Wasteland of flint

ghost of a smile. 'He did not make a mistake.'

Susan leaned over and tapped the nearest wall panel awake. The Imperial crest appeared briefly, accompanied by the tinny blare of flutes and drums. She accessed an astronomy module from among a dizzying array of choices. A black field appeared, anchored by a dim yellow disc surrounded by gleaming motes.

'This is the Ephesian solar system.' Kosho's well-manicured forefinger indicated a reddish disk. 'The third planet. And here is the asteroid belt which hides our 'wildcat' refinery ship. Hayes has been building a navigational map of the belt, searching for anomalies or radiation spikes – anything that might help us pinpoint the enemy. He became concerned today when – after the first pass of the map was complete – it seemed the belt was too small.'

Hadeishi nodded slightly and motioned for her to continue. Susan tapped up a new screen filled with figures and graphs.

'Our dutiful sho-i ko-hosei then undertook a review of the projected initial system mass, local stellar formation density and the current distribution of planetesimals throughout the observed volume. He wondered if some quirk of orbital mechanics had distributed the non-aggregated mass into two or three belts, rather than just one.' A glitter entered Kosho's eyes and her lips curled back from dazzlingly white teeth. 'This was not the case. Indeed, the analysis of the system as a whole shows the total mass to be slightly higher than expected for this type of sun and this area of space.'

'How much so?' Hadeishi had already formed a tentative conclusion. An obvious answer, he thought, feeling cold again. Even the cup in his hands had suddenly lost its comforting warmth. But…

'There should not be a noticeable asteroid belt here at all. Yet there is. The system mass is higher than astronav projects.' Susan's fingertip drifted over the dull red disk of Ephesus III. All traces of humor had vanished. 'This extra mass came from somewhere. I have spent the last eight hours considering the source of this unexpected belt. I believe the cloud of planetesimals we are racing toward consists of the inner core and mantle of the third planet.'

Hadeishi did not respond. He took another sip of cold tea. Kosho continued to stare at the screen. Her fingertip moved over a control glyph and the disc of the planet rushed closer, swelling to fill the display like a sullen red eye.

'We will know for sure when we enter the belt. Our sensors are sensitive enough to determine the densities and types of stone, rock and minerals in the asteroids. But I believe we will find materials which can only be produced in the molten core of a planet, or compressed aggregates drawn from the friction zones between the planetary crust and mantle.'

She turned to face Hadeishi with a cold, tight expression. 'The First Sun people destroyed the third planet and dumped the remains in an opportune, gravitationally stable orbit. Then,' and Kosho took a deep breath, 'they reconstructed the surface.'

'But they did not finish the job,' Hadeishi said quietly, placing his cup in the disposal at the end of the table. 'The scientists in the 'cloud house' say they fled, leaving behind a ruin; a rushed, incomplete work.'

'Perhaps.' Susan tapped a new command on the wall panel. 'Doctor Russovsky filed a report with her superior soon after arriving on Ephesus Three, declaring the planetary geology so mangled by the efforts of the ancients that her planned georesonance survey of the crust was impossible. My understanding of the politics within the exploration crew indicates Doctor Clarkson was only too happy to reassign Russovsky to another task.'

Hadeishi frowned. 'He did not review her preliminary findings?'

'No.' Kosho's dry tone expressed both her opinion of the late Clarkson and the equally late Russovsky in a single word. 'He did not. Doctor Smalls, however, is very meticulous and he saved all Russovsky's work, including the geosensing readings she continued to make after declaring the effort was impossible.'

'I see.' Hadeishi felt a twinge of disgust. Academics! Hiding data from each other, falsifying results to obscure their conclusions, scrounging and grubbing for advantage…bah! 'What do the data reveal?'

'This.' Susan keyed a different glyph. 'Shipside comp worked up these density readings in the past three hours.'

The image of the surface of the third planet disappeared and was replaced by a mottled plot of tiny points, some brighter, some dimmer. There was the familiar ripple of the comp interpolating results and a new image began to build, shaded and colored by depth, describing an ovoid shape surrounded by a jumbled, chaotic shell. Hadeishi watched the display build – then interp again – then build – then interp. Section by section, kilometer by kilometer.

'The world is hollow,' he said at last as the panel chimed to indicate a completed task.

'Like a bare ball,' Susan said in a subdued voice. 'With something massive nestled inside. The geodetic sensors cannot penetrate the inner shell, but the mass readings are conclusive. At least part of it is hollow, or at the least very diffuse. I think – no, I fear it is a ship. A massive, unimaginably large ship. An entire hidden world. Something which can only be out of the time of the First Sun.'

Hadeishi found himself unable to speak. An image impressed itself upon his waking mind: two tiny figures in z- suits struggling across the curve of an impossibly huge egg. Minute, miniscule in comparison to the surface of the… the vessel they were slowly toiling across. Is something inside? Something alive? Something which might…notice us? Part of his mind began to gibber in fear and he struggled to keep such thoughts from overwhelming his consciousness.

'I understand,' he said at last, not to Kosho – though she nodded in acknowledgement – but to the memory of Hummingbird speaking tersely over a high-security comm channel.

You must go quietly, echoed the memory of the tlamatinime's voice. Quietly.

Hadeishi smoothed down his beard and fixed the exec with a stare. 'Have Smith or Hayes seen this? No? Good. Sequester this data – you and I will know, but no one else. In particular, mention nothing of your speculation that this is a ship to anyone. We do not know that. Not in truth.'

Susan almost saluted in response, but nodded her head jerkily. Hadeshi's face was grim and his thoughts were already far away. What is inside? Does Hummingbird know? He must. Why else fling himself into such a reckless attempt to wipe away our tracks?

The Shuttle Wreck, Northern Hemisphere, Ephesus III

The sun broke free of the eastern mountains and a steady bright light illuminated the roof of Gretchen's pressure tent. Almost immediately, a hot radiance filled the tiny, cramped space. Stale air trapped inside began to heat, making the shelter entirely uncomfortable. The archaeologist groaned and rolled over, burying her head in an olive-drab blanket she'd stolen from Fitzsimmons's rucksack. The cloth was filled with the irritating, precious smell of his aftershave. She wished she were still on the ship, listening to him talk about nothing. Sister of God, she thought wearily, why didn't you remind me to put up the sunshade?

'Because last night was pitch black and thirty below outside, idiot.' Gretchen mumbled aloud, then raised her head and groped for her goggles. With her eyes protected from the morning glare, she looked outside and began cursing. Immediately to her left, one buckled, scorched wing of the shuttle cast a long shadow across the sand. The nauallis's pressure tent was well placed to keep cool until the sun had risen above the wreck. 'I was tired,' she declared to herself, feeling thwarted. 'He just got lucky.'

Thirty minutes later, half-bathed in her own sweat, Gretchen rolled out of the shelter, her suit, goggles, djellaba and kaffiyeh squared away. She shook out her shoulders, letting the recycler, rebreather apparatus and tool bag settle comfortably on her back and hips. With deft, assured motions she struck and cleaned the tent, then packed the material into a small bag. Chewing a paline-flavored threesquare, she knelt beside Hummingbird's tent and peered inside.

No nauallis, she thought, shaking her head. He shouldn't leave his gear lying around like this. Or does he think I'll play porter for him and pick up the camp? Gretchen snorted at the thought, then gathered up her gear and walked to the Midge. Another fifteen minutes passed in careful scrutiny of the landing gear, the wheels and the lower parts of the aircraft. Russovsky had