"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he responded to Juliette.   That was the relationship between the two--always goading each other, needling each other, coming up with mild barbs despite the obvious amount of affection they had for each other.    Safely ensconced in the space suit, Walter sealed off the docking bay, punching through all the safety protocols to make sure that the rest of the ship wouldn't be affected by the vacuum.  Once the indicator flashed green, indicating that all the seals were in place, he opened the docking bay hatch.  As the doors opened outward, he felt the rush of air around him as it all blew out into space.   He held tightly onto a support beam until it did, bracing himself against the torrent.<br/><br/>And then, he could see the absolute blackness of space--punctuated, that is, by the million little pinpricks of stars.  And Jethro's ship, listing like a wounded bird.  He watched as Juliette took out the remaining engine with the second salvo, and then the sloop tumbled gently in place--engine-dead, propelled only by its momentum and Newton's First Law.<br/><br/>"That's it.  Bring me close, Kenz," he said, letting go of the support beam.  Holstering his shotgun, he clomped over to the grapnel sight.  The grapnel itself was mounted on the underbelly of the<em>Ellie May</em>, just like the cannon, although he could aim and fire it from the controls in the docking bay.   There was no point in trying to get fancy--Walter aimed for the thickest part of the sloop, and fired.  There was no noise in space, but he saw the harpoon fly out and the thick, steel line pay out behind it.  He saw it sink into the hull of the sloop, its frame shuddering and reversing its rotation with the force of the impact, and then wound it back, so that the tether went taut and vibrated with the tension.<br/><br/>"Going aboard now," he told the ladies, and through the port side viewscreen they saw his bloated, puffy spacesuit pull itself along the grapnel line.  He made his way over to the sloop, where he hesitated, before producing a plasma cutter.   It glowed red with the intense heat, and he cut into the hull of the ship.  The process was slow, laborious, but he managed to, at last, cut himself a doorway before pulling himself in.<br/><br/>There was radio silence for a few minutes, in which all they could hear over the shortwave was the sound of Walter's breathing.  Then, everything seemed to happen at once.<br/><br/>There were gunshots, a yell from McClean, and then a corresponding yell from Walter.  More gunshots, the roar of his shotgun.   Then the gunshots stopped, and instead they heard grunts and other odd sounds, as if the two men were taking their fight to a physical altercation.   This continued for a while--grunts, various bangs and clatters, and then a final, fleshy smack.<br/><br/>"He's out," said Walter, at last.  He was breathing heavily; no doubt it had been a close call.  "Comin' back to the ship."<br/><br/>A few minutes later, they saw not one, but two space suits returning.  One seemed to be limp, lifeless, while the other pushed and dragged it.   The grapnel was withdrawn, and the scuttled sloop was left to drift, just another piece of space junk.<br/><br/>It was another minute or two after that that the docking bay was repressurized and unsealed and they could finally enter.  Walter threw the unconscious Jethro on the deck--he was a mean-lookin' cuss, with a thick black beard and a jutting brow.   Walter was rubbing his knuckles, which appeared to be bloody.  There was also a purple bruise on his cheek, where presumably Jethro had gotten in a good punch of his own.<br/><br/>"Let's throw him in the brig,"  said Walter.  "And then let's set a course for New Cheyenne."