The sky seemed filled with wings and claws. Hutch was trying to fight her way forward, but something caught her shoulder, raked her, and Alyx’s voice sounded on the link, “Don’t, Hutch.” Almost hysterical: “You can’t help him.”

Dammit, Hockelmann. I told you this would happen. She saw that George had a clear run at the airlock. Then the thing on her back was trying to get at her throat and saliva dripped out of its mouth. My God, it was Michael, who had looked so handsome moments before. She twisted around, hit him with the heel of her left hand, and drove the blade through his shoulder. He screamed and broke free and she went down, rolled over, and whipped the weapon against his thigh. He howled, gave her an outraged look, and fluttered off.

Pete was gone and she got up and charged the spot where he’d been while Alyx cried No, no, don’t do it. One of the things tried to get the cutter out of her hand and there was a brief frantic struggle, claws around her wrist, claws at her back, an arm around her throat. Then Tor was there and she was free again, still wielding the weapon, look out, she almost took out Tor, and they were backing toward the lander.

The things retreated a bit, gave them room. Behind them, Nick and Alyx dragged George inside, out of harm’s way.

One of the males got to Alyx, grabbed her by an arm. Wings beating furiously, it tried to wrestle her out of the airlock. Tor hit it with a wrench. Hit it again. Alyx spilled onto the ground. It was struggling with Tor when Hutch arrived. She jumped onto the ladder, brought the cutter down through a calf, slicing off a claw. More shrieks. And more brown blood fountaining. She slashed it again, and the thing let go and, pumping its wings furiously, rose into the sky, where one of its fellows attacked it.

Alyx was on her feet, climbing back up. Tor seized her wrist, and boosted her into the airlock. Hutch tumbled in behind her. Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her into the cabin. She heard the hatch close.

“No,” she cried, “Herman and Pete are still out there.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore.” Tor’s voice trembled. They could hear the things clawing at the hull, jamming knives into the windscreen, trying to pry it loose. Alyx took the cutter away from her and turned it off. “Bill,” said Nick, “take us up.” Blood ran down his face and arm.

“Acknowledge,” said Bill. The lander trembled as the engines came on. And it began to rise. The commotion outside became even more frenzied.

THEY RETURNED TO the Memphis to repair the wounded. Hutch and George were both clawed and gouged. They submitted to Bill’s patchwork ministrations, then took tranks and went to bed. When they were safely out of the way, Tor and Nick, against Alyx’s protests, took the lander back down, landed after dark, and recovered the bodies. They’d been hacked mercilessly and left by the river. Their Flickinger fields glowed when the lamplight hit them.

They were approaching the Memphis on the return flight when Bill’s voice came over the link. “I did not want to disturb Captain Hutchins,” he said. “But I thought someone should know. I found the other ring.”

Neither Tor nor Nick had any idea what he was talking about. “What’s the other ring, Bill?”

“Three more stealths. There’s another relay. Another outbound signal.”

“WHAT DO YOU want me to say?” George hurled the question at her, across the common room. The wounds on his leg and both shoulders were cemented together and wrapped.

Hutch had said nothing to provoke the outburst, but he must have seen it in her eyes. Like him, she was glued together. Ankle, thigh, waist, and neck had been slashed. Alyx had given her another trank, and she’d slept soundly through a second night. The painkillers were working fine, but everything was secured to prevent movement.

Tor was with them, seated quietly at a console, reading something. He turned at the comment and looked first at George, then over at Hutch.

Everyone had studiously avoided discussing the judgment that had led to the event. Instead, there were only general comments. Never had a chance.

Damned savages.

“Nobody’s accusing you,” said Tor quietly.

“She is.”

Hutch was lying on her back, her head propped up on pillows. “Don’t push it, George,” she said.

“So what happens now?” asked Tor, trying to change the flow of conversation.

“We report in, fold our tent, and go home,” said Hutch.

The room grew still. “Can’t do that, Hutch,” George said evenly.

“What do you mean? What would be the point of hanging around here?”

“I wasn’t suggesting we hang around here. We’ve nothing to learn from these savages.”

“Isn’t that what this was supposed to be about? Go out and talk to the Others? Find out what they think?” She realized what he was contemplating. To the degree that the cement would allow her, she turned her head to look at him. “No,” she said. “This is the end.”

“You are employed by me, Hutch. I’ll decide when it’s the end.”

“You know,” she said, “I could shut this operation down anytime.”

“I know that. Don’t you think I know that? But you’re under contract. We have an agreement.”

“I don’t have to stand by while you kill yourself.”

Tor got between them and looked down at her. “Hutch,” he said, “we want to go on. To find out what this is about.”

To follow another outbound signal.

She closed her eyes and visualized the planet-wide receiver formed by the three stealths, collecting the transmission coming in from Point B, maybe adding something it picked up down in the country of the angels, relaying it over to a second planetwide system, a transmitter, composed of three more stealths, and forwarding the signal—Where? And to what purpose?

“Along the rim of the bubble,” said Tor. “Actually, the transmission angles back toward the bubble. In the general direction of Outpost.”

“Fourteen degrees above the plane of the galaxy,” George said.

“It’s not exactly aimed near Outpost,” Tor corrected himself. “But it’s close enough.”

“It’s aimed toward the Mendelson Cluster,” said George.

“The Mendelson Cluster’s a long way off.”

“We’re sure it doesn’t go that far,” said Tor. “Looks as if the new target is either a class-G 156 light-years away, or a red supergiant at more than 400 light-years. Probably the supergiant. The track passes at about 50 A.U.s out from the class-G.”

“Whichever it is,” said Hutch, “it’s a pretty good ride.”

“We can’t just walk away from it,” said George. “Especially now.” He was talking about Pete and Herman.

Tor nodded and sat down on the edge of her couch. “What we want to do is to stay with it. We’re far beyond the kind of discovery we started out with. There’s a network here. We have to figure out what it’s about, Hutch. So we need to keep going. But we’ve talked, and we know you were right. So we learn from our mistakes. We become a little more cautious. Use common sense.”

“A lot more cautious,” said Hutch.

George’s eyes closed. “Yes,” he said. “We’re all in agreement on that.”

“Is everybody in agreement about continuing?”

“We discussed it last night. Nobody wants to turn back.”

“How long to get there?” asked George.

“The nearer one, eleven days. One way.”

“That’s not so bad,” he said. “Why don’t we just go take a look? See what’s there? And we’ll handle it as Tor suggests. We take no chances.”

Hutch closed her eyes and examined the little globs of light exploding behind her eyelids. “We’re starting to run into a supply problem,” she said. “We’re not equipped to tack on another three weeks.”