He selected and checked a suit for fit, fresh fluids, air and communications. Climbing in and closing up, he stepped under a helmet rack, drew it down, rotated mating surfaces, closed and locked the seals. The automatic self-test devices hummed pressure checks, and indicators glowed as the life support systems balanced internally. The suit inflated, held for several seconds, and subsided to normal. A tiny light above the inside visor glowed green to show status as ready. Passing through the outer air lock Zolan turned toward a line of flitters. A guard watched him approach, rifle held casually across his chest. "OK," said the guard when Zolan was within five meters. "Hold it there. What's on your mind?" "Name's Zolan. I need a long range flitter for a hop into the outback." "Let's see your authorization." "What authorization?" The guard's head wagged in his helmet. "Y'gotta have authorization for a distant destination, buddy. That's orders. Otherwise, take a taxi." "Orders, hell," Zolan growled. "I can't get where I have to go using a taxi. I can't do my work with you security types puttin' the chocks to me for 'orders' each time I need to check a work site." His tone became scathing. "Get your superior on-line and tell him my name and what I want. If he has any questions, tell him to check with Brad Curtin on President Narval's staff. C'mon now. Move, man, move." The guard's manner changed with the name-dropping. "Yes sir," he said. "Right away, sir." Zolan's comm contact with the guard went on hold as the guard switched to another line. Ignoring the guard, Zolan surveyed several nearby utilities. Moments later his line with the guard reopened. The guard's voice was deferential. "Clearance received, sir," he said. "Got a real good single-seater here for you. Just came out of the maintenance shops. All systems have been checked and she's ready to go. Shall I warm her up and crank in the coordinates for you, sir?" "That's OK," Zolan replied, "I'll do the set ups myself. I've got several places to visit and want to work out the trip on the box so I don't waste any more time. Which bird?" "Follow me, sir." Moving along the line the guard stopped at a low-slung framework from which a crude cage hung suspended, held in position by braces angling in from connecting structures. Behind the cage, halfway along a shaft running aft, hung a tiny nuclear power plant. Nozzles of cone-shaped propulsion units on gimbals hung in neutral. That would change as soon as Zolan inserted his coordinates and activated the thrusters. "Here she is, sir," the guard exclaimed, proudly, offering Zolan a checklist. "All yours."