Wasteland of flint

shells.'

Hummingbird switched the view back to the number three airlock, where the cylinder still rested quietly in its steel cradle. He bent close, though a fingertip's motion on the panel would zoom the image to almost any level of detail he desired. Red sandstone and milky white streaks of sediment filled the view. 'But how could she leave your mystery, even for a moment?'

Anderssen had been spending every waking moment with the artifact for the past two days. The still-idle exploration ship's main comp was almost entirely tasked to her translation jobs, much to the annoyance of everyone else working aboard. Hummingbird suddenly closed the feed, feeling his own curiosity stir.

'A cunning lure,' he muttered, then turned away from the panel and knelt before a small shrine set into the wall of the cabin. Nothing so fancy as the main chapel down in the heart of the ship, but this was a space reserved for him and him alone. The Blessed Virgin stared down, jade eyes looking upon him with radiant compassion. Hummingbird made the sign of the cross, bowed to the Lady of Tepeyac, she surrounded by so many shining rays, she of the dark cloak strewn with stars, with a mantle of flowers and shining feathers, possessor of the beneficence of man. On a narrow ledge before the icon sat a cup filled with milky liquid and a scattering of dried, perfectly preserved rose petals.

Hummingbird began to sing, his hoarse voice rising in the cabin.

So it has been said by the Lord of the World,

So it has been said by the Queen of Heaven:

It is not true, it is not true

We come to this earth to live.

We come only to sleep, only to dream.

Our body is a flower.

As grass becomes green in the springtime,

So our hearts will open, and give forth buds,

And then they wither. So did our Lady of Flowers say.

The sound echoed and died, and he felt a great comfort from the long-familiar ritual. Hummingbird bowed again, before the image of the merciful one, then raised the cup of octli to his lips. The smell of bitter alcohol stung his nose and he took the sacred liquid into his mouth, let the fermented sap of the god's fruit wash over his tongue, then passed the fluid, again, into the cup.

'So does temptation wash over me, held at bay by your grace, Queen of Heaven, lady whose belt is a serpent, whose faith lifts the heavens and presses the earth.' He made the sign of the cross once more, and pressed his forehead to the floor before the Sister. 'So it is above, so it is below.'

He stood, his heart easy once more, and passed his hand across the display set into the wall. The comm woke to life, and a blinking glyph – a youth bearing two rabbits by the ears – winked azure. Hummingbird grunted, feeling the moment of isolation and serenity pass.

'Yes, Sho-sa Kosho? Has something happened?' The tlamatinime did not feel entirely at ease with the dark-eyed lieutenant or her ever-pleasant expression. Hummingbird thought he'd reached an equitable relationship with the captain, but this woman…her eyes were filled with secrets. Is she also an agent of the Mirror? One set to watch me, as I watch the others? Or is her malice solely a matter of our races, our stations in life?

'Honorable one,' the executive officer said, bowing her head slightly. 'The Companymen have launched one of their shuttles – they are descending to the surface to repair the grounded shuttle at the observatory camp.'

'Ah.' Hummingbird was surprised. He had not expected the civilians to finish their repairs so quickly. 'Are they going to retrieve the scientists on the ground as well?'

'I believe so,' Kosho replied, a faint smile hiding behind her usual, stoic mask. 'You left instructions to be informed. Shall I prepare a work carrel to take you and your luggage across?'

Hummingbird's face tightened – I should not have mentioned my intent to Hadeishi – and then he nodded in agreement. 'Yes,' he said, turning his most severe expression upon her. Kosho did not flinch, or look away, but maintained her pleasant, polite expression. 'I will go across in twenty minutes.'

The executive officer bowed again and tapped the channel closed. Hummingbird stared at the blank display for a moment, then his fingers stabbed at the panel, bringing up the surveillance view of the bridge. From this angle, he looked down upon Kosho's command station – an inset showed the ever-changing contents of her panel – and the soft lighting on the bridge gleamed in raven-dark hair. A long plait hung down her back, wound with copper, jade and pearl. The tlamatinime watched the woman intently, listening to the subdued chatter on the bridge, her conversation with a midshipman being dispatched to carry his bags, the orders to an engineering crew to bring a carrel around to the main airlock and prepare for a trip across the quarantine zone to the Palenque.

In all of this, she betrayed no knowledge of his observation, though Hummingbird could only assume she knew he was watching. After ten minutes he closed the feed – the lieutenant had studiously continued about her business – and began packing his bags. A suspicion was beginning to ferment in his agile old mind, though he did not believe any officer would be so reckless to endanger her career in this way.

She should be properly respectful, even a little afraid. Hummingbird wrenched his thoughts away from the Nisei woman and back to the delicate matter of packing the blue glass pyramid into a shockfoam carrying case. The object was very, very old. Even handling with thin gloves risked scarring or chipping the precious, eons-old surface.

Hummingbird breathed easier when the artifact was safely stowed.

The door chimed, and he turned to let the midshipman in.

The 'Observatory' Base Camp, the Edge of the Western Desert, Ephesus III

An orange spark swelled in the sky, the thin, attenuated roar of airbreathing engines piercing gathering twilight. The number one shuttle swept over the base camp, wings glowing with the heat of reentry. Dust swirled up from the landing strip – no more than a long rectangle of glowlights and flattened earth. Against the blue-black heavens, the long coiling contrail burned golden with the last light of day. The Ephesian atmosphere was thin, and even with the copper disk of the sun still hanging at the horizon, a wash of stars filled the east.

The shuttle set down, engines thrust-vectored to airbrake. More dust billowed up, burning red with jet exhaust, and the aircraft bounced and shivered down a thousand meters of flattened desert. The runway was a crude outline at best, scratched from the dry soil. At the far end, engines idling down to a rumbling shriek, the shuttle turned and began rolling back to the camp.

From a forward window, Gretchen peered out at a sprawling compound of brown huts and tall metal poles strung with swinging glowlights. Under fitful spots of illumination, she saw beaten paths winding between the buildings, a handful of figures shrouded in z-suits trudging toward the landing strip and the bulky shapes of crawlers parked under metal sheds. Everything was brown and tan or hidden in shadow.

Just another camp on another world, far from home. She felt a keen disappointment. There was nothing grand here, only the same prefab huts and camp buildings. Another brown, desolate world filled with dust and chokingly thin air. Even the diamond brilliance of the night sky was familiar – she was no astronomer to pick out differences in the constellations – this place seemed no different than Mars or Ugarit or Zhendai.

The shuttle rattled to a halt and pressure lights came on. Cabin lights flared awake and Parker called back from the cockpit in a cheerful voice. 'Please have your customs and immigration forms ready. Welcome to Ephesus Three. Please enjoy your stay.'

Gretchen gathered up a heavy courier-style bag and checked the seals on her suit. Fitzsimmons had stitched her boot back together with some kind of adhesive goo and fishing line. Which was very nice of him, she thought wryly. He'll be glad to have me out of his hair for a day. Her goggles slipped into their long-accustomed grooves beside her nose and around her ears. Sealing the breather mask and checking the tubes and respirator were second nature – quickly and efficiently done – then she turned and checked the seals on Bandao's suit as well.

The gunner waited patiently, calm brown eyes watching the figures crossing the field toward them through the window. When she was done, he returned the favor and signed she was tight. Gretchen smiled in thanks and wove her way forward past Delores to the main hatch.

'Mister Parker, cycle the lock please.'