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taken care of herself. Instead of acquiescing to her death, she had actually tried to prevent it.
    She wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not.
    She pushed a loose strand of hair off her face, and wiped the dust from her nose. Her skin was caked in dirt. Her hair was probably silver with debris. Her clothing was in shreds.
    And there was nothing she could do to change any of it.
    Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rusch She continued to make her way toward the communications room. The corridor widened near it.
    The door was open, and the light from inside seemed brighter.
    Maybe that was because she knew there were people inside.
    She used the door to lever herself inside.
    Three of her officers crowded around one lone console panel. The other consoles were on their sides, shattered, or ripped open for parts. Some of the bolted chairs remained in place. Others were shoved against the consoles, braced so that they wouldn't float free in the low gravity.
    Folle had his thin frame in the only chair in front of the console, and beside him Carad and Rogaur floated, watching. Both still wore their white lab coats, now stained with dust and black streaks.
    Carad's bald head had a nasty cut across the top that made her remember her own. She again tapped it with the scrap of cloth. It seemed the wound was clotting or filling with dust. For the moment either would work.
    The communications panel in front of the three men was the only panel in the room showing any power. Folle was typing something on the panel.
    "Did you have some luck?" she asked, floating up to the back of Folle's chair and pulling herself down into a standing position.
    Folle started as if he had heard a ghost. He glanced over his shoulder at her. And then he smiled, the look full of warmth and welcome.
    "We think we're sending on ten different bands," he said, as if her presence was not unusual, "but we
    THE RINGS OF TAUTEE have no way of knowing for sure. But we have to constantly keep inputting the data to keep it running."
    "How long did it take you to get the signal running?"
    "A while," Folle said. "I'm sorry I forgot to bring you supplies. I lost track of the time."
    "That's fine," she said. Carad glanced at her as if surprised that Folle had been taking care of her. "I'm out now. I'll manage just fine."
    "I knew you would," Folle said. He had returned his attention to the console. Somehow, it had become more important than she was. She wondered when that had happened.
    "You really think this will work?" she asked, hearing and wincing at the hope in her own voice.
    "In order for people to find us, they have to know we're here."
    What people? she wanted to ask, but she didn't.
    They were busy. They weren't brooding. They would spend their last few days well, instead of feeling sorry for themselves like she was.
    Like she was.
    Oh, hell. It was time she started taking care of herself as well. Death wasn't coming as quickly or as easily as she would like. It was her philosophy professor at the Studies Center who had said it was better for a person to live in perfect understanding of his crime than to die for that crime in complete ignorance.
    She finally understood what the professor had meant.
    Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rusch He had meant there were times when living was a greater torture than dying.
    It was time to accept her fate.
    "I'm going back to the observation room. Maybe I can get something working there. If there's someone out there, maybe I'll find them." She let go of Folle's chair. "Keep me posted."
    The men knew she had no chance of getting any of the observation equipment running again, just as she knew their signal had no hope.
    But like her they didn't say anything.
    "Good luck," Folle said without turning away from his work.
    "You too." She pushed off slowly for the door.
    Better to keep busy than to brood. The only difference was Folle had himself convinced that some mythical rescuer would appear.
    She knew rescue was