She'd lasted less than a year before giving it up to interview for a pilot's job with the Academy. The money was about half as much, the ships were more spartan, the fringe benefits barely existed. But the people with whom she traveled tended to have wider interests than the Patrol crews. And she loved the work.

That morning, though, she was having second thoughts. As MacAllister would have put it, there was something to be said for boredom.

Nightingale sat up, looked around, and sighed. "Love the accommodations," he said. He struggled to his feet. "Back in a minute."

She woke Chiang. "Duty calls," she said. "Go with him."

Chiang made a face, took a moment to figure out what he was being asked to do, got up, and trailed along behind the older man. Nobody went anywhere alone. The designated commode was halfway down the back side of the hill, in a gully. There was just enough ground in the way to provide a modicum of privacy.

Kellie filled a pot with snow and put it on the fire.

MacAllister rolled over and looked up at her. "What time's the tour start?" he asked.

"Sooner the better," said Kellie.

Hutch rubbed her eyes, closed them again, and looked at the gray sky. "Another glorious morning on Deepsix." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she fished for her cup and toothbrush.

Off to the east, something was moving. Kellie raised her binoculars and looked out across a stretch of grassland downslope. A herd of fur-bearing animals were approaching. They were big, lumbering creatures, with trunks and tusks. Their heads were extraordinarily ugly, much in the manner of rhinos. She watched them veer off and disappear into a wall of forest, but she could hear them for a long time after.

They disposed of another round of reddimeals. Kellie had bacon, eggs, and fried apples. She washed everything down with coffee.

"While we're on the trail," said Hutch, "let's see what we can hunt up for lunch."

"Right." MacAllister raised his coffee. "I suspect we're all anxious to taste the local fare." Kellie wondered if he could ask for the correct time without sounding cynical.

They trekked down the south slope, into and out of patches of trees, crossed a stream at the bottom, and started up the far side. Occasional furry creatures, the local equivalent of squirrels, showed themselves, as well as a few larger animals that looked as if they might serve for a meal. If anybody could get close enough to use a cutter. But the creatures kept their distance. "We need a weapon that'll work at long range," said Chiang.

Hutch asked whether anybody had experience with a bow and arrow.

Nobody did.

They crossed the valley and started uphill, up the long increasingly steep slope Kellie had studied from the crest of her ridge the night before. The snow became soft, and the walking grew more difficult. Nightingale's blisters got worse, and MacAllister struggled and grumbled. Hutch called a break.

The sun was directly overhead and they were still about an hour below the summit. A few donuts remained, which they divided. Mac insisted he was feeling fine and thought they should get going. Nightingale agreed, although he was obviously in some discomfort, and they set off.

They reached the crest and discovered that the land dipped sharply and then started uphill again, but at a more moderate angle. MacAllister observed that the entire planet seemed to run uphill.

They pressed on for another hour before they stopped, built a fire, and made coffee. "We can feed anyone who's hungry," Hutch said. But a nineteen-hour day was short, and lunch followed hard on breakfast. Consequently no one was anxious for an undue delay. "We'll eat an early dinner," she promised.

During the afternoon march Nightingale said that he was cold.

Hutch checked his gear and saw that his powerpak was failing. She replaced it with one of the units she'd pried out of the lander.

A freak thunderstorm broke over them, eliciting an observation by MacAllister that lightning wasn't supposed to occur at low temperatures.

That brought a response from Marcel: "Some of our people here say it's a result of Morgan's approach. It translates into unusually severe high- and low-pressure areas. Consequently, you get screwy weather."

They walked through a steady downpour while thunderbolts boomed overhead. The rain hissed into the snow, which turned to slush. The e-suits kept them dry, and they trudged on.

Nightingale seemed distracted, self-absorbed, remote. While they walked, his eyes were rarely focused. His gaze was directed inward, and when Kellie spoke to him, he invariably asked her to repeat herself.

He remained walled off from the others, resisting everybody's efforts at small talk. He did not snap at anyone, showed no sign of anger. But it was as though he walked alone through those frozen forests.

She began to notice that the lamp on his commlink was constantly glowing. She could see he wasn't talking with any of the others. Someone on Wendy, perhaps?

It gave rise to a suspicion. "Randy?" she said, using a private channel

He looked up at her and came back from someplace far away. "Yes, Kellie? Did you say something?"

"Could I ask what you're listening to?"

"Right now? Bergdorf s Agronomy on Qaraqua." He looked over at her and smiled. "Might as well make the time count."

As she'd guessed, he was tied in to one of the ships' libraries. "Yes," she said. "I know what you mean. But it might be a good idea if you shut it down. It's dangerous to do what you're doing."

"Why is that?" He became defensive.

"Because there may be critters in the area who will mistake you for a hamburger. We've got five pairs of eyes, and we need them all. You don't want to be thinking about other things while we're moving through tiger country."

"Kellie," he said, "it's not a problem. I can listen and watch-"

"Randy. Please do what I'm asking you to."

"Or you'll blow the whistle on me?"

"Or I'll make off with your staff."

He sighed visibly, a man of culture put upon by the barbarians of the world. She stayed with him until he showed her his thumb and pressed it to his commlink. The lamp went out. "Okay?" he asked. "Satisfied?"

Kellie could see Hutch talking, too. She glanced around at the others. You always knew who was conversing with whom because people inevitably look at one another during a conversation. But Chiang and MacAllister were not using their links. That probably meant Hutch was talking to Marcel.

She missed Marcel.

Kellie had not realized how much she enjoyed the company of the tall Frenchman. She'd thought he had looked at her with a touch of envy when she'd asked to make the descent to the surface.

At the moment they'd be having late night snacks on Wendy. She would have given a great deal to join him at his table, to listen to him talk about the elegance of Dupre and Proust.

After a while, the rainstorms blew off, and the sun broke through. But it was only momentary. More clouds were building in the west.

They were buffeted by rain and sleet for most of the rest of the day. Although the e-suits kept them warm and dry, a constant wind made progress difficult, and the rain tended to smear vision. In addition, Hutch knew from long experience there was a psychological factor: When the weather was cold and wet, and your eyes made it clear you were wearing no more than a jump suit, that you should be shivering and miserable, it was difficult to be entirely comfortable. It was called the McMurtrie Effect.

They cleared a ridge and finally started downhill, but the descent was steep, and they had literally to lower MacAllister from one perch to level ground. They came at last to a river. It looked deep, but the current appeared placid.

"How're we doing for time?" Kellie asked.