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who was diligently checking every card. She directed them to the right-hand aisle. And down to row H. The first three seats bore “reserved” cards. A large male usher hurried forward from the front to validate the tickets again, nodded, and directed them to take their seats. In the next few minutes they had to get up several times to allow others to pass.
    Careful, Pete. You’re floating
, Rhyssa said, and casually pressed his arm to settle him more firmly in the seat.
    All this up-ing and down-ing
, Peter muttered, disgruntled, because those making their way to seats beyond him obscured his view out the windows.
I can’t wait until the lights come on and I can really
see.
    At least we’re far enough to one side so that the stage doesn’t obscure your view
, Rhyssa said in an encouraging voice.
    Peter sat very straight, though she could hear the rumble of his discontent, for what seemed like an intolerably long wait. Actually, the audience was in a hurry to be seated and very shortly she felt the air of intense anticipation in the boy.
    “Those ushers are military,” Dave murmured in her ear, smiling at her as if he had said something innocuous.
    Rhyssa gave a look at the ones in front, facing the audience. The stance was unmistakable as a “parade rest”—hands clasped behind their backs, legs slightly apart.
    Johnny, where did she conscript her ushers?
Rhyssa asked in a diffident tone.
    Where d’you think? Moscow. She’s got many connections downside and all over that part of old Russia. But I knew about
them.
Sent many of’em up myself so we had a chance to check ’em out unofficially
, Johnny replied.
They’re not the ones we worry about
. They’re
visible. Anyhow, all of my guests have got in safely. Lance Baden and Gordon Havers are among’em, though I thought someone might spot Lance and challenge him. And
, Rhyssa could hear his smug satisfaction,
the others are properly dispersed
.
    She was about to quiz him on “what others?” when a wide door opened beyond her. She caught a glimpse of another large chamber, tables set along the outside and covered with trays of food. There seemed to be rather a lot of very big men and women, dressed in white waiters’ jackets.
    Are they indeed
, said Johnny, catching her startled reaction.
Good to know. Knew I was wise to bring your sharp eyes along, Rhyssa. Oh, and incidentally, Pete, there’s power on tap all over this level
.
    Peter turned to look at Rhyssa, eyes puzzled.
    What’s going on, Johnny?
Rhyssa asked crisply.
    I honestly don’t have a clue, yet
.
    “Hey, they’re starting,” Dave said, pointing to other panels sliding open, where the wide steps to the stage were situated.
    Space Station Construction Manager Ludmilla Barchenka led the procession, wearing a severe uniform of space-blue with a chestful of decorations from her grateful motherland, soft spacer’s beret crammed on her large head. For once her expression was not sour: she had an air of triumph about her. Some facet of that emotion alerted Rhyssa.
    I’ve never seen her this pleased before, Johnny. She
is
up to something
.
    Can you tell what?
    Not as long as she wears that metal skullcap
.
    Yeah
, and Johnny sounded disgusted.
    Admiral Coetzer, in the black uniform of his new responsibility, followed her, leading others of his staff, each paired with one of Ludmilla’s outgoing executives.
    At least they’re wearing different uniforms
, Johnny added.
    Can’t they get on with it!
Peter said impatiently as the seating on the stage filled with the honored guests.
    As the stage access door closed and the last person sat down, Peter emitted another gusty sigh.
    Ludmilla Barchenka rose, nodded abruptly to Admiral Coetzer, and they both went to the table placed to one side of the lectern. An aide rushed to pull off the velvet covering and exposed the gleaming metallic switch, atop a pedestal.
    The admiral smiled. Barchenka didn’t.
    “This is what you are here to see,” she said in