Chindi

“Can you secure it?”

“Doing it now.”

“One minute.”

They floated forward.

The red light went out. The console indicated all harnesses in place again.

Lamps dimmed.

The sublight navigational systems, which had been in a power-saving mode, came alive. The fusion plant went to ready status. External sensors came on-line. Shields powered up.

Someone in back said, “Good luck.”

And they slid smoothly out into the dark. Stars blinked on, and a shrunken sun showed up off to port. Beside her, Tor took a deep breath.

“You okay?” she asked.

“A little dizzy.”

“Happens all the time. Close your eyes and wait for things to settle.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t make any sudden moves.” She was already sca

“Hear anything?” asked Tor.

“No.” Her spirits sagged. “Not a peep.” The Hazeltines cut off. “Okay, folks,” she said. “You can get up. Things should be quiet for the moment.” She poured coffee for herself and got a cup for Tor. “Bill,” she said, “where are we?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Are you reading anything?”

“Negative. Sensors are clear.”

Not good. She stared at her coffee and put it down untasted.

Navigation inside a new system was always a speculative prospect coming out of a jump. At a sixteen-light-year range, variance between intended destination and actual arrival point could run as much as 2 A.U.s. Added to that was the difficulty of spotting planets, which were usually the only bodies, other than the sun, close enough to help in establishing one’s position. For the moment, they were lost.

“I’ve got one of the gas giants,” Bill said. “Matching it with data from Outpost.”

Hurry, Bill.

“Hutch, the range from the sun is about right. We’re close to Safe Harbor’s orbit.”

“Good!” Tor raised his fists.

“Don’t get too excited,” Hutch said. “It could be on the other side of the sun.”

“You don’t really think that?”

“It’s possible.”

Questions began coming in from her passengers. Had they sighted the Condor yet? Why wasn’t something happening?

“Let’s go back and talk to them,” she said.

They turned frightened eyes toward her when she came into mission control. “Do we really,” asked George gently, “not know where we are?”

“It takes a little while,” she said. “We’re doing our best.”

Herman frowned. “Can’t we tell where we are from the stars?”

“They’re too far away,” Hutch explained. “They look pretty much the same from all over the system.” They looked at her as if she’d lost them on a dark country road. “We don’t have a map of this system,” she said. “The planets are the road signs. But we need a little time to find them.”

Pete nodded. “That’s what I was trying to tell you,” he said. “We don’t even know where the planets are in relation to Safe Harbor. At least, I assume we don’t.” He looked at Hutch.

“That’s correct, Pete,” she said. “We’re trying to get our bearings now. Be patient.” She wanted to say Don’t worry, if they’re still alive, we’ll get to them. But she had a bleak sense it didn’t matter anymore.

It was after 3:00 a.m. when Bill a

THEY SPENT THE night in the common room, enduring periodic acceleration and deceleration as Bill burned fuel to make the quickest possible approach. At noon they arrived in the vicinity of Safe Harbor. They were weary, exhausted, deflated, discouraged. It was remotely possible the Condor team were adrift in the lander with an inoperative radio, but nobody believed it.

Hutch sent off her latest report to Outpost and retreated to the bridge to wait for the bad news.

The Memphis was approaching from the dark side of the planet and its oversized moon, so that the first thing they saw was sunlit crescents, and then shimmering atmospheres on both worlds. “Wide scan, Bill,” she said. She hadn’t lost sight of the possibility there might be a hostile force nearby. A threat of that nature was a completely new idea to her, one nobody had ever confronted in the forty-plus years since FTL had become a reality. It seemed absurd. But if there were something, her only defense would be flight, and she’d need almost an hour to accelerate to jump mode. “Watch for anything non-orbital.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Anything not moving in an orbit.”

“I understand what the words mean. But this is a planetary area. There’s always debris drifting in.”

“Dammit, Bill. If you see somebody coming after us, let me know.”

“I’m sorry, Hutch. I did not mean to upset you.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t. Just keep your eyes open. All of them.”

“Yes.”

She sensed, rather than saw, Bill materialize beside her. But he did not speak.

“I’m all right,” she said. “I’m sorry.” Dumb. Apologizing to a stack of software.

“There is still a chance they are alive, Hutch.”

“I know.”

She watched the world and its moon grow until they filled the screens. “There are several artificial satellites. Not Stealths. Preliminary scan suggests they’re primitive.”

“That was Matt’s conclusion.” She had to pause between words to control her voice.

The scans were all turning up negative. No Condor. No attackers. No lander filled with survivors.

“I am sorry. I wish there were something I could do.”

“I know, Bill. Thanks.”

“Let it come,” he said.

She shook her head, tried to say she was all right. But the tears rolled down her cheeks.

“You’ll get through it.”

A human might have said, It’ll be okay.

She heard somebody at the door and got herself together as Tor came in. “Nothing yet?” he asked.

Not trusting her voice, she shook her head no.

“I’d’ve thought they’d be easy to find.”

“Only if they’re intact.”

“Oh.” He stammered. “I should have realized.”

“What about the stealth?” she asked Bill. “Do we know where it is? Find that, and we might find the Condor.”

“I have no easy way of looking for it. Please keep in mind that it is quite difficult to pick up.”

“How did Matt find it?” she persisted.

“I do not know.”

Tor fidgeted, unsure whether to stay or go. Hutch signaled him to sit. He complied and took to looking off into that middle distance again.

George came in a minute later. “Any sign of them yet?” he asked.

“Still looking.”

His eyes went to one of the screens. It was filled with images from the ground, hard-scrabble countryside, swollen looking vegetation. As if his presence were a harbinger, the telescopes reached the coastline and ruins appeared on three sides of a harbor.

Then they were gone, and the view went out over open water.

“Hutch—” Bill’s voice dropped an octave. “Debris ahead.”

An odd calm came over her. It was as if she’d moved outside herself and was observing events from a safe distance. “On-screen.”

It was from a starship. An air flow assembly and an attached control box, not much different from the type the Memphis had in her own overhead. About six meters long, broken off on both ends. It was scorched.

George asked what it was. She almost answered the Condor, but she bit it down and explained. Told him there’d apparently been an explosion.

The others were coming in to watch, Alyx and Pete and Nick.

“Here’s more.” Bill showed them a Hazeltine housing, a piece of the frame in which the jump engines were mounted. It, too, showed signs of fire and blast.

“And more.”

She looked at the pieces, and in a trembling voice, sent a message to Outpost, reporting that they were on the scene and finding wreckage. “Details,” she said solemnly, “to follow.”

“It blew up,” said Pete.