Apparently everyone had been thinking the same thing. The possibility had occurred to Hutch, of course, but she could see no sense in it. What would be the point?
“Sheer malevolence,” suggested George. “We tend to assume that anybody we meet out here is going to be reasonable. That might be a misguided notion.”
It had always been Hutch’s view that reason would be required to build a star-drive. No barbarians off-world. Savages need not apply. Maybe she was wrong.
Still, the evidence so far supported that view. The long-gone Monument-Makers had tried to shield at least two primitive cultures from the worst effects of the omega clouds. And a race of hawks had done what they could, a couple of thousand years ago, to assist the undeveloped civilization on Maleiva III from a cloud-induced ice age.
They’d finished eating and were sitting around, worried, frightened, beginning to wish they’d not embarked on the mission, when Bill announced that a message had come in from Outpost.
It was Jerry Hooper, who’d been with operations out there as far back as Hutch could remember. He was exceedingly serious, never smiled, looked as if he’d never had a good time. But he was competent. “Hutch,” he said, “we’ve also lost contact with the Condor. They missed their scheduled movement report. We’re putting together a rescue unit. Meantime we are forwarding their approximate last position to Bill. Academy has been informed. Please stay in contact and use caution until we determine what happened.”
“They didn’t hear anything either?” asked Alyx.
“Apparently nothing more than we did.”
“Wouldn’t the AI send out a distress call?”
“If it could,” said Hutch.
She tried to reassure them. Whatever the problem was, their friends were with the best captain in the business. They couldn’t be in better hands. In fact, they’d all heard of Brawley. Even Alyx, who said she’d been thinking about adapting several of his exploits for a show.
Hutch watched the corners of her eyes crinkle, and saw that she’d thought of something else that disturbed her. “If they were in the lander,” she asked, “wouldn’t they let us know?”
“The lander doesn’t have hypercomm capability. Landers don’t generate that kind of power.”
For the moment, at least, they all looked a bit relieved.
THEY STAYED TOGETHER in mission control, and the silence from the Condor became the elephant in the room that no one wanted to talk about. “Maybe they’re still there,” Herman said finally.
“Who’s still there?”
“Whoever built the moonbase. Whoever put up the satellites. Maybe they got jumped by the locals.”
“Do we have weapons?” asked Alyx. “Just in case.”
“No,” said Hutch.
“Nothing to fight with if we’re attacked?” asked Nick. He looked incredulous.
George cleared his throat. “Never occurred to me that we might need weapons. I don’t think anybody else ever put weapons onto a starship.” He looked at Hutch for vindication.
“There’s never been anybody to fight with out here,” she said.
Herman was sipping from a glass of wine. He finished it, put the glass down, looked at her. “Maybe until now,” he said.
No one was hungry, so they passed on dinner. At George’s request Hutch put the outside view on the main panel. It was a reluctant accession because the sack was filled with floating mist. The ships themselves seemed barely to move, and the murkiness was inevitably ominous, gloomy, sinister. But she complied, and they took to watching the haze part before them as though they were a sailing vessel doing ten knots. Their mood grew more fatalistic through the evening. By eleven, when most of the passengers usually started peeling off and heading for bed, they were convinced all hope had fled.
Only Nick maintained an upbeat mood. “They’ll be okay,” he said. “I’ve read about this guy Brawley.”
Just before midnight Bill informed them the ship was approaching jump. Hutch told them to strap down and went up to the bridge. Tor came in behind her, but hesitated in the doorway. “I thought you’d like some company.” She smiled and waved him to the copilot’s seat.
Bill started a six-minute countdown.
“Crunch time,” she said.
Six green lights lined up on the console. Five passengers and the copilot were buckled in.
“What do you think?” he asked, quietly, as if she were finally free to speak her mind.
“If they got to the lander,” she said, “they’ll be okay.”
Pete’s voice came over the commlink, “Please, God…”
All gauges on the jump-status indicator went to a bright amber.
“Three minutes,” said Bill.
Hutch diverted additional power from the fusion plant. Systems lamps turned green. The power levels of the Hazeltines began to rise. The mass indicator showed zero.
“I’m not optimistic,” said Tor.
She got a red light. Something rolling around loose in mission control.
“It’s my notebook,” George said over the commlink.
“Can you secure it?”
“Doing it now.”
“One minute.”
They floated forward.
The red light went out. The console indicated all harnesses in place again.
Lamps dimmed.
The sublight navigational systems, which had been in a power-saving mode, came alive. The fusion plant went to ready status. External sensors came on-line. Shields powered up.
Someone in back said, “Good luck.”
And they slid smoothly out into the dark. Stars blinked on, and a shrunken sun showed up off to port. Beside her, Tor took a deep breath.
“You okay?” she asked.
“A little dizzy.”
“Happens all the time. Close your eyes and wait for things to settle.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t make any sudden moves.” She was already scanning the console for radio signals. If Preach and his people were in the lander, they’d be broadcasting.
“Hear anything?” asked Tor.
“No.” Her spirits sagged. “Not a peep.” The Hazeltines cut off. “Okay, folks,” she said. “You can get up. Things should be quiet for the moment.” She poured coffee for herself and got a cup for Tor. “Bill,” she said, “where are we?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Are you reading anything?”
“Negative. Sensors are clear.”
Not good. She stared at her coffee and put it down untasted.
Navigation inside a new system was always a speculative prospect coming out of a jump. At a sixteen-light-year range, variance between intended destination and actual arrival point could run as much as 2 A.U.s. Added to that was the difficulty of spotting planets, which were usually the only bodies, other than the sun, close enough to help in establishing one’s position. For the moment, they were lost.
“I’ve got one of the gas giants,” Bill said. “Matching it with data from Outpost.”
Hurry, Bill.
“Hutch, the range from the sun is about right. We’re close to Safe Harbor’s orbit.”
“Good!” Tor raised his fists.
“Don’t get too excited,” Hutch said. “It could be on the other side of the sun.”
“You don’t really think that?”
“It’s possible.”
Questions began coming in from her passengers. Had they sighted the Condor yet? Why wasn’t something happening?
“Let’s go back and talk to them,” she said.
They turned frightened eyes toward her when she came into mission control. “Do we really,” asked George gently, “not know where we are?”
“It takes a little while,” she said. “We’re doing our best.”
Herman frowned. “Can’t we tell where we are from the stars?”
“They’re too far away,” Hutch explained. “They look pretty much the same from all over the system.” They looked at her as if she’d lost them on a dark country road. “We don’t have a map of this system,” she said. “The planets are the road signs. But we need a little time to find them.”