"Women and children first. Married men next. We'll go over the injured while the rest of you get aboard the Scorpio. Any that have a chance to recover, we'll take. No crowding."
Fries shouted orders, then stood back out of the way while a stream of beaten and hopeless humanity filed through the airlock toward the Scorpio. One woman clung to her husband, screaming, until Norman took her gently by the arm and led her away. She moved like a sleep-walker and, though her lips twitched as if in speech, no sound came.
"Check everyone for radiation," Fries ordered gruffly. "We can't be too careful."
Merrill, the third officer, came in and started shedding his space-armor. He was lean, hard-looking, with a twisted, humorous face. "Anything I can do?" he asked curtly.
Fries stared at him blankly. "Get your burns taken care of, then get some of these people into the lifeboat if you're able."
Merrill shrugged and laughed. "Why bother to patch me up? There won't be room enough for all of us. I'll take care of it now; the lifeboat's ready."
Harald felt like a recording angel as he stood in the airlock counting off the people coming through. It was hideous.
"One-forty," he told Fries.
Most of the injured had gone into the lifeboat, but some of the men-passengers still remained in the saloon. Norman stared about him, estimating. One of the men was the husband of the woman who had refused to leave without him.
"Full up?" the man asked. Norman nodded. The passenger tried to smile, but his lips trembled.