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dangling in the air, holding Peter by his
oxygen tank. At first it looked like Ramirez was floating, but then
Peter saw a green line on his visor. The micro-cord, a carbon weave
only a few dozen molecules thick, was invisible to the naked eye but
coded for his suit to detect. The line ran up to Saul, at the top of
the canyon. The big man tugged, and Peter and Ramirez flew upward.
    Halfway
there, Ramirez’s chest plate got caught in the shrinking gap and
jerked him to a stop. Peter reached the top and Saul caught him,
palming his helmet in one giant hand. He set Peter down and heaved
on the microcord.
    Twenty
feet down, Ramirez was sandwiched between the tightening asteroids.
Saul yanked him free, but the rocks closed, catching him a few feet
later.
    “Give
me a hand,” Saul said, panting.
    Peter
took the end of the cable and pulled, his artificial muscles
whining. Ramirez finally came loose, shooting up. He was nearly out
when his foot got stuck. Saul and Peter pulled on his arms, but his
metal boot was wedged tight, bending under the press of the walls.
    Peter
dove headfirst into the narrow gap, pressed his pistol to Ramirez’s
boot, and fired. The boot glowed red, warping and melting, and then
exploded into vapor, along with the foot inside. Ramirez popped
loose, colliding with Saul and sending them both tumbling.
    The
resistance of Ramirez’s boot gone, the asteroids lurched together,
clamping onto Peter’s helmet.
    —   —   —
    Peter
tried to twist free, but he was stuck. The fibers in his helmet
cracked and snapped, so loud that he thought his skull was
splitting. His only hope was for a painless death, but even as his
thoughts turned toward acceptance, he was overpowered by the urge to
escape. He didn’t want to die here; he wanted to get home, to see
Amber.
    He
flailed wildly, bucking and screaming. The cracking grew louder and
louder, and then came a terrible thud, twisting Peter’s neck. A
foot flew at his face, connecting with another thud. The foot swung
back and came hard, bending Peter’s head to his shoulder, but he
broke loose. He was yanked up, dangling by his ankle, face-to-face
with Saul.
    Saul
spun him like a baton, set him on his feet, and stood back. He
smiled expectantly.
    “Thank
you…” Peter started, but he was shoved forward. He took several
long steps to recover his balance, and then turned and drew his
pistol. He was facing a rock wall; Saul had set in him in the path
of the approaching asteroid.
    “You
better watch out for those things, sir,” Saul said. “Get
yourself killed and they’ll try to make me the new sergeant.”
    Peter
whirled on Saul, ready to be angry, but saw the smirk on his face.
    “I
wish they would,” he said with a weak smile.
    The
ground shook as the two asteroids came together. Ramirez, standing
on one leg, hopped to keep his balance and fell over. He laughed
like he was drunk, and soon they were all laughing.
    “Thanks,
Sarge,” Ramirez said as Peter helped him up. “Man, I need a new
foot.”
    Ramirez’s
missing foot outlined on Peter’s visor. It was annotated with a
dozen details—his estimated top running speed and how much weight
he could support, as well as a list of which painkillers and mood
enhancers his suit was administering, the latter explaining his good
mood. Peter turned to Saul and saw similar data.
    Must
come with my promotion , he thought. He looked at the bullet
wound in his arm, but nothing appeared.
    “So
what’s next?” Saul asked, clapping Peter on the back.
    Peter
shrugged. His map was blank—he had no connection to the battle
computer and no idea where the Riel outpost was. He turned in a
circle, taking in the nothingness. Even the stars had abandoned him,
blocked out by unseen asteroids.
    —   —   —
    “When
I’m Sergeant,” Ramirez said, “I’m gonna have all my men
carry a spare gas tank.”
    “You’ll
never be a sergeant,” Saul said.
    The
men were still on the asteroid with no idea where to