The steel lattice of Threetown’s dome cut the sea of cold stars into fractal bytes. Inside were warmth, air and light; outside, nothing. But despite its comforts, inside was the more dangerous. Plague and murder had stalked the city’s avenues, and murder was not gone yet.

Ensign Carmen Samter peered through the windows of a shop, hoping to glimpse her partner through the other side. He’d stepped around the corner to make sure the maniacal Bates didn’t slip away while they waited for reinforcements. Suddenly he’d disappeared. “Hugh, you damn rebel, say something,” she radioed. But the hissing of stars was all she heard in reply.

She paced briefly, then called in. “Base, this is Samter. I’ve lost contact with Hensen.”

“Where did you last see him?”

A suited figure moved into sight. “Never mind.” To her partner, she said, “You were scaring me to death. I hope you’re satisfied.”

He pointed at the stub on his helmet where his antenna had broken off, and shrugged apologetically.