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Most of the people around them simply went back to what they’d been doing, shrugging or laughing. But Tycho saw a few curious glances lingering—and one of the bearded spacers with the wolf patch on his jumpsuit was speaking urgently into his headset.
    His sister and brother saw it too.
    â€œAre we running?” Yana asked, trying to extract her gloves from the bowl of her helmet.
    â€œWe’re walking,” Carlo said. “But we’re walking fast .”
    They turned the corner and saw the inner door of the airlock open. Lights were flashing inside, illuminating a crowd of men and women in spacesuits. Sirens sounded, signaling that the lock was about to close.
    â€œNever mind—we’re running!” Carlo said.
    They broke into an awkward trot, helmets clutched to their chests. Tycho heard someone yell. He pushed past a brawny refinery worker, who barked indignantly at him. They were ten meters from the lock when the sirens stopped.
    â€œGo faster!” Carlo urged.
    The gap between the airlock’s heavy doors began to narrow. Carlo dashed inside, with Tycho right behind him. He turned and saw Yana still a couple of meters away.
    â€œYana!” yelled Tycho, looking for a way to stop the doors.
    â€œIdiot kids,” grumbled someone behind them. “If I get docked for being late, it’s coming out of your hides.”
    Yana turned sideways and slipped through the closing doors, yanking her helmet in after her. The doors banged shut, and she shook her head, gasping.
    â€œHelmets,” Carlo said, fitting his over his head and locking the collar. The airlock’s venting mechanism began to hiss.
    Tycho locked on his helmet and pulled on his left glove, fumbling with the seal. Wind tore at his right hand as the lock’s pumps began sucking out the air. Yana struggled with her helmet, still panting. She had only one glove on.
    The workers around them were yelling.
    â€œSeal it up, you stupid dirtsiders! Seal it up!”
    Tycho cinched his right glove shut. Yana looked frantically around the lock. Tycho saw her other glove lying on the deck. He dropped to his knees and handed the glove to her. The wind whipping past them began to subside as the pumps did their work.
    â€œTyke, we need to check seals,” Carlo said urgently, over the angry commotion around them. “If anything’s open, we’ll all burn.”
    Tycho’s instincts screamed to help his sister, but he knew Carlo was right. He forced himself to look at the readouts on Carlo’s chest.
    â€œYou’re green,” he said.
    â€œSo are you,” Carlo said.
    They turned and found Yana fumbling with her wrist seal. Sweat was pouring down her face, and they could hear her breath thundering over their suit radios. The workers around them had backed away, but there wasn’t enough room in the lock to protect them in case of an open seal, and their frightened gazes showed that they knew it.
    The sirens began to blare again. Yana yanked at her wrist seal so hard Tycho feared she might tear it open. He forced himself to focus and examine the readout on the front of her suit.
    â€œYana,” he said, “stop. You’re green. It’s all right.”
    Wind ruffled around them as hidden machinery pumped the nitrogen-rich atmosphere of Titan into the lock. The workers turned away, muttering in mingled anger and relief. A moment later, the outer doors split in the center, revealing the landing pad beneath a featureless orange sky.
    â€œThat was fun,” Yana gasped. “What was that crazy old woman so mad about?”
    â€œQuiet,” Carlo said as the lock began to clear. “We’re not safe yet—we need to get on the ship right now.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Yana asked. “Nobody followed us—I was the last one in.”
    â€œI’m not worried about who’s back there,” Carlo said. “I’m worried about who’s out