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spread to epic proportions due to the redistribution of body fluids that occurred in zero gee. He apparently thought his size gave him a psychological edge and often crowded her, like now.
    His odor was how Ruth remembered Earth, a full and textured smell. Good, real. Inviting. She finally glanced at him, wondering why he still bothered to act the gruff Soviet bear.
    He seemed to notice and tried a new tone. Truly he was more of a wolf, nimble and cunning. He spoke quietly now: “ Tovarisch , must I cover this hole? Will I assign someone to watch you? Why are you not understanding the importance?”
    The warm spark of mischief in her heart faded. Maybe that was best. “I’ve done all I can.”
    “India transmitted new schematics only yesterday—”
    “I’ve done all I can here.”
    He said nothing. He never did after she insisted she’d been beaten. It was a good trick, letting her stew in her shame and frustration. She used to blurt promises to work harder. Now they hung together in silence.
    At last, Ruth risked another look. Ulinov’s wide brown eyes were aimed not at her but out the viewport, where a vast corona of yellow-white illuminated the dark curve of the planet.
    “The snow’s melted enough,” she said. “Colorado should be able to clear a stretch of highway for us.”
    He was gruff again. “There will be no returning to orbit.”
    Ruth nodded. Plague Year , they were calling it now, changing the calendar, changing history, and the decision felt right in so many ways. Everything was dead and new all at the same time. It had been a very different life eleven months ago when she rode the last shuttle launch out of Kennedy Space Center, the final launch. The supply rockets put up by the Europeans a week later didn’t count.
    “We are remaining as long as we can,” Ulinov said. “The president ordered us with good reason.”
    And you want to stay a part of your war , she thought.
    Ulinov’s motherland, like so much of the planet, must now be unimaginably empty. The remnants of the Russian people had fled to the Afghanistan mountains and to the Caucasus range, a sheer jag of rock thrust up between the Caspian and Black Seas, where they were entrenched in a confused, ferocious struggle against the native Chechens and refugee hordes out of Turkey, Syria, Saudia Arabia, Jordan, and Iraq. It might have been worse except the Israelis had airlifted south to Africa and the high peaks of Ethiopia.
    Peace had at last come to Jerusalem and the Middle East.
    The space station still received sporadic broadcasts from the Russian population, demands for orbital surveillance or American military support or, sometimes, wild declarations of bloodthirst directed at their Muslim enemies. Ulinov transmitted high-res photos every day, weather and orbits permitting, and diligently relayed each request for supplies—and he had sworn his allegiance to the United States.
    As daylight lanced through the viewport, Ruth touched his shoulder. Foolish. Reaction sent them both drifting slightly. She increased her grip to keep them together. The surface of his jumpsuit was as cold as his self-control, but his gaze flicked to her hand and then roamed her face. His expression softened.
    Ruth spoke first. “Zero-gee working conditions aren’t an advantage if I don’t have what I need. I’m past the limit of what I can achieve with reconstructions. Badly translated reconstructions.”
    In the rush to get her away ahead of the invisible tide, ground crews had misplaced her samples of the nano. Most likely someone hadn’t understood why they were loading human body parts. The machine plague was most easily and safely preserved inside chunks of frozen tissue.
    She said, “Colorado’s using an old electron probe and India lost a lot of software. The breakdowns they’re sending are incomplete.”
    Ulinov seemed to shake himself, then pulled free from her. “Every time you report progress.”
    Ruth didn’t know what to do with her