Chindi

She told him, in general terms.

“We’ll be there in a couple of days,” he said. “I’m going to insert landing parties at both sites. I’ll let you know as soon as we arrive insystem, and I’ll want your assistance.” He went into detail. He requested a map of the Retreat, would need course and position of the alien vessel, and informed Hutch she was to withdraw the Memphis group immediately. “Before they damage something.”

“I haven’t the authority to do that, sir.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?” asked Nick, who chuckled at using forty minutes to send a single line. “Doesn’t he already know that, anyhow?”

“Doesn’t hurt to remind him, Nick.”

When Mogambo appeared again, stretching a conversation that had begun just before lunch into the late afternoon, he looked utterly exasperated. “Please assume authority. There’s a stipulation for precisely this sort of situation in the Exoarcheological Protection Act.” He glanced off to his side. “Section 437a. Use it. Get the amateurs out of there. Please.”

Hutch considered her options. “Tell him to take a hike,” said Nick.

“Easy for you to say.” If she simply violated the ordinance, it could cost her retirement pay. “Bill,” she said, “let’s have a look at the Act.”

“I think I already have what you need,” said the AI, showing her Section 11, paragraph 6.

Hutch punched the SEND key. “Doctor, there’s a distinct possibility the artifact may leave the premises before you get here. Section 11 allows for—,” and there she made a display of consulting her screen, “—‘inspection by untrained parties in the event destruction or loss of the artifact may be imminent, for example, by rising floodwaters, if professional perso

Nick was nodding, egging her on. “That’s telling him, Hutch,” he said when she’d finished.

She looked at him with quiet amusement. “How’s your leg?”

“It’s good.”

“Any pain?”

“Not as long as I take my pills. You’re a pretty decent doctor.”

“Thanks.”

“Hutch, you know when he gets here he’s going directly to the chindi.”

“Well,” she said, “maybe we’ll get lucky, and the thing will take him to the Pleiades.”

GEORGE’S PARTY MOVED its base deeper into the ship, and the relays were no longer adequate to carry their transmissions. Consequently, instead of being able to listen to the conversation coming in on the link, Hutch and Nick repeated Alyx’s experience, sitting through long periods of silence, waiting for the landing party to return to the dome for food or air tanks or simply to sleep, to reassure themselves everything was okay. They were in the middle of a long silence when Bill broke in. “The last few have been launched,” he said.

“What’s that about?” asked Nick.

Hutch had a fruit plate in front of her. And some dark wine. She took a sip. “When the chindi blew out all the nanopackages a few days ago, we counted them. There were 147. The last of them made their bottles and came back—”

“—And have just been launched.”

“Yes.”

“Which means what? You think it’s getting ready to leave?”

“Don’t know. I just thought it would be a worthwhile piece of information to have.”

When they reestablished communication with George a couple of hours later, she passed it on.

“Okay,” he said. “We’re warned.”

“You sound tired.” Actually, he sounded dismayed. Scared.

“We just watched a bloodbath at a temple,” he said. “Looked like somebody’s equivalent of human sacrifice.”

HUTCH STARED MOODILY out at the sky. Fourteen hours had passed since the last of the bottles had been launched. Both Twins were visible. The Slurpy had spread around the terminator and formed a blurry white ring of its own. The Memphis was ru

Nick was unusually quiet, and she could not shake the feeling that bad things were about to happen. Her instincts weren’t dependable because she inevitably expected trouble. It was one of the characteristics that made her a good pilot, but it did render her judgment suspect.

“Hutch.” Bill’s voice added to her sense of gloom. “Take a look at this.” He put the fu

Uh-oh. “You sure?”

“Positive. I don’t think you can see it by just looking at it. But it is happening. It’s withdrawing into itself somehow.”

“How long before the process is complete?”

“I don’t know.”

“Guess, Bill.”

“Two hours, maybe a little longer.”

“Just about the time the chindi gets there.”

“Yes. It appears that way.”

Hutch opened up the circuit again. “George.”

She got a break: They were within range. But when he came on, she got the end of raised voices. It sounded as if they’d been arguing. “Yes?” he snapped.

“George, they’re getting ready to pull out.”

“When? How do you know?”

“The fu

“Okay, Hutch. Thanks. How much time do we have?”

“An hour and a half. Tops. We want to get you out before it goes into the Slurpy.”

“All right. We’re on our way.”

GEORGE SUSPECTED THEY were about four kilometers from the exit. A fairly long walk, especially for him. But he was sure he could manage it.

They’d been debating expanding their search, getting away from the methodical room-by-room examination of the first few days, and sallying instead well to the front of the ship, to see whether the general layout was the same everywhere, and possibly to find the vessel’s control deck. They’d even thought about climbing down to lower levels. He was grateful they hadn’t done that.

So they moved at best speed down the passageways. George was slow, and the others could have made far better time without him, but they stayed together. No need to panic. They’d be at the exit hatch in plenty of time.

“In any case,” George said, “the chindi isn’t likely to leave orbit as soon as it clears the Slurpy anyway.” Then, as if they were in one of those comedies in which optimistic comments bring down the wrath of the gods, all three were thrown violently off-balance. George banged his head on the wall and tumbled into a heap.

“They’re braking.” It was Hutch’s voice. Coming out of nowhere.

Alyx got off the floor, only to be knocked down again. She looked over at him. “George, you okay?”

“Yes.” Fine. A little bruised, but otherwise all right. Is it safe to get up? Tor climbed cautiously to his feet, helped Alyx to hers, then offered a hand to George. “We better keep moving,” he said.

“Why are they slowing down?” asked George.

“They’re probably going to pick up the fu

“Won’t they fall out of orbit?”

“If it went on long enough,” said Bill. “But not in this case. All they’ll do is lose a little altitude.”

He was on his feet again. Damn. The thing had been so stable for so long they’d taken it for granted. Another jolt knocked him forward. “How long’s this going to go on?” he asked.

“I’d say for the next couple of hours. Until you get to the Slurpy. Is everybody okay over there?”

“We’re fine.” He was standing up, leaning forward somewhat. “If it stays like this, though, it’s going to be a long walk to the hatch.”