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“How about Hutch?”

“I thought you’d want to do that.”

Yes. The crash-and-burn transmission.

First he needed to inform the passengers. He did it from the bridge, telling them what they’d undoubtedly already guessed, that they were stranded, that help would be coming, but that all possibility of moving on to Lookout was gone. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We took our chances, and it looks as if we lost.” He paused and shrugged helplessly. “I’m not sure yet how long we’ll be here. Broadside has been notified. They’ll send over a relief mission, but the captain tells me it’s going to take a few weeks to get to us, at best. So everybody make themselves comfortable.

“I should add, by the way, that there’s no danger.”

He sent the bad news to Hutch from his quarters, keeping it short, nothing but the facts. Engine burnout. Going nowhere. We’ve let Broadside know. Everybody’s safe. We have plenty of air and food. He tried to sound upbeat, knowing the news would hit her hard. There was nothing she could do, of course. She was too far. There’d be no rabbits out of the hat this time, like the ones at Deepsix and on the chindi.

The next message went to the Jenkins. “Digger, we won’t be coming. Jump engines blown. I’m going to try to arrange transportation for myself on the Hawksbill. But you better assume everything’s up to you. You need to figure out a way to get the Goompahs to evacuate the cities prior to the hit.”

Then he considered what he wanted to tell Julie. He started by calling Alexandra, who was back on the bridge. “If we ask them to come here, to us, do they lose enough time that we endanger their mission?”

Alex looked tired. “Hard to say, Dave. If they get lucky and find us right away, it shouldn’t be a problem. But the jumps are imprecise. You know that as well as I do. And especially under these conditions.”

“What conditions do you mean?”

“They’re already in hyperspace. They’re going to have to jump out, figure out where they are, set a new course, and come get us.”

Damn. He looked out his portal at the stars. He could see the Tyrolean Cloud that, according to Melinda Park, was a hundred light-years across, filled with burning gas and young stars. At their present speed, the al-Jahani would need five million years just to go from one end of the cloud to the other. “Thanks, Alex,” he said.

He switched over to the AI. “Bill, message for the Hawksbill.”

“Ready to record, David.”

The Hawksbill was a cargo hauler with a total passenger capacity of two. They already had two. They’d need Marge, so Whitlock would have to come aboard the al-Jahani, trade places with Collingdale.

How the hell could he say that? Julie, it looks as if the al-Jahani is out of action. I need you to pick me up. I know there’s a space problem, but we don’t really need the poet.

No, best not insult Whitlock. Julie seemed to like him.

He wrote his ideas down, made a few adjustments, activated the system, and read it to her, trying to look spontaneous. Then he told Bill to send it.

Next he tracked down Judy. “Let’s get everybody together,” he said. “We need to talk.”

The mood on the ship was bleak. The frustration was fed not only by the perceived importance of the mission, but by the depth of individual commitment. These were people who’d invested a year and a half of their lives. His group of linguists, his Goompahs, had spent seven months working to acquire the language, had done so, had actually believed they were going to go into the Intigo and rescue tens of thousands of the natives. The others, the senior personnel, the Upper Strata, were watching an unparalleled opportunity, a chance to observe a functioning alien civilization, go south.

“What are you going to tell them?”

Before he could answer, his link vibrated against his wrist. “Collingdale,” he said.

“Dave.” Alexandra’s voice. “I’ve got a delegation of your people up here.”

He looked at Judy. “You know about this?”

She shook her head. “No.”

The bridge was off-limits except to a few specified persons, or by invitation. It was supposed to be the one place in the ship to which the captain could retreat from social obligations. When Collingdale and Judy got there, all eleven of their linguists were either crowded inside or standing around the open door.

Harry Chin tried to take Judy aside.

“After we clear the bridge,” she snapped.

But Harry showed no inclination to be put off. “Listen, we’ve got too much invested in this to just sit here.”

Collingdale had never been a good disciplinarian. In fact he had relatively little experience with difficult cases. The people he’d led on past missions had always been mature professionals. Tell them what you needed and they produced. They might question authority on occasion, but the tone was subtle. This felt like mutiny.

But Judy never hesitated. “Listen,” she said, raising her voice so they could all hear. “The decision’s been made. Everyone go back to the workroom. We’ll talk there.”

Mike Metzger had been standing beside Harry, lending support. He was tall and reedy, usually the epitome of courtesy. A muscle in his neck was twitching, and his expression was a mixture of anger, regret, nervousness. He turned and looked at David. “Can’t you do something?” he asked.

It wasn’t clear whether he was talking about remaining stalled in the middle of nowhere, or returning to the workroom. But he was close to tears.

Terry MacAndrew put an arm around his shoulders to calm him. “Judy,” Terry said, lapsing into the Scottish burr that David had only heard previously when Terry drank too much, “we’ve talked it over. We’re all willing to take the chance. And we know you are.”

“You’ve all agreed to this.”

“Right. We say we should move ahead. Take our chances.”

“Really.”

“The stakes are too high just to sit here.”

“ ‘The stakes are too high’? You’ve been reading too many novels.”

Terry glanced back at Alex, who was out of her seat, standing by one of the navigation panels, looking bored and annoyed. “We’re too close to quit now. Bill thinks we’d be okay if we tried it.” He turned toward Alex. “Isn’t that right, Captain?”

She dismissed him and spoke to Collingdale. “As I told you earlier, David, if we go back in and the system breaks down, which it is threatening to do, we’ll stay in there.” She looked around at the others. “Permanently. That’s not going to happen to my ship. Or to my passengers. Bill has nothing to say about it.” Her eyes came back to Collingdale. “Please get your people off my bridge.”

THE REPLY FROM the Hawksbill arrived shortly after midnight. Julie’s message was simple and direct: “On our way. We can make room for one more.”