"_Maybe I've got a version that's easier to understand, Jim_," the voice sounded forcefully from the direction of the hatch. Inspector Graham and Altman spun around. Jim didn't have to. He was facing the hatch. Altman blanched; backed away; stopped, and held his ground. "Brad!" Jim shouted unbelievingly and rushed forward to grasp his arms as the Fleury's skipper leaped off the side of the ramp. He was haggard but smiling. "Who's this?" the inspector asked. "This is Conally, the skipper of the Fleury," Jim explained jubilantly. The inspector started, looked at the form on the apron, back at Brad, then at Altman. "A trick!" Altman cried hoarsely. "I see it all, inspector. It's a damned trick! I've been roped in!" He was putting on a rather good act, Brad thought. But he went along with his story anyway. As Brad unfolded the incidents of sabotage, threat, assault, refusal to assist, pirating cargo, plotting murder and disregard of Space Code Regulations, he watched Altman gain more control over himself. "I realized about an hour before spillthrough," Brad was approaching the end of his account, "that the Fleury was no longer holding the spilled cargo in an orbit because its grav system wasn't working. Whatever crates broke free from the holds also broke free from the ship's system and were no longer being dragged down the descending node toward spillthrough. They were remaining stationary on the arc--where Altman was sure to pick them up. "Your spacesuit, Jim, came in handy. Without it, nothing could have been done. I just filled it up with anything I could find--extra clothing, insulation from the ruptured tube, a few utensils. It didn't make any difference. The crew members who would handle the "body" would believe it felt as torn apart as any other space suited body that experienced spillthrough at a snail's pace. "To add weight, I broke open a bin of hematite and poured about a hundred pounds or so of the stuff into the suit. I stirred it gently; got more hematite--red ocher, you know--and half-filled the helmet. We had enough control column oil left to wet it down rather thoroughly. The new mixture had a rich, dark-red color, just like I thought it would. I sloshed the goo around in the helmet so all the inner surface was coated with the mixture and with small bits of indistinguishable odds and ends; then I clamped the dome onto the suit and harnessed it in the pilot's seat. "I put on my own helmet again, went aft and crawled into a half-busted crate. With the wrist propulsor, I jockeyed the thing out of the hold to make damned sure it would break free of the Fleury's system and wouldn't spill through with the ship. After I saw I was drifting off, I worked my way well into the bracing between the crate and the inter-calc unit so I couldn't be seen through the broken sections of the box.