There were other useful items: towels, washcloths, toothbrushes, soap, an extra e-suit, a lantern, a pair of Evening Star jumpsuits, more cable, two backpacks, and a medkit.

The lander slipped a few more centimeters.

She packed everything into plastic bags and they hauled them up. Kellie was urging her not to press her luck.

"Coming now," Hutch said.

And then Glory's voice: "Hutch?"

"Yes, Glory."

"Are you leaving now?"

"Yes."

"You won't be back?"

"No, Glory. I won't be back."

"Would you shut me off?"

The capacitors were marked with the manufacturer's name, Daigleton Industries, the date of manufacture, which was the previous year, and the Daigleton logo, a stylized atom.

They put them on the worktable and threw canvas over them, and MacAllister opened a private channel to Hutch. "Maybe we should leave a couple of people here to make sure they're still here when we get back."

"Who's going to take them?" she asked.

"What about the cat?"

"I can't imagine what it would do with them." She adjusted the canvas. "No, we're safer together. If this place is as dangerous as Randy thinks it is, we shouldn't leave anybody here."

"Congratulations, Hutch. Outstanding job." Marcel sounded delighted, relieved, wiped out. Had he really been following all that?

"Thanks, Marcel. We've got a bunch of survivors here."

"I see that. By the way, we have a message for you from the Academy."

"Read it," she said.

"The subject is 'Aliens on Deepsix. It says: Priscilla, you are directed to make every effort to rescue whatever inhabitants of Deep-

six you can find. Humanity requires no less of us. It's signed by the commissioner."

MacAllister snorted. "Gomez thinks she's writing for the ages. 'Humanity requires…. Poor boob. They'll be laughing at her for a thousand years."

One of the sure signs of a moron is that he, or she, babbles about the glories of the wilderness. Moonlight. Cool crisp air. The wind in the trees. Flights of birds overhead. Be assured these people always do it virtual. That way one dmgs no mud into the house.

— Gregory MacAllister, "Boy Scouts and Other Aberrations," Editor at Large

Hours to breakup (est): 240

They melted snow, boiled the water, and drank it down. There'd been water in the lander, but there had been no practical way to retrieve it MacAllister predicted they'd all break out in hives by dinner. He added, more seriously, that they'd better start learning how to hunt They estimated that they had a six-day food supply. That means," he added, "we'll be traveling on empty stomachs when we get to Tess."

Their destination lay south-southwest but they couldn't immediately proceed in that direction because they had no way to cross the crevice that now divided the landscape as for as they could see.

They made snowshoes and put all their gear and food into sample bags and the two backpacks Hutch had salvaged from the lander. Hutch provided MacAllister with a cutter and showed him how to use it Then they took a last look at the tower and the capacitors and struck off across the plain.

"You'll be out of the snow in a day or two," Marcel told them. That was good news. Once they had solid earth underfoot they'd be able to move more quickly. But it was a struggle for the two older men right from the beginning. Nightingale developed a blister after they'd gone about a kilometer. Hutch treated it with ointment from the medkit. Within another hour, MacAllister was limping and grumbling.

Their first challenge was to find a way across the chasm. They walked along the northern edge, moving slowly so the two could keep up. Hutch wondered whether MacAllister had been right, that he and Nightingale should have been left behind to take their chances.

At a patch of forest, they called a halt and fashioned walking staffs for everyone. "Don't need it," protested Kellie.

"Use it anyhow," Hutch insisted. "It's good for you."

Nightingale took his gratefully. MacAllister manfully swallowed his discomfort and smiled. "We all look good with staffs," he said. "Adds a certain panache."

They traveled well into the afternoon before they were able to get around the crevice. Gradually it closed, and the plain was solid again. They turned southwest.

Aside from bird sightings, all of which Nightingale treated with barely muted alarm, they encountered their first full-size native beast shortly afterward. It was about the size of a moose, shaggy, with white fur and unsettling blue eyes that gazed steadily at them with. Hutch thought, cool intelligence. For all that, it did not look particularly ferocious. Its snout was shoved into an icy stream, and it did not straighten up as they approached.

They drew their weapons nonetheless, switched on the power, and spread out.

It looked at each of them in turn, studying Hutch with special attention as if it recognized that she was directing the small party.

Hutch glanced at the worried faces and unsteady hands of her comrades, concluded she was in as much danger from them as from the creature, and moved out of MacAllister's line of fire.

As the last of them were passing, it startled them by rearing up onto its hind legs. A collar of hard bone rose around its neck. The collar ended in two long spikes, one flanking either jaw. The creature had a wide mouth full of shark's teeth and a permanent grin that reminded Hutch of an alligator.

"That thing's all dental work," whispered MacAllister.

It inspected Nightingale and showed him its teeth. Nightingale froze.

Armored ridges protected the animal's underside and its back. Its claws looked like daggers.

"Stay cool," said Hutch. The exobiologist stood absolutely still, his eyes wide. She slowly inserted herself between him and the creature. It swung its long jaws her way, looked back at Nightingale, and hesitated.

"We're not in its food chain," said Chiang.

MacAllister snorted. "By the time it discovers that, somebody's going to have a decided limp."

It looked at them, waiting perhaps for a hostile act.

The drawback of the cutter was its limited range. Notched up to full power, it had little effect beyond a few meters. MacAllister leveled his weapon and his thumb hovered over the punch pad. He was going to shoot.

"No." Hutch kept her eyes on the creature. "Don't do it, MacAllister. Everybody back away."

"Why don't we just kill it while we can?" the editor insisted.

"Slowly," said Hutch.

MacAllister frowned at her. "It's a mistake."

Hutch made her voice cold. "Do what I say."

The animal watched and after a few moments appeared to lose interest. It dropped back onto all fours and recommenced drinking.

After they'd gotten to what appeared to be a safe distance, Kellie let out her breath. "Shoo," she said quietly.

Nightingale thought he'd gotten through the experience pretty well. He felt he'd stood his ground, and believed he was ready to use his weapon if need be. He found it hard, however, to control his trembling afterward.

"You all right?" Kellie asked him.

He nodded and tried a smile. "I'm fine," he said.

They had no compass. Marcel followed their progress from Wendy and occasionally issued course corrections. The landscape remained unfailingly bleak, cold, and desolate. By late in the day they were seeing more hills. Occasional flocks of birds appeared overhead.

Nightingale was not in anything resembling the kind of physical condition required for this sort of effort. Everything he owned hurt. There was, however, consolation in the knowledge that MacAllister was having an even harder time. Hutch, who was certainly aware that she was encumbered by two people who preferred taxis wherever they went, continued to call frequent breaks.