With a shiver, she dropped the knife and staggered toward the cylinder. She made it, clung on. There was no way to shut it off; the gas was inside her now, soaking from her pores with the dazzling blue fire of a Dust trip. She fumbled at her belt for a thermal grenade, tore the firing pin free, and tossed it between her and her team. She tried to cover her head, failed. The grenade was still in her hand.