right, both hands to her neck and her eyes rolling. Behind her a lank hairless figure was holding a relaxed pose, in his fist a wirenoose leading around Topanga's throat."Truly fine, 'Spector." The phager grinned.

For a second Gollem wondered if Leo hadn't noticed the hand-laser Gollem pointed. Then he saw that the phagehead was holding a welder against Topanga's side. Its safety sleeve was off.

"Deal, Gollyboy. Deal the fire down."

No way. After a minute Gollem sent his weapon drifting by Leo's arm. Leo didn't take the bait.

"Open up." The phager jerked his chin at the hatch lever and Topanga gave a bubbling whine.

When Gollem opened the hatch the game would be over all the way. He hung frozen, his coiled body sensing for solidity behind him, measuring the spring.

The phager jerked the wire. Topanga's arms flailed. One horrible eye rolled at Gollem. A spark in there, trying to say no.

"You're lolling her. Then I tear your head off and throw you out the waster."

The phager giggled. "Why you flash on killin'?" Suddenly he twisted Topanga upside down, feet trailing out toward Gollem. She kicked feebly. Weird, her bare feet were like a girl's.

"Open up."

When Gollem didn't move the phager's arm came out in a graceful swing, his fingers flaring. The welding arc sliced, retraced, sliced again as Topanga convulsed. One girlish foot floated free, trailing droplets. Gollem saw a white stick pointing at him out of the blackened stump. Topanga was quiet now.

"Way to go." The phager grinned. "Truly tough old bird. Open up."

"Turn her loose. Turn her loose. I'll open."

"Open now." The welder moved again.

Suddenly Topanga made a weak twist, scrabbling at Leo's groin. The phager's head dipped.

Gollem drove inside his arm, twisted it against momentum. The welder rocketed out around the cabin while he and the phager thrashed around each other, blinded by Topanga's robe. The phager had a knife now but he couldn't get braced. Gollem felt legs lock his waist and took advantage of it to push Topanga away. When the scene cleared he clamped the phager to him and began savagely to collect on his investment in muscle-building.

Just as he was groping for the wire to tie up the body something walloped him back of the ear and the lights went out.

He came to with Topanga yelling, "Val, Val! I've got em!"

She was hanging on the console in her hair using both hands to point an ancient Thunderbolt straight at him. The muzzle yawned smoke a foot from his beard.

"Topanga, it's me-Golly. Wake up, s.p.a.cer, let me tie him up."

"Val?" A girl laughing, screaming. "I'm going to finish the murdering mothers, Val!"

Valentine Orlov, her husband, had been in the snows of Ganymede for thirty years.

"Val is busy, Topanga," Gollem said gently. He was hearing hull noises he didn't like. "Val sent me to help you. Put the jolter down s.p.a.cegirl. Help me tie up this creep. They're trying to steal my boat."

He hadn't had time to lock it, he remembered now.

Topanga stared at him.

"And why do I often meet your visage here?" she croaked. "Your eyes like unwashed platters -".

Then she fainted and he flung himself downshaft to the lock.

His patrolboat was swinging away. Tethered to it was the phage-runners' pod.

He was stranded on Ragnarok.

Rage exploded him back to the bridge consoles. He managed to send one weak spit from Ragnarok's lasers after them as they picked up gees. Futile. Then he pulled the phager's head over his knee and clouted it and turned to setting up Topanga with an i.v. in her old cobweb veins. How in h.e.l.l had-those claws held a jolter? He wrapped a gel sheath over her burns, grinding his jaw to still the uproar in his stomach. He completed his cleaning by towing the phager and the foot to the waste lock.

With one hand on the cycle b.u.t.ton he checked frowning. He could use some information from Leo-what were they into in his patrol sector?

Then his head came together and his fist crunched the eject. His patrol sector?

If the Companies ever got their hands on him he'd spend the rest of his life with his brains wired up, paying for that patrolboat. If he were lucky. No way, no where to go. The Companies owned s.p.a.ce.

Truly he was two thousand light-years from home now-on a dead driveship.

Dead?

Gollem threw back his lank hair and grinned. Ragnarok had a rich ecosystem, he'd seen to that.

n.o.body but the phagers knew she was here and he could hold them out for a while. Long enough, maybe, to see if he could coax some power out of that monster-house without waking up the sector.

Suddenly he laughed out loud. Rusty shutter sliding in his mind, letting in glory.

"Man, man!" he muttered and stuck his head into the regeneration chamber to check the long trays of culture stretching away under the lights.

It took him a minute to understand what was wrong.

No wonder the phagers came back so fast, no wonder he was laughing like a dummy. They'd seeded the whole works with phage culture. A factory. The first trays were near sporing, the air was ropy. He hauled them out, inhaled a clean lungful and jettisoned the ripe trays.

Then he crawled back in to search. On every staging the photosynthetic algae were starting to clump, coagulating to the lichen-like symbiote that was phage. Not one clean tray.

In hours Ragnarok would have no more air.

But he and Topanga wouldn't care. They'd be through the walls in phagefreak long before.

He was well and truly shafted now.