“Oh, I think we can go aboard,” Zack said.

“Zack, how?” Makali said. She was almost sputtering.

“Because in this gravity, we can throw him ten meters,” Dale said. They were all experiencing low gravity. But apparently not all of them were thinking of its potential advantages. Not even the famous exospecialist. “Or, really, you could throw me ten meters. You’re mission commander, Zack. I’m expendable.”

Zack considered this for a moment. “I guess, if you count Keanu as one, I’ve already been first to enter an alien spacecraft. It’s someone else’s turn.”

“Not the exospecialist?” Makali said.

“After me,” Dale said. He gestured to Zack. “May I?”

In Keanu surface gravity, it was a simple matter for Dale to step into Zack’s hands, which were clenched waist-high, steadying himself with a hand on Zack’s head. “Okay, I’m just going to propel you.”

“That should do it. Look out below if I miss.”

“You might not hit the ground for a minute. I’ll have time to duck.”

“Or catch you,” Williams said.

“Remember,” Makali said, “you still have to get down.”

“Then you can catch me,” Dale told her.

It took only one toss. Dale’s flight up the side of the alien ship reminded him most of a roller coaster ascent; it seemed to have the same speed.

Which gave him plenty of time to reach for the hatch while not smacking his head on it. “It’s bigger than it looks from down there,” he said, holding on. He glanced down at Zack and the others once, then resolved not to do that again.

The trickiest maneuver was getting on top of the hatch. Fortunately, the plug itself had layers and notches in it, sufficient to allow him to take a grip. Once secured, he swung his feet to the side of the vehicle, then Spider-Man-walked his way up.

He actually had to climb over the rim of the hatch. How tall were these guys?

There was an airlock of sorts—or, rather, a large chamber with a hatch on its inner bulkhead. The chamber was as featureless as a sewer pipe, and, stained and corroded, not much better looking. He wondered how much of that was due to age, and how much was in the original design.

Beyond the inner hatch was simply darkness…a metallic deck and a high ceiling. With no light but what came through the hatch, which was itself in shadow, there was nothing to see: no equipment, no tools, not even an access ladder or hatch to an upper deck.

The interior confirmed Dale’s impression of the exterior; it was like an Egyptian tomb in there.

He turned and almost jumped out of his skinsuit.

Makali Pillay was standing just inside the outer hatchway. “Makali, what are you doing up here?”

“You said, ‘after me.’”

“I meant on the order of days or weeks.” He stepped aside. “Well, take a look. You’re not going to find anything.”

She said nothing, merely slipping past him into the big, empty deck.

Which left Dale with that rarest of things in any space excursion…time to enjoy the view. Especially since this might be my last beautiful vista.

It wasn’t much…a white surface that could just as easily have served as the parking lot for an interplanetary sports arena. Around its edges lay dirty snow and ice, and rock, all of which looked exactly like equivalent surfaces on every comet or asteroid humans had ever photographed.

There were low hills, more rock than snow, on the horizon—which was freakishly close. As he scanned from one heading to another, Dale noted the change from rock to snow and ice, and—

“Hey,” he said to the others. “I can see Mt. St. Helens!”

“Great!” Zack said. “How far?”

“Wow, hard to tell—maybe five clicks, might be less.”

If he took the bearing directly out the hatch as zero degrees, the next vent lay at forty. He pointed in that direction, and was rewarded by the sight of Zack Stewart repositioning Valya and Williams in that direction. (He must have found that the shiny white surface repelled marks.)

See, Stewart? Dale thought. I could have been useful on a long-duration space flight. I could have finished my tour on ISS. You stupid son of a bitch.

Makali emerged. “What took you so long?

She pointed upward. “I got up to the next floor.”

“Deck. And I didn’t see any access.”

“It was sort of a tube against the wall.”

“Bulkhead.”

“You can stop that any time,” she said. “Especially since you didn’t find any whatever-you-call-it.”

“Whatever. What was on the upper floor?

“I’m sure it was the…the flight deck, okay? But it was just scraped and messed up, mostly open pipes, as if it had been stripped.” She thought for a moment. “It looked a little like the inside of Brahma.”

“Hey, you two!” Zack was calling from the base of the spacecraft. “Let’s go!”

The jumps down—Makali first, followed by Dale—were easy, with one exception: They both landed on two feet like parachutists, then bounced at least two meters in the air like trampoliners, before coming to rest again…this time like tumblers.

“Suits okay?” Zack said, sounding worried.

“So far,” Dale said. Zack was already turning away, with Makali following him, rushing out ahead of Valya and Williams, leading the march toward Mt. St. Helens Vent.

Dale found himself bringing up the rear with Williams, who was moving slowly. “How are you doing, friend?”

“Not good. I’ve had a kind of stitch in my side the last mile or so.” God bless him, he was a metric refusenik. “I’m finding it rather difficult to breathe. And my vision…it’s like there’s a blue-colored overlay on everything now.”

Now that Williams had mentioned it, Dale realized he was seeing the same thing. “How blue, exactly? I’m getting a kind of sky-blue tinge—”

“Dodger blue.”

They were talking quietly, walking within a meter of each other. Dale had no idea who had heard what. “Hey, everyone! Have you noticed any changes to your suit, and vision?”

Zack stopped to let everyone catch up. “Now that you mention it,” he said, “I’m seeing some blue sky in my vision. I thought it was the skinsuit reacting to all the brightness.”

“Mine is darker,” Valya announced.

“How are you feeling?” Dale asked her.

“Steps are beginning to be hard work.”

“Are you still feeling the pinpricks?”

She seemed surprised by the question. “No.”

Dale got a sick feeling in his stomach. “Zack,” he said, “I think the suits are trying to tell us they’re running down.”

It was impossible to read expressions, difficult even to read body language. Dale had to give it to Zack; he revealed nothing of what had to be real concern. “That’s a good thought, and a good reminder that we should pick up the pace,” he said. “Everyone! Off we go again!”

Instead of leading, however, he stayed back like a Marine drill instructor, as Makali, Valya, and Williams passed by.

Zack grabbed Dale and moved with him, pointing directly at Williams’s back without saying anything. The message was obvious: Help him.

“Any thoughts on what we do when we get to the next vent? The process of getting into these things was…unique. Do they have a machine that cuts us out of them?”

Makali said, “Remember the vesicles? They just dissolved.”

Williams stopped. “I’m sorry, folks. Dodger blue has given way to indigo…”

He swayed visibly, then pitched forward onto his face.

Zack and Dale reached him at the same time, rolling him onto his back. “Is he breathing?” Zack asked.

“Hard to tell—” In fact, it was impossible to tell. Wait! He managed to see Williams’s face through the skinsuit mesh. His eyes were open. “Hey, Wade, stick with us, friend! We’re within sight of the vent,” Dale lied. “We’ll carry you.”

With Zack’s help, they got Williams upright, then onto Dale’s shoulders in an awkward fireman’s carry. “Can you manage this?”

“Zack, he weighs about five kilograms.” While he had to remind himself not to turn too sharply, it wasn’t difficult carrying Wade Williams.