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gut still hurt.
    “So just remember, sonny, that this ain’t the Meadowdale Organage no more and—”
    “Organage? What’s that mean? That’s the third time—”
    Then the helmet that hung behind Bagshaw’s head uttered a quiet beep . In an instant he had nodded the helmet into place, leaving Cedric to stare blankly at its shiny exterior. The inside would contain vid displays, of course, and speakers.
    Bagshaw emerged again, grim-faced. All trace of banter had vanished and there was only business showing.
    “We have company. Never mind all that stuff.” He took two steps to one of the percies and opened it. “Have you got anything here that’s valuable?”
    “My camera.”
    “Forget it. Anything that can’t be replaced—souvenirs, personal sentimental things?”
    “Just my coins.” Gran had given him that camera…
    “Bring those, and leave the rest. They aren’t worth running through decon. Don’t leave any information, though. No letters, diaries?”
    Feeling more bewildered than annoyed, Cedric shook his head. Clutching his small bag of personal recordings, he stepped backward into the percy. Bagshaw reached in and swiftly began making the adjustments for him—the saddle and the shin pads, the chest and head straps. He was making them tight, and he had a deft touch despite his massive gauntlets.
    “Ouch!” Cedric muttered. His head felt as though it had just been set in concrete. The rental unit had not gripped nearly so hard. This one smelled much better—a clean, new, factory sort of smell. It was also larger.
    “Pull your chin in!” Bagshaw snarled, nimbly crushing Cedric’s aching belly with heavy padding. “This model’s guaranteed to twenty-five meters. Know what that means?”
    Cedric mumbled a negative as yet another strap immobilized his chin, wrenching his neck in the process.
    “It means you can drop about eight stories in it. I’ve tested one at twelve. Now, I’ll be running things, so you just relax and enjoy the ride. Keep your hands at your sides.”
    Cedric’s hands were almost the only thing he could move at all below his eyelids. The curious half-sitting position was surprisingly comfortable, as he knew from the previous day’s travels, and the new unit was a vastly better piece of machinery than the rental job that Bagshaw had scorned so much. It was even big enough for his freakish height. He had a good view through the front window, flanked by innumerable vids that he could see without moving his head, although few of their displays meant anything to him. He had a rear view through a mirror. A percy was a mobile coffin, a tomb with a view.
    Eight stories? That was only halfway down. It was the second half that would hurt.
    Bagshaw’s voice spoke in his ear. “Hear me okay?”
    “Fine.”
    The percies rose a few centimeters to lev position. They all tilted forward and began to move as a group for the door. Bagshaw was wearing only his bull suit, but his boots were off the floor also. He looked small and vulnerable between the five giant cylinders, as though he were a prisoner being escorted.
    He had put the rental job in front. It reached out its claws to flip the locks. Then it threw open the door and floated out into the corridor. White-hot fire jetted in from one side, searing right through the rented percy, cutting it in half, causing it to explode in a shower of molten metal and flaming plasteel. The carpet burst into flames. Even inside his armored tube, Cedric heard the roar and felt the blast. The blaze was bright enough to overload his viewplate and turn the images momentarily violet and red.
    “Well, damn!” Bagshaw’s voice muttered in his ear. “Looks like they want to play rough.”

4
    Ionosphere, April 7
    ALYA AWOKE WHEN the seats were rotated to prepare for reentry. The cabin lights were still low. She had not been aware of dozing off, but the sudden return of her terror told her that it had been absent and therefore she must have been asleep. She