e. So, if we need
to move fast when we board, hit the accello-nets
pronto. Got it?"

"Right," from Kumiko.

"Scarf?"

"Sure, sure. I got it."

"Next. I want 'em to be able to see that the power
settings on our sidearms are low enough so as
not to kill or cause serious injury. Is that clear?"

"If they start anything, I'd just as soon take a
few of them out for good." Scarf postured his
belligerence.

"Nothing doing, Scarf," Brad shot back. "Using
our weapons on this mission is bound to delay
the schedule, if not much worse. It's been fouled
up already by this little sortie. So don't provoke
'em; set your weapon in the lower levels."

Brad set his weapon at the extreme low setting
and noted that Kumiko did the same. Scarf set
his at the highest level in the non-lethal category,
and with a sneer at Brad, returned the weapon
to its sheath.

Kumiko looked thoughtful. "We should wear suits
while we're on board the Sandbox, Brad," she said.
"It may slow us down a bit, but we'll need to look
at gun emplacements that have minimal air or
none at all."

"Sounds reasonable. OK, keep your suits on."

They rigged their sidearms for control from within
their suits and transferred them to outer sheaths.
They donned the suits, checked each other's suit
security, seal pressure, inter-suit communications,
and reported.

"Move out," Brad said.

Chapter NINETEEN

The Sandbox's receiving officer observed Brad and
his party's approach through a clear pane in the
air lock's pressurized section. The four husky
deckhands and the officer-in-charge hefted
snub-nosed rifles.

A pressure-suited deckhand responded to Brad's
hand signal that his crew was aboard by conducting
a visual safety check of the ship-to-utility
connections. He turned away, and Brad felt the deck
vibrate as the clamshells slammed shut. Kumiko and
Scarf moved up to stand behind Brad as pressure
equalizers hissed. Moments later, the air lock's
inner door slid aside and they passed through.
Opening their helmet faceplates, they returned
the glares of the receiving party.

"Rimov, and gunnery is my business," said the
officer, "what in hell are you gonna do to my guns?"

Brad wished he were beside the grizzled spacefarer
facing their common adversary, rather than
confronting him.

"Curtin, and my business is to make sure your
guns don't get you all killed. I want to check your
weapons control center, and every gun emplacement.
First