Whatever the case, those two ships kept her from taking off, and she wasn't going to transmit anything to the satellite. It was still broadcasting, and they only hoped it was because the pirates hadn't checked that closely. But it could have been because the pirates wanted them lulled into thinking they were safe.
So Tia had shut off all nonessential systems, and they used no active sensors, relying entirely on passive receptors. Knowing that sound could carry even past her blanket of snow, especially percussive sounds, Alex padded about in stocking feet when he walked at all. Three days of this now, and no sign that the looters were ready to leave yet.
Mostly he and Tia studied holos and the few artifacts that he had brought out of the cache area, once Tia had vacuum-purged them and sterilized them to a fair thee-well.
After all, she kept telling herself, the pirates couldn't stay up there forever. Could they?
Unless they had some idea that Tia was already here. Someone had leaked what they knew about Hank and his cargo when they were on Presley Station. The leak could have gone beyond the station.
She was frightened and could not tell him; strung as tightly as piano strings with anxiety, with no way to work off the tension.
She knew that the same thoughts troubled Alex, although he never voiced them. Instead, he concentrated his attention completely on the enigmatic book of metal plates he had brought out of the cache.
There were glyphs of some kind etched into it, along the right edge of each plate, and a peculiarly matte finished strip along the left edge of each. But most importantly, the middle of each page was covered with the pinprick patterns of what could only be stellar configurations. Having spent so much time studying stellar maps, both of them had recognized that they were nav-guides immediately. But to what, and far more importantly, what was the reference point. There was no way of knowing that she could see.
And who had made the book in the first place? The glyphs had an odd sort of familiarity about them, but nothing she was able to put a figurative finger on.
It was enough of a puzzle to keep Alex busy, but not enough to occupy her. It was very easy to spend a lot of time brooding over her brawn. Slumped in his chair, peculiarly handsome face intent, with a single light shining down on his head and the artifact, with the rest of the room in darkness, or staring into a screen full of data.
Like a scene out of a thriller-holo. The hero, biding his time, ready to crack under the strain but not going to show his vulnerability; the enemies waiting above. Priceless data in their hands, data that they dared not allow the enemy to have. The hero, thinking about the lover he had left behind, wondering if he will ever see her again.
Shellcrack. This was getting her nowhere.
She couldn't pace, she couldn't bite her nails, she couldn't even read to distract herself. Finally she activated a single servo and sent it discretely into his cabin to clean it. It hadn't been cleaned since they'd left the base; mostly Alex had just shoved things into drawers and closets and locked the doors down. She couldn't clean his clothing now, but as soon as they shook the hounds off their trail.
If they shook the hounds off their trail, if the second avalanche and the blizzard hadn't piled too much snow on top of them to clear away. There were eight meters of snow up there now, not four. Much more, and she might not be able to blast free. Stop that. We'll get out of this.
Carefully she cleaned each drawer and closet, replacing what wasn't dirty and having the servo kidnap what was. Carefully, because there were lots of loose objects shoved in with the clothing.
But she never expected the one she found tumbled in among the bed coverings.
A holocube, of her.
She turned the cube over and over in the servo's pinchers, changing the pictures, finding all of them familiar. Scenes of her from before her illness; the birthday party, posing with Theodore Bear.
Standing in her brand new pressure-suit in front of a fragment of wall covered with EsKay glyphs, that was a funny one; Mum had teased Dad about it because he'd focused on the glyphs out of habit She'd come out half out of the picture, but the glyphs had been nice and sharp.
It hit her like a jolt of current. The glyphs. That was where she had seen them before! Oh, these were carved rather than inscribed, and time and sandstorms had worn them down to mere suggestions. They were formed in a kind of cursive style, where the ones on the book were angular, but,
She ran a quick comparison and got another jolt, this time of elation. 'Alex!' she whispered excitedly. 'Look!'
She popped the glyphs from the old holo up on her screen as he looked up, took the graphic of the third page of the book, and superimposed the one over the other. Aside from the differences in style, they were a perfect match.
