Steve snapped his cigarette butt at the air conditioner, moving only his fingers. “Okay. What have they got?”

Ann looked startled. “I don’t know.”

“Think of it as a puzzle. They don’t have a radio. How might they talk to each other? How can we check on our guesses? We assume they’re trying to reach us, of course.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Think about it, Ann. Get Jim thinking about it, too.” Jim Davis was her husband that year, and the ship’s doctor full time. “You’re the girl most likely to succeed. Have a smog stick?”

“Please.”

Steve pushed his cigarette ration across the room. “Take a few. I’ve got to go.”

The depleted package came whizzing back. “Thanks,” said Ann.

“Let me know if anything happens, will you? Or if you think of anything.”

“I will. And fear not, Steve, something’s bound to turn up. They must be trying just as hard as we are.”

Every compartment in the personnel ring opened into the narrow doughnut-shaped hall which ran around the ring’s forward rim. Steve pushed himself into the hall, jockeyed to contact the floor, and pushed. From there it was easy going. The floor curved up to meet him, and he proceeded down the hall like a swimming frog. Of the twelve men and women on the Angel’s Pencil, Steve was best at this; for Steve was a Belter, and the others were all flatlanders, Earthborn.

Ann probably wouldn’t think of anything, he guessed. It wasn’t that she wasn’t intelligent. She didn’t have the curiosity, the sheer love of solving puzzles. Only he and Jim Davis—

He was going too fast, and not concentrating. He almost crashed into Sue Bhang as she appeared below the curve of the ceiling.

They managed to stop themselves against the walls. “Hi, jaywalker,” said Sue.

“Hi, Sue. Where you headed?”