Pete nodded. “That’s what I was trying to tell you,” he said. “We don’t even know where the planets are in relation to Safe Harbor. At least, I assume we don’t.” He looked at Hutch.
“That’s correct, Pete,” she said. “We’re trying to get our bearings now. Be patient.” She wanted to say Don’t worry, if they’re still alive, we’ll get to them. But she had a bleak sense it didn’t matter anymore.
It was after 3:00 a.m. when Bill announced that he’d nailed down their position. “Nine hours out,” he said. All sensors pointed at Safe Harbor, the Memphis swung onto a new course and began to accelerate.
THEY SPENT THE night in the common room, enduring periodic acceleration and deceleration as Bill burned fuel to make the quickest possible approach. At noon they arrived in the vicinity of Safe Harbor. They were weary, exhausted, deflated, discouraged. It was remotely possible the Condor team were adrift in the lander with an inoperative radio, but nobody believed it.
Hutch sent off her latest report to Outpost and retreated to the bridge to wait for the bad news.
The Memphis was approaching from the dark side of the planet and its oversized moon, so that the first thing they saw was sunlit crescents, and then shimmering atmospheres on both worlds. “Wide scan, Bill,” she said. She hadn’t lost sight of the possibility there might be a hostile force nearby. A threat of that nature was a completely new idea to her, one nobody had ever confronted in the forty-plus years since FTL had become a reality. It seemed absurd. But if there were something, her only defense would be flight, and she’d need almost an hour to accelerate to jump mode. “Watch for anything non-orbital.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Anything not moving in an orbit.”
“I understand what the words mean. But this is a planetary area. There’s always debris drifting in.”
“Dammit, Bill. If you see somebody coming after us, let me know.”
“I’m sorry, Hutch. I did not mean to upset you.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t. Just keep your eyes open. All of them.”
“Yes.”
She sensed, rather than saw, Bill materialize beside her. But he did not speak.
“I’m all right,” she said. “I’m sorry.” Dumb. Apologizing to a stack of software.
“There is still a chance they are alive, Hutch.”
“I know.”
She watched the world and its moon grow until they filled the screens. “There are several artificial satellites. Not Stealths. Preliminary scan suggests they’re primitive.”
“That was Matt’s conclusion.” She had to pause between words to control her voice.
The scans were all turning up negative. No Condor. No attackers. No lander filled with survivors.
“I am sorry. I wish there were something I could do.”
“I know, Bill. Thanks.”
“Let it come,” he said.
She shook her head, tried to say she was all right. But the tears rolled down her cheeks.
“You’ll get through it.”
A human might have said, It’ll be okay.
She heard somebody at the door and got herself together as Tor came in. “Nothing yet?” he asked.
Not trusting her voice, she shook her head no.
“I’d’ve thought they’d be easy to find.”
“Only if they’re intact.”
“Oh.” He stammered. “I should have realized.”
“What about the stealth?” she asked Bill. “Do we know where it is? Find that, and we might find the Condor.”
“I have no easy way of looking for it. Please keep in mind that it is quite difficult to pick up.”
“How did Matt find it?” she persisted.
“I do not know.”
Tor fidgeted, unsure whether to stay or go. Hutch signaled him to sit. He complied and took to looking off into that middle distance again.
George came in a minute later. “Any sign of them yet?” he asked.
“Still looking.”
His eyes went to one of the screens. It was filled with images from the ground, hard-scrabble countryside, swollen looking vegetation. As if his presence were a harbinger, the telescopes reached the coastline and ruins appeared on three sides of a harbor.
Then they were gone, and the view went out over open water.
“Hutch—” Bill’s voice dropped an octave. “Debris ahead.”
An odd calm came over her. It was as if she’d moved outside herself and was observing events from a safe distance. “On-screen.”
It was from a starship. An air flow assembly and an attached control box, not much different from the type the Memphis had in her own overhead. About six meters long, broken off on both ends. It was scorched.
George asked what it was. She almost answered the Condor, but she bit it down and explained. Told him there’d apparently been an explosion.
The others were coming in to watch, Alyx and Pete and Nick.
“Here’s more.” Bill showed them a Hazeltine housing, a piece of the frame in which the jump engines were mounted. It, too, showed signs of fire and blast.
“And more.”
She looked at the pieces, and in a trembling voice, sent a message to Outpost, reporting that they were on the scene and finding wreckage. “Details,” she said solemnly, “to follow.”
“It blew up,” said Pete.
They were waiting for Hutch to say something. She was the expert. But she had no hope to give. “Yes,” she said. “That’s what it looks like.”
Somebody sniffled. Blew into a handkerchief.
“How could it have happened?” asked Nick. He looked around at the bridge. “These things are supposed to be safe, aren’t they?”
“They’re safe,” she said.
“Piece of the hull.”
It was from a forward section. The Hazeltines, on the other hand, had been aft. Which pretty much settled it. The entire ship had gone up.
Hutch looked back at Nick. “To my knowledge, this has never happened before.” But it was possible. Either set of engines, the Hazeltines or the fusion drive, could let go if someone was careless. Or unlucky.
“Maybe it was a meteor,” said Alyx. “Or they collided with a satellite.”
“The wreckage suggests internal explosion,” said Bill.
Hutch agreed. “Launch a marker,” she said.
“Complying.”
“What’s that about?” asked Alyx.
“We’ll put out a radio marker so whoever comes to investigate will be able to find the spot.”
“Got something else,” said Bill. “Organic, I believe.”
Hutch heard the collective whimper. She kept her eyes on the console and blocked everything else out. “We’ll be doing some maneuvering so you folks better go back and lock down. Bill, take us in close.” She got out of her chair.
“Do you need help?” asked Nick.
Right man for the job. “Yes. Please.”
THEY WAITED BY the open airlock as Bill maneuvered the ship. The object floated against the star-streaked sky, spectral in the glow from this world’s gauzy moon. The ship’s lights picked it up, and Hutch steeled herself. It was a limb. A leg. Severed midway between hip and knee. Scorched and broken. The knee was slightly bent as if its owner had been caught while running.
Neither of them spoke. Nick took a deep breath, but she sensed he was watching her. “You all right?” he asked.
Not really. She was beginning to tear up, and the e-suit put a hard shell over the face to create room to breathe, but it prevented her from wiping her eyes.
“Range thirty meters,” said Bill.
Sufficient for retrieval. “Hold there.”
They placed a blanket on the deck. She looked at the limb, looked at Nick, and wondered whether she’d hold up. Preach was gone. They were all gone, and she’d need to get her act together. Get the job done. Cry later.