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anything through it, even this close. If there's anyone left on board capable of communicating, which I sincerely doubt, they've got the same problems if they're trying to reach us."
    There has to be someone alive on board , McCrae thought fiercely. There has to be! It . . . it doesn't even have to be Dad. Just someone who can tell us what happened . To have come this close, actually to have found the long-lost Cygnus , and not to learn what had happened to her would be intolerable.
    She insisted to herself that the reasons for pursuing the investigation further were grounded soundly in science and not in personal emotions. But she knew it would be hard, if not impossible, to conceal her feelings from the rest of the crew—especially from Dan Holland. She wasn't at all sure she wanted to make the effort.
    The Palomino had passed beyond the Cygnus , began to curve back toward her. "Bring us full around, Charlie. We'll try orbiting her forward, then we'll check out the engines."
    "And after that?"
    "After that, if there's still no sign of life aboard . . . we'll see."
    "Yes, sir." Pizer concealed his impatience. "Bringing her around, sir."
    The Palomino 's attitude thrusters fired. A violent tremor ran through the length of the ship, like a sudden chill. Then they were tumbling out of control, away from the Cygnus .
    A small gauge in front of Holland jumped instantly from zero to eleven, then twelve. It continued rising toward unthinkable levels with terrifying rapidity.
    "Gravity approaching maximum, Dan!" Pizer shouted, fighting the panic in his guts.
    "My God." Holland's gaze remained locked on the single, critical readout. "It's got us . . ."

"Full power on all thrusters. Give me a hundred percent additional on our roll quads." Holland was frantically jabbing at controls, eyes darting from one readout to the next. Each appeared more threatening than its neighbor. On the screen, the Cygnus remained peaceful and stable, receding behind them.
    Malignant invisibilities smote the tiny vessel. Back near Power, several sensitive monitors ruptured, sending highly compressed gases whistling wildly down corridors and into unsealed rooms.
    "What the hell happened?" Pizer demanded of silent fates. "What happened?"
    "The zone of null- g ." Holland spoke rapidly, working at his console. "Its parameters are variable. I thought we had at least a couple of kilometers of quiet in which to turn, but the radius of the stable zone shifted while we were passing close to the Cygnus . It shrank inward.
    "My fault," he was stammering through clenched teeth. "It was my fault. We should have been monitoring it somehow."
    "Don't blame yourself." Pizer shifted power from one weakened thruster to another, balanced the propulsive system as best he could, given their wild course. "No one else thought of it. Besides, there's no way we could have monitored it. How can you monitor something you don't understand? We probably don't even have the instruments for it."
    All right, Charlie. You're right. Time for fixing the blame later . A warning light began flashing for attention on the left of his console. Vincent noticed it an instant before Holland.
    "Air break amidships." The robot spoke calmly. "Losing storage pressure." He studied fresh information, correlated it with what the computer was trying to tell him. "Regeneration-system failure. Seals are forming in the system. Pressure is holding, sir, but cannot do so indefinitely."
    "Do what you can with it, Vincent. I haven't got time now. Charlie, give us a full burst at one-eighty degrees on my count on the roll quads. If we don't correct our tumble, we might as well turn off the engines."
    "Standing by." Pizer's fingers rested tensely on two separate contact switches.
    "Mark. Five, four, three, two, one . . ."
    Pizer impressed the switches. The Palomino stopped tumbling . . . violently.
    The unexpected jolt nearly threw Durant, McCrae and Booth from their positions. Overpressurized beyond design, the air