“I’m a biologist,” she added over her shoulder, as she opened the door to the building.
Urbain followed her inside, wondering why a biologist was working on the surveillance team. Then he realized that there was precious little biological work for her to do while Alpha was lost and silent.
As soon as Negroponte pushed open the door of the makeshift laboratory, Habib rushed to Urbain’s side. He was slightly shorter than Negroponte, his skin several shades darker than her golden tan. Nearly a dozen other men and women clustered around them. Urbain could smell odors of stale food and old coffee. Containers of take-out dinners littered the folding tables along the back wall. He realized that he himself had not eaten since lunch, many hours ago.
“I’m so glad you could join us here,” Habib said, half apologetically. “I know it’s a long haul …”
Urbain, feeling sweaty from his pedaling, replied, “Time is vital. We must find Alpha before she goes into hibernation mode.”
“Or dumps the data it’s accumulated,” one of the other scientists said.
Urbain tried not to glower at him. “What have you accomplished?”
“Not as much as we had hoped,” Habib said.
“But something of significance, nevertheless,” Negroponte added. She stood beside Habib, almost protectively. She was a big-boned woman with lank, light blonde hair. Urbain wondered what their personal relationship might be.
“We’ve set up a three-dimensional display of what the satellites have actually observed,” Habib said. “We had intended to spend the night running through it and making certain there aren’t any glitches in it.”
Urbain said, “I will view it, glitches and all.”
Nodding uncertainly, Habib said, “Yes, sir. If you’ll please take a seat …” He indicated a flimsy-looking plastic chair set before a blank wall screen.
Urbain sat and the entire team seemed to flutter away to work stations that were set against the wall behind him. All except Habib, who stood beside the seated Urbain.
The wall screen glowed and then displayed a view of gray, rough, uneven ground. Before Urbain could comment, the view suddenly acquired depth, clarity; it became a fully three-dimensional image. Urbain strained his eyes, but he could see no marks of treads, no tracks or depressions in the surface.
“That’s Alpha’s original landing site,” Habib said.
“You are certain?” Urbain demanded.
“Sir, that’s just about the only thing we are certain about.”
For the next two hours Urbain watched in growing aggravation as Habib and his team patched views from the satellites. Hardly any trace of Alpha’s tracks could be seen other than a short stretch of tread prints here and there, seemingly almost at random. One view showed a small frozen lake with a small mountain of piled-up ice in its middle.
“That’s water ice,” Negroponte’s voice called out.
“And you can see a slight indication of tracks leading to the edge of the lake,” said Habib.
“Did Alpha sink into the lake?” Urbain asked, alarmed.
“We don’t think so,” Habib replied. “We have some tracks on the other side—ah! There they are.”
“But there must be more tracks,” Urbain demanded. “We know Alpha’s mass and the tensile strength of the ground. We have calculated the depth to which the tracks would sink.”
Habib nodded again, but his face showed apprehension. “Sir, we know that the treads were designed to spread Alpha’s weight so that she wouldn’t sink too deeply into the ice.”
“Still, she must have left tracks. It’s impossible for her not to have done so.”
“I agree, sir. But if you notice the timeline of the images we’ve shown, tracks show up only in the most recent images.”
“Or in places where the vehicle must have dug itself more deeply into the ground,” said one of the others, “such as the lakeside.”
“There’s no sign of tracks at the original landing site,” Negroponte added, walking across the dimly lit room to stand beside Habib.
Twisting in his chair, Urbain looked up at the two of them. “What are you suggesting? That the tracks are eroded by weathering?”
“No, sir,” said Habib, with a shake of his head. “Natural erosion rates would be too slow to erase the tracks.”
“Then what?”
“Something is actively erasing them.”
“Something?” Urbain felt alarmed. “What do you mean? What something?”
“We don’t know, sir. But some force or agency is actively erasing Alpha’s tracks almost as soon as they’re laid down.”
“Something alive, perhaps,” added Negroponte, the biologist.
17 February 2096: Fitness center
“I’m going to kill myself out there,” Wunderly puffed as she jogged on the treadmill.
Striding on the machine beside her, Pancho hiked her eyebrows and answered, “If you screw up the way you did in the simulator this morning, yeah, you prob’ly will.”
“I was really terrible.”
“It was your first time in a full-up sim,” Pancho said, trying to sound sympathetic. “You need more practice.” A lot more, she added silently. The recapture sequence had been a total mess.
Pancho had shooed Wanamaker and Tavalera away after Wunderly’s miserable performance in the simulator. She had wanted to take the scientist to the cafeteria for an undisturbed lunch together but Wunderly had insisted on a session in the fitness center instead. So Pancho had foregone lunch and changed into a rented running suit so that she and Wunderly could try to figure out their next move. Now they trotted on the treadmills, side by side, amid dozens of other puffing men and women in sweat-stained gym clothes.
“I did everything wrong,” Wunderly moaned, wiping perspiration from her forehead.
“Were you scared?” Pancho asked, striding along easily on the treadmill. “I mean, the sim’s pretty damned realistic and you’ve only been outside once before.”
Tears were welling in Wunderly’s eyes. “I wasn’t frightened, Pancho. Really, I wasn’t. It was just so … so … confusing. It was like being lost in a blizzard. I couldn’t tell up from down! I couldn’t do anything right!”
“Well, it was your first time in the rings. Gotta expect some disorientation. It’s all new to you.” But to herself, Pancho was wondering if Nadia would ever be able to handle a ride through the rings in the excursion suit. She could kill herself real easy out there.
“I’ll do better the next time,” Wunderly said, as her treadmill’s timer bell chimed. “I really will. I’ll know what to expect, at least. I’m a fast learner.”
Pancho turned off her machine, too. “Yeah, maybe so. But you’re gonna need a lot more time in the simulator,” she said. “And some practice runs outside, as well.”
“How long do you think it’ll take?”
“Six months, maybe more.”
“Six months!”
“Three, four months, at least,” said Pancho, “depending on how fast you catch on.”
“I can’t wait that long.” Wunderly stepped off her treadmill and started for the locker room.
“Why not?” Pancho demanded, following her. “You in a hurry to kill yourself?”
Lowering her voice, Wunderly said, “Pancho, we’re sneaking this whole operation, remember? If Urbain finds out about it he’ll scratch the whole deal. He’ll report me to the ICU, say I’m a loose cannon, going out on my own without authorization.”
“Better’n getting killed,” Pancho pointed out.
“No it’s not!” Wunderly retorted, with such quiet vehemence that Pancho was taken aback. Heatedly, Wunderly added, “I’d rather die out there than sit here and be considered a failure, an idiot who claimed she found life-forms in the rings but couldn’t prove it.”