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“There were mistakes, and they rushed too fast and we are going to die.”

Gregor was pounding his fists together. He had not heard her. He needed something a lot stronger than the vodka. Coretta looked into the medicine cabinet, then back at the distraught Russian. There seemed to be no effect left of the sleeping pills she had given him, which should have been strong enough to put him under for hours. Could she get him to take any more? Unlikely, he seemed unaware of her, uncaring. He had deteriorated very rapidly.

She opened a metal box and removed, the pressure hypodermic, then rooted out a plastic bottle of noctex. Enough of this would put an elephant to sleep. And the advantage of the pressure hypo was that you didn't have to have a needle to break the skin. Just press the device against the body anywhere and a blast of high pressure air sent the droplets of chemical right through the skin. She would have to put the big Russian under whether he liked it or not. A good shot to keep him down until the danger was past. Or all over — but she wasn't going to think about that. He was a patient and she had to do her best for him. Very quietly she closed the locker and held the silver bulk of the hypodermic behind her leg. Then pushed off towards Gregor. He had his back turned, his head lowered, was unaware of her. The back of his neck with the curly blond hairs was the right spot. Just place and press. She floated close, raising the hypodermic.

“It is a crime what they are doing to us!” Gregor shouted, straightening, his legs banging against the couch — just as Coretta pushed the hypodermic at him.

The nozzle slammed into his shoulder, jarring it, sending a gust of droplets past his face.

“What is this?” he roared, seeing the apparatus extended like a gun towards his head. “You are trying to kill me! You cannot do that!”

He lashed out with his hand, slapping the hypodermic from her grasp, sending it hurtling across the compartment to crash into the wall, the force of his blow sending them both tumbling and turning. They collided and he struck again — this time at Coretta.

“You want to kill me!”

The slap was clumsy, the reaction of his movement spinning him about even as he struck. A fist fight would be impossible in free fall. But the flat of his palm struck her forehead and his wedding ring gashed her skin; small droplets of blood formed in the wound. The sight of the blood angered him even more and he lashed out again, but with little effect.

His eyes were blank, his temper overwhelming. He clutched madly at the fabric of Coretta's jumpsuit to pull her closer, punching with his free hand, clumsy blows that she twisted away from.

“Gregor, stop it,” she shouted. “Stop it, please!”

They drifted and spun, bouncing from the couches, drifting towards the wall, their insane ballet in space accompanied by the soaring music of the concerto. Gregor was panting now with the effort, still wild with fear and anger. To avoid his blows Coretta pulled him close to her, put her arms around his body and buried her head in his chest so he could not strike her face.

His anger spluttered out. He sobbed deeply and placed his hands over his eyes.

“My God, what am I doing. . I did not know. . There is blood on your face. I did that.”

“It's not important, it's all over now.”

“No, I'm so sorry. Very sorry. I ask you to forgive me. I have hurt you, I have broken bones.”

“No, nothing, really.”

Gregor was distraught now, his anger forgotten, running his hands down her arms, holding them, as though expecting to find the bones broken there. Pulling her to him, wrapping her in his arms.

His breath loud in her ears, coming faster now. She reached to disentangle his arms.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly, “.. sorry.”

“Don't be,” she said, equally as quiet, aware that his hands were on her back, moving lower, pressing his body tight to hers. The passion of his anger turning suddenly to another kind of passion.

Coretta knew it had gone far enough and knew how to stop it. Yet, even as she thought of that she wondered why she should stop it. She was a woman, and had been married. She found that this big, gloomy, passionate Russian attracted her. And — she fought hard not to laugh at the thought — turning the laughter into a smile instead — by God, this was a first in space; one for the books. Gregor saw the smile on her lips and touched it with his fingertips, whispering soft Russian terms of endearment as he did. A single, long zipper closed the jumpsuit she wore and he slid it open slowly, revealing the brown warmth of her bare skin inside.

She wore no bra — what need without gravity? — and her breasts were full and round. He bent his face, burying it in their warmth, kissing her over and over. She held his head tightly against her. Helped him to open the long zipper, all the way. She slipped out of her suit and helped him from his.