of his hand on a dull
composite plate embedded in the wall. The force
field faded to a haze. They passed through, and
the haze resumed its shimmer behind them.

A portal came into view up ahead.

Jenkins motioned toward it and stepped aside as the
prisoners passed him and on through the opening.
The guards did not follow.

Of a sudden minus their escorts, the inmates
clustered inside the entry and stared about.

The compartment was generous by space habitat
standards. Well-lighted, it stretched ten meters
from wall to opposite wall. Parallel in the center
of the room a double line of four gray tables stood
fused to the deck, each with benches on each long
side, similarly immobilized. Evenly spaced along
the wall were curtained sleep-privacy enclosures.
Behind partitions on opposite sides of the
compartment were entries to two standard
wash-lavs. The furnishings were functional and clean.

One after the other, the prisoners drifted off to
inspect the enclosures. All were back in less than
a minute; they silently kept distance from each
other.

The inmate who had so carefully examined the
corridor while Malcolm talked, leaned against one
of the tables and crossed his arms. He repeated his
scan of the compartment, but this time one sector
at a time, turning to take it all in yet pass over
each cell-mate that entered his field of vision. His
movements gave the group a focus; it was easier
than to just stare at the walls and the austere
furnishings.

"I don't get this," the table-leaner locked arms
across his chest as he spoke with a puzzled
expression on his face. His voice was low, flat yet
courteous. "We may as well get the formalities out
of the way. Who are we? Names will do for starters.
I'm Brad."

Faces relaxed a mite. One of the women sat on a
bench. The ice may have cracked, but the silence
held. Brad had their attention.

Seconds passed.

"Hodak."

The word welled up as a growl, low and rumbling
from a squat, muscular man. His deeply embedded
eyes circled the room from under a boulder-brow
that bridged the space beneath his bald pate to
blend with the stub nose, wide mouth and crinkled
skin of a seemingly amiable face.

"I'm Zolan," said the third male. He was of medium
height, slight of build, waxy features and a high
brow with the pallid complexion of a spacer. As
alert and tense as a coiled spring, Zolan leaned
against a bulkhead, eyes moving rapidly from
Brad to Hodak to the walls