Wasteland of flint

'When I was growing up,' Hadeishi continued in a musing tone, 'the prefecture police often used smart-nosed dogs to hunt down thieves. What is the operational range of our ECM drones if we deploy them as sensor relays?'

Kosho and Hayes stared at him in surprise. 'The outriders?'

'Yes,' Hadeishi nodded, tapping up profiles of the devices in question. 'These units are…yes, they are modular. We can program their sensor packs to search for this particle trail. Get with Isoroku and pull the chaff, jammer and spoofing racks from three of the drones and replace them with hydrogen cells to extend their time-on-station.'

The weapons officer looked a little sick, but Kosho shook her head minutely and he subsided before openly questioning Hadeishi's command. 'Sir -'

'I know.' Hadeishi looked up from the panel. 'We only have six drones and I'm asking you to cut the heart out of half our defensive network. However – with three drones reconfigured as sensor platforms we can rotate them on duty-station and extend our detection envelope across all, or nearly all, of your projected transit plot for the refinery. Our chances of being surprised by the Tyr will be greatly reduced.' The captain tried a wintry smile, but neither the exec nor the weapons officer responded. 'We have to be able to see them first or we've no chance of defeating this opponent.'

Kosho looked like she'd bitten into a rotten quince, but nodded sharply. 'Hai, Chu-sa. I will find engineer Yoyontzin and oversee the conversions myself.'

Yoyontzin? Ah, I'd forgotten – Isoroku is still aboard the Palenque. Hadeishi considered changing the plan. But Kosho has an excellent eye for modifying equipment and we've some time, picking our way through this maze, before we come into range of the enemy.

'Very well, proceed. Keep me informed of your progress.'

Both officers bowed and Hadeishi turned back to the plot, considering the difficulties of finding and subduing one ship – particularly one so well suited for this crowded, dangerous environment – in such an enormous volume. I have become a policeman, he thought, a little angry. So low has my house fallen… Then an amusing thought occurred. But this will be particularly bitter for our lady Kosho! A fine lot of keisatsu we are, chasing thieves in the night with our lanterns and rattan canes!

The Shuttle Wreck, Northern Hemisphere, Ephesus III

Despite lingering pain in her shins, Gretchen was suited up before sunrise. The nauallis was still a snoring lump in the tent, which let her range unmolested around the camp while he was safely asleep. With the sky still dark and her goggles dialed into ultraviolet, Anderssen felt a little queasy to see shoals of softly-glowing lights crowding around the edges of the tent. Close examination showed the tent to be free of infection, though the groundpad made from Hummingbird's shelter was rapidly disintegrating. Other scattered pools of radiance marked places where one of them had dropped a wrapper from a threesquare or bits of metal from the shuttle were still being digested. Despite walking in a long, wide circle around the camp, she did not find any tracks.

'Hmm,' Gretchen muttered, pacing along the base of the nearest dune. She was surprised to see how quickly the wind wiped away the marks of human presence. Hummingbird's trail to the west had already been reduced to a shallow series of dimples, barely distinguishable from the ripples ascending the face of the ridge. 'I must have been dreaming.'

Anderssen was loath to put her gloves into the sand where she'd buried the sheet of hextiles, but the goggles didn't show her the usual glimmer under the sand. Gritting her teeth, Gretchen dug in and found the edge of the hexsheet. A moment later, the pad was uncovered and – remarkably, she thought – it was intact. So… Paxaxl Corporation Ceramobond doesn't taste good. That is excellent news.

Dragging the sheet of hextile to the Gagarin and under the forward landing gear was hungry work, and Gretchen was perched up in the wreckage eating a three-square when Hummingbird finally emerged from the pressure tent. The sun was still behind the eastern mountains, but a hot pink line silhouetted the peaks. With such a thin atmosphere, there was little warning of sunrise. She toggled local comm awake.

'You want breakfast?' Gretchen made a great effort to be civil, though the sight of the Nбhuatl brought to mind all of the odd business of the previous day. 'There's hot chocolate in the pot.'

The nauallis looked directly up at her, which surprised Gretchen. I'm not exactly drawing attention to myself up here, she thought, no lights, sitting in shadow. He nodded gravely and climbed up, hands and feet finding plenty of purchase on the crumbling metal.

A bronze mealheater sat between Gretchen's boots, steam condensing to frost around the lid. Hummingbird opened the cover and pinched out a tube of chocolate and a threesquare from slots surrounding the heating element. He squatted nearby, back to a tortured chunk of drive coil, and ate quickly. Gretchen watched him warily, sipping from her entirely cold chocolate. In temperatures like these, heat bled out of everything almost as quickly as it was generated.

'Yesterday,' she said after a moment, 'you said you'd found tracks left by the survivors of this crash, leading off into the western hills. I note – merely out of curiosity – your tracks have already been obliterated by the wind. It seems odd you could find a trail left by someone six weeks ago.'

The nauallis did not answer, taking his time to chew down the rest of the bar. The chocolate followed and he tucked the foil wrappers away in a pocket of his overcloak. Gretchen finished hers as well. When he said nothing, she pursed her lips and tried a different approach.

'Are we departing this morning, or do you have more to do here?'

Hummingbird's head turned toward her, the faint gleam of sunrise reflecting murkily from his goggles. 'I will need another day. Will the aircraft be safe?'

'Likely,' Gretchen said, trying to catch any hint of an expression on his muffled, masked face. 'If no big storm comes up. I can make more pads out of the hextiles – they'll protect the wheels and the tent floor. Do you need my assistance?'

'No.' The nauallis shook his head vehemently. 'You…you should ignore me. Pay no attention to anything you might hear or see.' He paused and Gretchen gained the undeniable feeling he was debating with himself. 'If you can, try not to think of me at all, think of something inconsequential, random, useless. Don't watch me or concentrate on my actions.'

'I see.' Gretchen licked her lips. They were always dry in this bitterly cold air. 'Like yesterday. I started to follow you and…got caught up in whatever you were doing.'

Hummingbird stood up, saying nothing, and climbed down from the wreck. Gretchen glared at his back, but he did not turn or look back.

'Pigheaded Aztec!' She sat sullenly for awhile, watching him closely out of spite. The nauallis wandered around the camp aimlessly, then took off into the desert. Though Gretchen kept the comm channel open, she heard nothing more of the odd noise. Eventually, Hummingbird disappeared around the far side of the shuttle. She thought about pestering him on the comm, but the sun was rising and there were things to do. Gretchen climbed down and began gathering up hextiles scattered around the crash site.

After a half hour, the sun was full in the eastern sky, painting everything in bleached-out colors. Anderssen used the sunshade from Hummingbird's tent to make an awning. Being out of the direct glare cut at least thirty degrees off the heat load borne by her suit. She squatted and began piecing new tilepads together. This is boring, Gretchen thought after an hour had passed. She looked up and scanned the horizon. There was no sign of the nauallis. Where is he now? Probably getting into trouble.

Restraining her curiosity, Gretchen finished assembling the last of the pads and dragged them over to the Gagarin. Getting the rear wheels onto the tilepads was sweaty work and when she was done, Anderssen parked herself in the shade of the awning. Her suit water tasted more brackish than usual, so she broke out a fresh bottle and topped off the reservoir before drinking the rest straight.

Hummingbird had not returned. Gretchen's comp showed noon had come and gone.

A little concerned, Anderssen climbed up onto the wreck again and found a perch near the twisted spine of the craft. From this new elevation, she searched the valley, hoping to catch sight of a tan-and-black figure doing…