Crawling along the pipe on all fours, Holly’s right hand splashed into a shallow little puddle at precisely the same instant that her left hand felt a slight vibration along the pipe’s curved interior surface.

She froze for an instant, listening for the rush of water, then decided, By the time I hear it, it’ll be too late to do anything about it.

She had passed a hatch about five minutes earlier. That meant the next hatch would be roughly five minutes ahead. Which way is the water coming? she asked herself. Doesn’t matter, came the answer. You’ve got to get your butt out of here. Now!

She scurried forward, feeling like a mouse in its burrow, scampering as fast as her hands and knees would carry her. She heard a rumble from somewhere behind her, thought it might be her imagination over-reacting, then felt the unmistakable shudder of water rushing along the pipe. By the time she reached the hatch she could hear the flood roaring down toward her. With trembling fingers she opened the hatch, crawled out of the pipe, and slammed the hatch shut again. Water thundered past, some of it splashing through the hatch before she could seal it properly.

That was close!

Holly’s legs wouldn’t hold her up. She slid to the metal flooring of the tunnel and sat in the puddle beneath the hatch.

They knew I was in the pipe! she realized. They knew and they tried to drown me.

The tracker was loping along the tunnel, running easily alongside the pipeline. He could hear the water gushing through it but, careful man that he was, he jogged down the tunnel on the chance that his prey had gotten out in time. Take no chances, don’t give the prey a chance to get away.

He was an Ethiopian who had dreamed of winning Olympic gold medals for long-distance running until the Olympic Games were indefinitely postponed. He had supported himself, his parents, and his younger siblings on a policeman’s meager salary. Even that failed, however, when a relative of a politician from the capital was handed his position and salary. Faced with starvation, he accepted a position on the outbound Saturn habitat, on the condition that his salary be sent each month to his parents. Once aboard the habitat, he was befriended by Colonel Kananga and given a soft post with the Security Department.

This job of tracking was his first important duty for the colonel, after so many months of routine security patrols in a habitat where there were no real criminals, only spoiled, independent-minded sons and daughters of the wealthy who acted like children that didn’t have to grow up.

He had no intention of failing this assignment. He wanted to please Colonel Kananga.

“I’m getting pinged,” Gaeta said.

He was still a considerable distance above the ring, but particles of dust were already impinging on his suit, according to the sensors on its outer shell. No problem, Gaeta told himself. Not yet. It’ll get worse in a coupla minutes.

It was hard to estimate distances. He was looking down at a dazzling field of white, glaring light, like floating down in a balloon to the top of an enormous glacier. Yet the ring wasn’t solid; it was composed of millions upon millions of particles, like all the shiny bright marbles in the universe had gathered themselves together here. The house-sized chunk of ice had passed by, tumbling end over end, visibly banging into the smaller particles that swarmed around it.

Fritz’s voice, calm and assured, said, “Your velocity vector is good. The impacts should be at minimal energy.”

“Yeah,” Gaeta agreed, drifting closer to the vast sea of glittering particles. “I don’t feel anything yet.”

“We’re getting size estimates for the particles,” said Wunderly. “There doesn’t seem to be anything above a few millimeters now.” She sounded disappointed.

“You want me to look for bigger stuff?”

“You just stick to the planned trajectory,” Fritz said stiffly. “No adventures, please.”

Gaeta laughed. No adventures. What the hell do you call this?

Wunderly came back on. “The new moon has settled into its permanent orbit.”

“Can’t see it from here.”

“No, it’s on the other side of Saturn. I’m getting video from the minisat in polar orbit.”

The particles were noticeably thicker now. Gaeta felt as if he were slowly sinking into a blizzard: whirling snowflakes glistening all around him, swirling, dancing on an invisible wind. They seemed to be moving away from him slightly, making room for him in their midst.

“I know this is crazy,” he said, “but these flakes are moving away from me, looks like.”

He could sense Fritz shaking his head. “It’s merely your perspective. They’re moving around Saturn in their own orbits, just as you are.”

“Maybe, but I could swear they’re keeping their distance from me.”

“Can you grab any of them?” Wunderly asked.

Gaeta worked his keyboard, then wriggled his arms back into the suit’s sleeves. “I’ve opened the collection box, but I don’t think any of ’em are getting caught in it.”

He heard Fritz chuckle dryly. “Do you think they’re avoiding you? Perhaps they don’t like your smell.”

“I don’t know what to think, pal. It’s as if—” Gaeta stopped as a red warning light suddenly flared on the inner surface of his faceplate. A shock of alarm raced through his nerves.

“Got a red light,” he said.

“Sensors down,” Fritz said, his voice abruptly brittle, tense. “No immediate problem.”

Scanning his helmet displays swiftly, Gaeta saw that four of the sensors on the suit’s skin had gone blank. Two on the backpack and two more on his left leg. He knew it was impossible to see his legs from inside the suit but he tried anyway. All he could see through the faceplate was the tips of his boots. They seemed to be rimed with ice.

He raised both arms and saw that they too were covered with a thin layer of ice. As he watched, he saw the ice moving along each arm.

“Hey! I’m icing up. They’re covering me with ice.”

“That shouldn’t happen,” Wunderly said, sounding almost annoyed.

“I don’t give a shit what should happen. These little cabróns are covering me up!”

More red lights flashed on his faceplate. One by one the sensors on the skin of the suit were going down. Covered with ice.

“Can you still move your arms and legs?” Fritz asked.

Gaeta tried. “Yeah. The joints are running a little stiff but they still—uh-oh.” Several particles of ice attached themselves to his faceplate.

“What’s the matter?”

“They’re on my faceplate,” Gaeta said. He stared at the particles, more fascinated than frightened. The little fregados are crawling across my faceplate, he realized.

“They’re moving,” he reported. “They’re walkin’ across my faceplate!”

“They can’t walk,” Wunderly said.

“Tell it to them!” Gaeta answered. “They’re covering up my faceplate. The whole suit! They’re wrapping me up in ice!”

“That’s impossible.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Whatever they were, the tiny particles were crawling over his faceplate. He could see it. More of them were coming in, too, covering more and more of the visor. Within minutes Gaeta could see nothing of the outside. His suit was completely encased in ice.