Wasteland of flint

dispose of the relay by myself.'

Gretchen shook her head in amazement at his naivetГ©. This must be religious…some artifact of cult practice from centuries ago. It has to be. I'm stuck on this planet with a mentally disturbed Imperial agent. How delightful. 'What about this shuttle? How are you going to make it disappear? The smaller pieces I can understand, but most of the hull isn't going to be eaten away. Can you hide the shuttle in plain sight?'

'No.' Hummingbird looked up at the dark mass of the shuttle wing. 'In truth, I don't want to entirely hide the wreck, just obscure its origin.'

'How? By filing off all the serial numbers?' Gretchen asked incredulously.

Hummingbird laughed – a short, sharp bark – and adjusted his breathing mask. 'No – that would be a tedious effort. The comp cores were destroyed in the crash and the spaceframe mangled. The rest is only metal and ceramic. By the time we leave this world, most of the wreck will be in even worse shape than it is now. If someone examines the remains, they will draw a different conclusion than you would expect.' Gretchen could hear a grim smile in his voice. 'They will find a different trail.'

'Leading them where?' Anderssen tried not to sound suspicious, but failed.

'Far from Imperial space,' Hummingbird said. 'To a dead world with no relation to Anбhuac or humanity at all.'

'What world?' Gretchen felt almost itchy with curiosity. 'Why would a dead world send a shuttle here?'

'The homeworld of the Mokuil is dead now,' the nauallis said quietly. 'But once they were a powerful, star-faring race. Their ships visited many worlds, even some near this backwater. Here is the truth, Doctor Anderssen: We have little time here and we are in great danger. I am rushing to confuse those who will follow. I hope – and this may be a frail hope, yet it is all we have – they will find the clues I've left behind and they will be led away from human-controlled space. They will go coursing into the dead realm of the Mokuil and find…nothing.'

Gretchen stood up, feeling a chill at the undiluted seriousness in the man's voice. 'Did the Mokuil find a world like this one? A place where the First Sun people had trod?'

Hummingbird nodded. 'We believe so.' He raised a hand to forestall another question. 'We do not know what they found. All we know is they were powerful and curious and then their civilization was destroyed, leaving only ash and ruin. The best we can do is hide quietly among their corpses, hoping to avoid notice.'

He's completely insane, popped into Gretchen's mind. I have a crazy religious zealot for a tentmate. She snorted, suppressing a laugh. This is almost as bad as my third-year roommate at the university.

'Okay,' she said aloud, suddenly losing her desire to badger him with more questions. 'We'll be really careful, then.'

Hummingbird did not respond, stowing his litter in the ultralight. Gretchen looked around the camp and made sure everything was tied down and put away. Putting her head in the cockpit of the Gagarin, she checked the latest feed from the weather satellites. Everything seemed clear for a few thousand k in every direction. The nauallis had crawled into the tent by the time she had turned off the lantern.

Anderssen stood for awhile in the darkness, looking at the sky. She wondered which tiny spark of light was Anбhuac and which – if any of them – was the Mokuil homeworld. Somehow, without pressing the nauallis or checking her comp, Gretchen was sure the vanished alien race was bipedal, running on long reptilian legs, with a heavy, three-toed foot.

Shaking her head, she turned off her comm and bent down to enter the short airlock tube into the tent. I am tired, Gretchen realized. But there's no rest for the wicked. Just more work.

Someone talking close by woke Anderssen from a sound sleep. She opened her eyes to find the tent dark and chill. The heating element on the roof spine was glowing faintly, but even with it working, the waste heat of their bodies and the heavy insulation could not keep the dreadful cold of the Ephesian night entirely at bay. Hummingbird was asleep beside her, his usual snore reduced to a gargling hum. Foggy with sleep, she peeled back the flap covering the transparent panel in the door. Nothing was moving outside. There was no wind rattling the tent or whining through the guylines holding down the ultralights. She frowned. I heard something. Someone was speaking to me.

Shaking her head, she pulled the edge of the sleepbag over her face and closed her eyes.

A hiss of static brought her entirely awake. Struggling out of the sack, Gretchen heard a voice – a human voice – trying to say something amid a wash and warble of heavy interference. Turning on her side, she groped for the comm on her z-suit and found the indicators glowing softly. A channel had come alive, the signal strength indicator fluctuating wildly. Lips tight, she twisted around to get the pickup bug in her right ear.

'Hatho…sshhhsshh…' The voice faded away, leaving only a buzzing hiss.

'Damn.' Gretchen fiddled with the controls, but the voice did not return.

Hummingbird paused in the shadow of the Gagarin's wing, their tent repacked and slung over his shoulder. The sun was more than halfway above the eastern peaks. Gretchen was sitting in the cockpit, one booted foot lodged against the wing strut, head and torso under the control panel. Her comp was sitting on the seat, chirping to itself as it ran through a series of system tests.

'Is something broken?' The nauallis leaned in, brow furrowed.

'I don't know.' Anderssen fiddled with a component module hidden under the bulk of the panel. 'My comm has been picking up all kinds of strange interference. Started last night just after midnight. Sounded like someone was trying to raise us on the comm. But I can't find anything wrong.'

'Ignore it,' Hummingbird said in a flat voice. 'The Palenque and Cornuelle are under strict transmission security. If something happens in orbit, we will not know.' He paused, staring off into the distance. 'There isn't anyone down here we want to talk to. Come, let's get airborne.'

Gretchen lifted her head to stare at him. 'Don't be so hasty, old crow. The atmosphere is already heating – if we want to make any altitude at the end of the day we want to time our arrival at the Escarpment for evening when the air starts to chill.'

Hummingbird shook his head sharply. 'There is no time to waste. We may not reach Mons Prion today in any case. And if we do not, then we must be there tomorrow.'

'Fine.' Gretchen shut down the diagnostic and began worming her way out from under the control panel. 'I'll be ready to lift off in five.'

The nauallis strode off without a word. Frowning and unsettled, Gretchen watched him open the cargo door beneath the Midge and begin stowing the camping gear. Her own compartment was filled with sheets of bonded hextile from the shuttle. Luckily, they were very light for their size. Getting the ultralights airborne in this thin air was going to be troublesome enough.

After stowing the last bits of gear, Gretchen strapped in and began a preflight check. Her panel showed green in all areas and the 3v of her kids was still tacked in place beside the airspeed dial. Russovsky had left her a whole set of little santos, which were plastered along the structural bar lining the bottom of the canopy window. She touched the icon of St. Paraskeva for luck, though the little picture had long ago lost power and did not flicker or move or give the blessing of the martyrs. While she was waiting for the wings to extend and stiffen, Gretchen glanced at the other Midge. Hummingbird was nowhere in sight. 'Ah- huh. Hurry up and then wait,' she said under her breath.

Peering around, she found no evidence of the nauallis and her hand drifted to the control pad for the comm. Feeling a little guilty, she tapped open a sub-audible channel to the Palenque. A moment later the buzz of shipboard comm locking onto her signal and negotiating security filled her ear. Then a sleepy-sounding Magdalena came on the channel.

Gretchen? Has something happened? We're not supposed to -

'I know,' Anderssen said, lips almost closed, throat relaxed. 'I'm on a sub-audible. Listen, can you do a remote diagnostic on my Midge? I'm getting funny sounds and voice traffic on my comm.'

Sure. Magdalena said. Just wait one…I have to download a diag package.