Wasteland of flint

Parker and Bandao crouched at the edge of an access panel in the top of the pod.

'Now Parker-tzin, you remember to come back for me in sixteen days. Watch for us – we'll be in just one Midge if this is going to work – and don't miss with the skyhook.'

'I never – well, hardly ever – miss, boss.' Parker's grin was half-hearted. 'What if the Cornuelle shows up? Should I stay away?'

Gretchen shook her head. 'I'm sure they'll come, but you be there, too. I don't like heights.'

Bandao shook his head at their badinage, placid face as still and composed as ever. Gretchen caught his eyes with a wry look.

'You can't go in my place, Dai. You'll have to keep Parker out of trouble for me.'

'Impossible.' The little Welshman did not seem concerned. He handed her a heavy package wrapped in olive- drab canvas. 'The Company is paying me to protect you, Doctor Anderssen. My contract requires I exercise due diligence. So here – you might need this.'

Weighing the package in her hands elicited a metallic clank. 'A weapon?'

Bandao shrugged, pale eyes showing no trace of humor. 'A Sif-52 shockgun. Very simple to use. Breaks down into four components for ease of transport. Just jack the loading lever, then point and pull the trigger. The ammunition will work even in a low-oxygen atmosphere. There is a manual in the bag. And extra rounds.'

'Thank you, Bandao-tzin.' Gretchen smiled warmly at the neatly-dressed man as she tucked the canvas case beneath the seat. 'Time to lock me up.'

Parker and Bandao disappeared from view. A moment later, the hatch cycled shut, leaving her in darkness. Gretchen tried to settle her shoulders comfortably into the shockchair and failed, though she was terribly weary. Maybe I'll sleep anyway.

The Cornuelle, Outbound

Hadeishi watched the navigation plot in the threat-well shift, and the light cruiser's glyph swept across an entirely featureless volume of Ephesian space. The chu-sa looked up and nodded to his exec, who was sitting at attention, hands resting lightly on the chromatic surface of her control panel.

'Main drives, if you please,' Hadeishi said, leaning back a fraction in his chair. They were now at sufficient distance from the third planet to risk a larger signature. 'And configure the hull for maximum scan.'

Muted activity followed, but Hadeishi smiled faintly as he felt the ship shift and tremble as the main power plant spun up. A counter began to run on his main panel, showing the time until he could call on cruising speed, then on maximum combat acceleration.

Kosho turned her head slightly. 'G-decking on?'

Hadeishi nodded. He was tired of living in z-g. Tea should stay in a proper cup by itself.

A second tremor flowed through the ship and the chu-sa felt his stomach twist, then settle into a reasonable orientation. The shockchair adjusted, letting his weight settle into the comfortable frame, and the faintest thread of uneasiness receded. That's better.

'Deploy main sensor array,' Hadeishi said, watching the threat-well stir to new life. Countless fresh details were now added to the holo as the hull and the main arrays began to soak up the sea of radiation and information sleeting past the light cruiser. He pointed with his chin. 'Situation in orbit over Three?'

Smith perked up, nervously straightening his duty jacket. 'I can throw a whisker to the Palenque, sir.'

Hadeishi pursed his lips, considering his options. 'Any motion?'

'All quiet at this lag and EM level,' Kosho replied, her panel flickering with dozens of sensor feeds. The captain nodded. Without an active scan of near-Ephesian space, they were unlikely to pick up anything which was not in violent, reflective motion.

'Smith-tzin, see if you can raise Thai-i, Isoroku – but quietly. Don't paint the whole ship trying to acquire a comm lock.'

The young midshipman nodded, his face composed in concentration. Hadeishi watched his panel with interest – one section mirrored the communications officer's display – and was pleased to see the boy had maintained constant targeting coordinates for the main comm array on the archaeology ship as the Cornuelle had sped away. Good thinking, Hadeishi observed. Now, how much drift and interference has occured?

'I have a channel,' Smith announced a moment later. He struggled manfully to hide his pride. 'Engineer Isoroku is on voice-only comm, channel sixty-six.'

Very properly done, Hadeishi thought, glancing at Kosho. The exec did not seem to be paying attention. Her eyes were on the threat-well and her sensor feeds. Hadeishi did believe for a moment the sho-sa had missed Smith's initiative and efficiency. 'Well done, Smith- tzin. Good morning, Isoroku-san. How are things aboard the Palenque today?'

There was a delay. Smith's comm laser trudged to the distant orbital, then back again.

'…shuttle one is away with nauallis Hummingbird aboard…'

Hadeishi listened with mounting concern as the engineer related the judge's method of arriving on the planetary surface without attracting undue attention. A cold feeling began to well up in his breast, listening to the engineer describe Hummingbird's preparations.

This is not good, he realized, mentally counting the days until the Cornuelle could return to the space around the third planet. 'Isoroku- san, how are your repairs progressing?'

'Speedily,' came after a moment's delay. 'Shuttle one will return in sixteen hours. We should have main drives operating today. Navigational control systems are also being repaired. In two days we should be able to ease out of orbit.'

'Those are your orders?' Hadeishi clasped his hands. 'From the judge directly?'

'Hai, chu-sa,' replied the engineer. 'He wants us out of the way as quickly as possible.'

'I see.' Hadeishi's eyes lingered on the burning red disk of the planet at the edge of the threat-well. 'Then you should move ahead with all prudent speed. Sho-sa Kosho, can we tap local visual from the Palenque? I would like to see this for myself.'

The Edge of the Ephesian Atmosphere

Lying in darkness, Gretchen squirmed a little from side to side. The shockfoam in the cockpit of the Gagarin was old and stiff. There was a properly shaped cavity for lean old Russovsky, but not for the shorter and rounder Anderssen. A harness pinned her to the seat, holding her tight against the inevitable moment when everything would happen with violent simultaneity. For the moment, however, nothing was happening. The cramped cockpit of the Midge was entirely dark, every system shut down, the power plant quiescent. Outside the pitted, scored canopy, the wings of the ultralight folded around her like a shroud, nestled inside a web of shock cable and a tightly packed parafoil. Even with light, she wouldn't see the corrugated walls of the surrounding pod. All she could feel was equipment pressing in around her.

Anderssen doubted the Marines riding shotgun with Parker would bother to scan the interior of the cargo bay, but she wasn't going to risk discovery by powering up the Gagarin. Her z-suit was already providing air, water, and waste recycling. There was absolutely nothing to do but sit and wait in the darkness. Even the shuttle itself was quiet, falling out of the Palenque's distant orbit with engines cold, only a dust-gray wedge spiraling down into the gravity well of the planet.

In the darkness, Gretchen tried to sleep. She was terribly tired, her nerves trembling with too many injections of eightgoodhours. The medband had finally stalled, passing some threshold, and refused to give her another jolt. Even requests for a sleep aid had been ignored. Anderssen picked at the lump the metal band made under the rust-colored layer of her suit. Stupid thing, she thought bitterly, I want to sleep now! Why won't you help me?

Trying to relax was impossible. Her mind raced, thoughts rushing past in a constant, dizzying stream. Every moment of the mission crowded her mind's eye, each memory sharp and preternaturally distinct. The airlock of the