Ria was posed dramatically, metal stool in hand, in the act of trying to smash the port-cover. The fused-quartz pane was already spiderwebbed, and air sucked out in a rising whine. Ria changed her mind and flung the stool at Heydrick. He lunged under it and caught her round the waist. In one movement, he flung her over his shoulder and whirled back out to the passage. Dropping her in a heap, he clawed shut the insulated emergency door and spun the wing-nuts. Waves of cold licked his eyelashes and his fingers stung with frost before he got the job done.
The girl's green eyes watched him warily, as a cat's might.
"I'm sorry you made it," she spat at him viciously. "I hate you—hate you!"
Heydrick spun the dials on the handcuffs. "Okay, kid, if you want to play rough, you'll sit out the rest of the trip on my lap. The interval is two feet, as of now."
"I hope you can take it." Then she snapped. Tears burst out. She raged and screamed and kicked, laughed and cried and choked at the same time. Heydrick slapped her out of it. She huddled on the floor, sobbing weakly.
The co-pilot came along the passageway. "Oh, it's your pet? We thought it might be."
"Still want to trade jobs?"
"It might be fun to spank her, but I'll skip it. I've news for you. We can't land in City 4—trouble of some kind—sounds like a good row."
"Do you know what's wrong?"
"They didn't say. Orders are to take the ship on the Desert City 12. You two can go down in the lighters with the freight." The co-pilot patted Ria on the shoulder—she cringed away from him. "Tough luck," he said gently. "Too bad you're stuck with Bighead here. If you were dealing with me, we'd go off to some empty asteroid and camp out for the rest of your life."