Crag looked thoughtfully at the pot. "I should cite you for a court-martial. However ..." He reached for the cup the Chief was extending. They drank the coffee slowly, savoring each drop, while Larkwell outlined their next step. It was one Crag had been worrying about. "As you know, the plans call for living in the Aztec until we can get a sheltered airlock into operation," Larkwell explained. "To do that we gotta lower this baby to the horizontal so I can loosen the afterburner section and clear out the gunk. Then we can get the prime airlock installed and working. That should give us ample quarters until we can build the permanent lock--maybe in that rill we passed." "We got to rush that," Nagel cut in. "Right now we lose total cabin pressure every time we stir out of this trap. We can't keep it up for long." Crag nodded. Nagel was right. The airlock had to be the first order of business. The plans called for just such a move and, accordingly, the rocket had been designed with such a conversion in mind. Only it had been planned as a short-term stopgap--one to be used only until a below-surface airlock could be constructed. Now that Drone Able had been lost-- "Golly, what'll we do with all the room?" Prochaska broke in humorously. He flicked his eyes around the cabin. "Just imagine, we'll be able to sleep stretched out instead of doubled up in a bucket seat." Larkwell took up the conversation and they listened while he outlined the step-by-step procedure. It was his show and they gave him full stage. He suggested they might be able to use one of Aztec's now useless servo motors in the task. When he finished, Crag glanced down at the Bandit crewman. Pale blue eyes stared back at him. Ice-blue, calm, yet tinged with mockery. They exchanged a long look. "Feel better?" Crag finally asked, wondering if by any chance he spoke English. "Yes, thank you." The voice held the barest suggestion of an accent. "We brought you to our ship ..." Crag stopped, wondering how to proceed. After all the man was an enemy. A dangerous one at that. "So I see." The voice was laconic. "Why?" "We're human," snapped Crag brutally. The pale blue eyes regarded him intently. "I'm Adam Crag, Commander," he added. The Bandit crewman tried to push himself up on his elbow. His face blanched and he fell back. "I seem to be a trifle weak," he apologized. He looked at the circle of faces before his eyes settled back on Crag. "My name is Richter. Otto Richter." Prochaska said, "That's a German name." "I am German." "On an Iron Curtain rocket?" Nagel asked sarcastically. Richter gave the oxygen man a long cool look. "That seems to be the case," he said finally. The group fell silent. It was Crag's move. He hesitated. When he spoke his tone was decisive. "We're stuck with you. For the time being you may regard yourself as confined. You will not be allowed any freedom ... until we decide what to do with you." "I understand."