"She goes out tonight, doesn't she?" The guard's face grew sober. "Hope she makes it o.k. That Titan run is no picnic—not with this monster business hitting half the ships. Bucking that kind of thing ain't my idea of a woman's job, no matter how high it rates nor how much it pays."
"She'll make it, all right."
"Sure." The guard's eyes shifted away from Boone's. "Sure, Mister Boone. She'll make it."
Boone passed on.
Inside the personnel compound, he looked at his chronox again.
Only half an hour now till Eileen was scheduled to grav-off.
Barely time for the job he had to do....
Turning in at his own quarters, he strode down the empty, echoing corridor to his room; closed the door behind him.
The nerve-gun lay in the top drawer, as always—sleek, grim, coldly lethal. Stiff-fingered, Boone checked the charge, then slid the weapon beneath his blouse and turned to go.
But Eileen's picture on the corner stand caught him ... held him.