't
move on to something new and challenging, then
we'll drift into extinction. You've heard this all
dozens of times; I won't dwell on it further."

Ram stood, paced, and turned his head to keep Brad
in sight as he paced and reversed direction. Brad's
eyes fixed on the view tank and stayed there.
There was nothing new in Ram's words, so far.

"Slingshot schedules are in their most critical
phase. We have a launch window for the Extractor.
It's not much of a window. If we miss it, Slingshot
fails. It's that simple. The launch cannot be
aborted; there'll be no second chance. People
across the system, by the millions, are committed
to the schedule. You, and your crew now serve in
that legion."

"What's going on here?" Brad cut in. "Are you
telling me we've been pressed into this job with
no choice of our own?"

His anger showing, Brad thumbed over his shoulder
toward the entryway, then at his chest.

"Tell me, Ram," Brad demanded, "how did it happen
that we six, three men and three women, are here
at this time for this purpose?"

"We'll get to that in time." Ram said, "I've
reviewed your trial record, but I'd like to hear it
from you -- straight. What happened?"

Brad stared at Ram for several seconds, obviously
making up his mind. Finally, he shrugged, and
contemplated his hands.

"Well, then you know I was Captain of a space
freighter," he began. "My job was to transport
high-mass mining equipment, ores and refined
stuff between Mercury, Venus and Luna.

"When this mess happened, we were Luna-bound with
a full load of worn out track-layers, rock-crushers,
drill robots, filters and other tools in the
forward and aft storage bays, and ingots
well-secured in stress-certified compartments.
The ship was at capacity, but within legal limits.
Mass and balance had been certified by Space
Traffic Control before they cleared us from Venus
orbit. The ship was in order.

"We were only about twenty-million kay from
the Luna Space Traffic Control Zone, but still in
max drive. Plenty of time to kick-in vector and
deceleration programs."

Brad paused, shifted position, rubbed his jaws,
sighed deeply, glanced sideways at Xindral and,
his voice tighter, continued.

"That's when that strung-out jock in a space-buggy
took us on for a game of 'chicken'.

"The buggy was a single-seater, tiny, barely ten
meters bow to stern, but the way she whipped
around us, it was plain to my duty officer that
she was charged b