-Sir, I must protest! The solution you're suggesting would fry her upon re-entry!

-I'm willing to take that risk.

-You're willing to kill her?

-Mr. Potchales, if the sovjets get their hands on that satellite, millions will die!

Daddalie leered out of the round window on the hatch door. The cosmonauts were catching up to her evasive manouvres. There was no time to loose.

-Sir, she chipped in with a slight tremble in her voice. -re-entry, schme-entry, give me the new coordinates.