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.
The control panel flickered and a small new v-pane opened, showing a progress bar.
Gretchen continued with her preflight check, spinning up the engines and going through a pressure test on the wings. Despite all the time-in-flight the aircraft had endured, the pressure seals remained intact, without even appreciable leakage. "Now that," Gretchen said to her checklist with a grin, "is some fine Russo-Swedish engineering."
A beep announced the diagnostic download was complete.
Okay, Magdalena's thready voice echoed in her ear. I'm starting a local systems check. It'll take about thirty-five -
Gretchen jerked back in surprise as a gloved hand reached across her and slapped the system cutoff glyph on her comm panel. Hummingbird's muscular shoulder pressed her back into the seat and his eyes – barely centimeters from hers – were furious. The comm made a peculiar wailing sound as the system went into cold shutdown.
"Do you understand anything about being quiet?" The nauallis punched an override into the panel. Magdalena's voice vanished from Gretchen's earbug as the channel snapped off.
"What do you th – umph!" Anderssen tried to shove him away, but Hummingbird was much stronger than she was. His fingers tapped a series of commands, then he stepped back. Gretchen shivered, shaking off a clammy feeling. "I'm running a diagnostic." She said in a cold voice.
"I told you to ignore any strange sounds or readings." Hummingbird was furious. "There will be more auditory…phenomena. There maybe visual events as well. You will ignore them. We will observe complete radio silence unless I initiate conversation."