Chindi

They were waiting for Hutch to say something. She was the expert. But she had no hope to give. “Yes,” she said. “That’s what it looks like.”

Somebody sniffled. Blew into a handkerchief.

“How could it have happened?” asked Nick. He looked around at the bridge. “These things are supposed to be safe, aren’t they?”

“They’re safe,” she said.

“Piece of the hull.”

It was from a forward section. The Hazeltines, on the other hand, had been aft. Which pretty much settled it. The entire ship had gone up.

Hutch looked back at Nick. “To my knowledge, this has never happened before.” But it was possible. Either set of engines, the Hazeltines or the fusion drive, could let go if someone was careless. Or unlucky.

“Maybe it was a meteor,” said Alyx. “Or they collided with a satellite.”

“The wreckage suggests internal explosion,” said Bill.

Hutch agreed. “Launch a marker,” she said.

“Complying.”

“What’s that about?” asked Alyx.

“We’ll put out a radio marker so whoever comes to investigate will be able to find the spot.”

“Got something else,” said Bill. “Organic, I believe.”

Hutch heard the collective whimper. She kept her eyes on the console and blocked everything else out. “We’ll be doing some maneuvering so you folks better go back and lock down. Bill, take us in close.” She got out of her chair.

“Do you need help?” asked Nick.

Right man for the job. “Yes. Please.”

THEY WAITED BY the open airlock as Bill maneuvered the ship. The object floated against the star-streaked sky, spectral in the glow from this world’s gauzy moon. The ship’s lights picked it up, and Hutch steeled herself. It was a limb. A leg. Severed midway between hip and knee. Scorched and broken. The knee was slightly bent as if its owner had been caught while ru

Neither of them spoke. Nick took a deep breath, but she sensed he was watching her. “You all right?” he asked.

Not really. She was begi

“Range thirty meters,” said Bill.

Sufficient for retrieval. “Hold there.”

They placed a blanket on the deck. She looked at the limb, looked at Nick, and wondered whether she’d hold up. Preach was gone. They were all gone, and she’d need to get her act together. Get the job done. Cry later.

She pulled on a go-pack.

“Where do we put it?” asked Nick.

“Refrigerator locker,” she said. “Back there.” She pointed toward the rear of the cargo bay, which also housed their lander.

He started to say something, and stopped.

“What?” she prodded.

“That’s not where we keep the food, is it?”

“We’ll move everything out. There’s space elsewhere.” She stepped into the airlock. “Be back in a minute.”

“Good luck.” He sounded as if he thought it was dangerous.

Hutch stepped out of the ship and pushed herself toward the limb, using a short burst from the thrusters to correct her course.

“Be careful,” said Nick.

Safe Harbor, wrapped in white clouds and vast blue oceans, gleamed beneath her. Without the aid of telescopes, she could see no sign of the carnage. “It’s another Earth,” she told Nick.

“Hutch, I’ve found the Condor’s lander. It is intact, but there is no heat signature.”

“Okay.” That wrapped it.

“It’s scorched. Burned. I don’t see how anyone could be alive inside it.”

“I understand.” She pushed it away. Refused to think about The leg was rotating slowly, turning end over end. She used another burst from the thrusters, reached out reluctantly and took it in her hands. Then she turned over so that the go-pack pointed in the opposite direction, and fired the unit again to get back to the airlock.

The leg felt like a piece of ice.

The Memphis looked warm and secure, like a house in the woods on a midwinter night. Light poured out of her viewports, and she saw Alyx moving around inside one of them.

“Hutch,” said Bill, “more body parts ahead.”

“Acknowledge.” She looked at Nick, standing in the airlock. Talk to me, Nick. Do what you’ve been doing for a lifetime. Tell me it’s okay.

But Nick only said that she was coming in a bit too fast. That she should come a little bit left. She peered into his eyes and decided he was every bit as shaken as she was. But he held his voice level and reached for the limb as she drifted back on board. She gave it to him.

“Bill, you’re still watching for unusual movement around us?” She knew he was, but it reassured her to ask.

“I am watching closely. There is nothing.”

They went inside and started for the locker. “Do you think they were attacked?” Nick asked.

“Hard to see where attackers could have come from,” she said.

“And Bill said the explosion came from inside.”

“That’s an analysis, not a fact.” They pulled the food out and moved it to an adjacent locker. She stowed the limb and was glad to shut the door.

IT WAS A nightmare. They cruised through the area, retrieving body parts. Only one corpse was recovered reasonably intact, and that belonged to Harry Brubaker. Even in his case, identification had to be made by his patch. He’d been reluctant to come, George explained. Hadn’t wanted to be gone from his family for an extended period.

They were able to identify two others. One was the bishop. The other was Tom Isako.

Hutch found nothing of Preach.

When it was finally over she showered and scrubbed but couldn’t wash off the pall of the day’s work. Unable to stand being alone, she put on fresh clothes, went back to the bridge, and sank into her chair. She became gradually aware of the thousand sounds of the ship in operation, air whispering through ducts, a door closing somewhere, distant voices.

Preach’s image, unbidden, appeared on one of the screens. Bill was trying to help.

He looked as he had in the final communication, puzzled, expectant. You’ll notice it’s stealth rather than lightbender technology.

“You think the satellite contained a bomb?” asked the AI.

“I don’t have any other explanation. Have you?”

“I do not. Yet the notion of someone preparing a death trap for entities with whom they are unfamiliar seems unreasonable.”

“Bill, these folks were at war with one another. Maybe Preach just got unlucky.”

THEY CONDUCTED A memorial service in mission control, presided over by George. Everybody had at least one close friend on the Condor. Tears flowed and voices were strained, and afterward they retired to the common room to lift a final round of glasses to victims, and to decide on their next move.

“Go home,” said Alyx.

Pete nodded. “I agree.” He was on his feet, his gaze clouded with regret, his hands pushed into the pockets of his jumpsuit. “The mission’s a failure. We’ve found a starfaring race, and they’re dead. Alyx is right. We should wrap it up and head back.”

George looked to his left, where Tor was sitting with his elbows on the table and his head propped up on his palms. “Tor?”

He didn’t move. “We’ve lost a lot of our people. I think we have an obligation to find out what killed them.”

“Not when we can’t defend ourselves,” said Alyx.

George looked toward Herman.

He sat quietly, staring into his palms. “We came a long way,” he said after a moment. “I’m with Tor. Let’s at least try to find out what happened. Otherwise, we’re going home with our tail between our legs.”

“Nick?”

“I’ve seen enough people die. I’d just as soon clear out.”

George turned his eyes toward the ceiling with a Lord forgive them for they know not what they do expression. “The Condor blew up,” he said patiently. “Accidents happen.” He looked out one of the viewports at a peaceful sky. The moon and a slice of the sun were visible. It was in fact achingly beautiful. “I vote we stay. Look around a bit.” He folded his arms. “So that makes it a tie.” He looked at Hutch. “Up to you,” he said.