It almost worked. It kicked him toward the rope slightly, but most of the energy was wasted in setting him into a wilder spin. He blinked, trying to spot the rope. It was within five feet now. Again he waited, until he seemed to be in position. This time he threw the bottle away from it. It added spin to his vertical axis, but the rope came into view within arm's reach. He grasped it, just as his lungs seemed about to burst. He couldn't hold on long enough to tie the rope.... His lungs gave up suddenly, collapsing and then sucking in greedily. Clean air rushed in, letting his head clear. He'd forgotten that the inflated suit held enough oxygen for several minutes. His body struck the edge of the airlock and a hand jerked him inside. The outer seal was slammed shut and locked, and there was a hiss of air entering. He threw back his helmet just as Chris Ryan jerked hers off. Her voice shook almost hysterically. "Thank God. Dan, I almost gave up!" "I liked the air out there better," he told her bitterly. "If you'll open the lock again, I'll leave. Or am I supposed to believe this is rescue and that you came along just to save me?" "I came along to see you killed, as you know very well. Saving you wasn't in my orders." He grunted and reached for the handle that would release the outer lock. "Better get back inside if you don't want to blow out with me." "It's up to you, Dan," she told him, and there was all the sincerity in the world in her blue eyes. "I'm on your side now." He began counting on his fingers. "Let's see. The spare battery, the delay in arresting me, the choice of Matthews--" "It was all true." Anger began to grow in her eyes. "Dan Feldman, you get inside this raft! If you don't care about me, you might consider the people dying of the plague who need you!" She'd played her trump, and it took the round. He followed her. "All right," he said grudgingly. "Spill your story." She held out a copy of a space radiogram, addressed to Mrs. D. E. Everts, and signed by one of the best doctors on the Lobby Board of Directors. Regret confirm diagnosis. Topsecret. Repeat topsecret. Martian fever incubates fourteen years, believed highly fatal. No cure, research beginning immediately. Penalty violation topsecret, death all concerned. "Mrs. Everts rates a topsecret break?" Doc commented dryly. "Come off it, Chris!" "She's the daughter of Elmers of Space Lobby!" Chris answered. She pointed to the message, underlining words with her finger. "_Fourteen years._ You couldn't have caused it. _Highly fatal._ And people are being told it's only a skin disease. _Research beginning._ But you've already done most of the research. I can see that now. I can see a lot of things."