ing near. Together they went
forward, where the spacesuits were kept.

Cameron scowled puzzledly and started to follow. Jordan waved the
toaster around.

"All right," said the doctor, stopping. He rubbed his chin. "What is
she thinking about?"

"I wouldn't know," said Docchi. "She's not scientifically trained, if
that's what you mean. But she has a good mind, as good as her body
once was."

"And how good was that?"

"We don't talk about it," said Jordan shortly.

* * * * *

It was a long time before the women came back--if the weird creature
that floated into the control compartment with Nona _was_ Anti.

Cameron stared at her and saw shudderingly that it was. "You need a
session with the psycho-computer," he said. "When we get back, that's
the first thing we do. Can't you understand...."

"Be quiet," growled Jordan. "Now, Anti, explain what you've rigged
up."

"Any kind of pressure is good enough as far as the outside of the body
is concerned," answered Anti, flipping back the helmet. "Mechanical
pressure will do as well as air pressure. I had Nona cut the
spacesuits into strips and wind them around me--hard. Then I found a
helmet that would fit over my head when the damaged part was cut away.
It won't hold much air pressure, even taped very tight to my skin. But
as long as it's pure oxygen--"

"It might be satisfactory," admitted Docchi. "But the temperature?"

"Do you think I'm going to worry about cold?" asked Anti. "Me? Way
down below all this flesh?"

"Listen to me," said Cameron through his teeth. "You've already
seriously threatened my career with all this childish nonsense. I
won't permit you to ruin it altogether by a deliberate suicide."

"You and your stinking career," retorted Jordan tiredly. "We're not
asking your permission to do anything." He turned away from the
doctor. "You understand the risk, Anti? It's possible that it won't
work at all."

"I've thought about it," Anti replied soberly. "On the other hand,
I've thought about the asteroid."

"All right," said Jordan. Docchi nodded. Nona bobbed her head; it was
doubtful that she knew what she was agreeing to.

"Let's have some telecom viewers outside," said Docchi. "One directly
in back, one on each side. We've got to know what's happening."

Jordan went to the control panel and flipped levers. "They're out and
working," he said, gazing at the screen. "Now, Anti, go to the freight
lock. Close your