And books!

“I don’t believe it,” said George. “This is incredible!” He pressed his face against the glass.

She pushed on the door, but George wasn’t going to allow anyone else to take any chances, so he gently nudged her out of the way and assumed the lead.

It occurred to Alyx that they looked like a group doing a Sunday outing. George wore old jeans and a shirt with University of Michigan emblazoned across it, a pair of white canvas shoes, and a battered hat that might have been all the rage on campus forty years ago.

Nick wore a hunter’s shirt, with lots of pockets (although they were all inaccessible because they were inside the energy field), and camouflage pants. Tor had a blue blazer with a police shield stitched on the left breast and an imprint on back that read Los Angeles Police Dept. When she asked where he’d gotten it, he explained that his brother was a homicide detective.

Alyx, who prided herself on knowing how to dress for any occasion, had been taken aback by this one, which did have its unique features. She’d settled for a white blouse open at the throat, green slacks, and white gym shoes. The gym shoes didn’t quite work, but they were good for scrambling over rock and gravel. She’d added a red-and-green ribbon in honor of the season.

Only Hutch, who wore a Memphis jumpsuit, seemed out of tune with the general holiday spirit.

Like the spacecraft and the front door, the walls and windows of the house were buried under a thick coating of debris, which had drifted down from the mountaintop or the rings, or been kicked up by eruptions. Who knew?

George hesitated in front of the door, looking for a way to open it.

“Maybe we should knock first,” said Nick.

Alyx stepped back and directed her lamp at the upper windows. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought curtains were drawn across them. And she saw a chair on the deck.

It was big, by human dimensions, something that would have swallowed even George’s bulk. But the proportions were right. It appeared to be a casual chair, made from what might have been reeds strung together. Something like rattan, maybe. Dark green, almost black.

“The place feels homey,” said Tor.

It did. And for that reason, it seemed all the more alien.

They milled about in front of the door while George looked for a way in. He finally acceded to Nick’s suggestion, and knocked. Dust fell from the grainy surface and floated to the ground.

It was a strange feeling, standing out there as if they actually believed someone, or something, might come to the door. Hello, we were in the neighborhood and we thought we’d pop by. How’s it going?

George knocked again, this time with a big grin. When nothing happened, he leaned against the door and pushed.

Nick turned to Hutch. “Do you have your cutter?”

“Not unless we have to,” she said.

Tor stepped up to help. They pulled. Pushed.

“It’s probably electronic,” said Hutch. “There should be a sensor here somewhere.”

“That means it needs power,” said Nick.

“Right.”

“How about the upper deck?” asked Tor.

“It’s a possibility.”

It was high. It would have been almost at the third story in a human building. Tor backed off a few paces, set himself, and jumped. In the light gravity, he soared. Alyx thought yes! that’s going to look great in the show, music up and drum roll. Marvelous stuff.

There was a handrail around the edge of the deck. Tor caught the bottom of it, swung awkwardly back and forth, and hauled himself up. Not very graceful. Not at all the way they’d do it in the show. But moments later he reported that he had a window open.

He disappeared inside, to lots of advice about be careful and don’t break anything and watch your step. Alyx counted off the time, imagining all the terrible things that could happen to him, even if no hideous thing lurked inside, no angel, no bloodthirsty whatzis waiting out here for the first humans to arrive so it could have one for dinner. A stair could be loose, floorboards could be decayed after who knew how many years. The house could collapse on him. Or despite what they thought, there might still be power inside, something dangling from the ceiling that he wouldn’t notice in his excitement. Or there might even be an antiburglar device. Something to pursue him through the house.

“What are you laughing about?” Hutch asked her.

“Just wondering why anybody out here would need to worry about burglars.”

She saw the light from his lamp coming down a staircase. Then he was at the door.

“No good,” he said. “I can’t open it from this side either.”

“You’re right about the burglars,” said Hutch, who was moving along the front testing windows. She found one that must have been loose, fumbled with it for a few moments, then pulled the window out and laid it on the ground.

They climbed through, one by one, into a living room. There were upholstered chairs and side tables made of something that looked like wood and probably was wood. And a sofa and curtains and bookshelves crowded with books! Everything was on a scale about half again as large as Alyx was accustomed to.

Behind the sofa, a large framed picture hung on the wall, but she couldn’t see what its subject was. Tor took off his vest and used it to wipe the dust away. It was hard to make out, but it looked like a landscape. “It’ll need enhancement,” said Nick, smiling at the understatement.

“That’s probably not a good idea,” Hutch cautioned him.

“I’ll be gentle,” he said.

It was a big room, the walls far apart, the ceiling quite high. She gazed up at the shelves. And across at the curtains. There was even something that might have been a desk. The walls were paneled in a bilious gray-green, but Alyx thought it wasn’t that the occupants had possessed egregious taste as that the years had attacked whatever color scheme they’d used. Tor was methodically trying to wipe down other pictures. She was able to make out a waterfall in one, but nothing more, and even that was uncertain. While he continued, she touched one of the drapes with her fingertips, very carefully, she thought, only to see it disintegrate and turn to powder.

“Here’s one,” said Tor. He’d found a picture that wasn’t completely faded. But maybe it should have been. It was a portrait of something vaguely human, wearing a cowl, and staring directly out of the frame with an alligator smile and baleful eyes that retained the personality of the subject despite the apparent age of the work.

“Self-portrait,” Nick joked uneasily. Alyx shivered and told herself it was the condition of the portrait that rendered its subject so demonic. It lacked only a scythe.

In fact it seemed unlikely that a painting in the living room—which this seemed to be—would be of anything other than one of the occupants. They all gathered around it, and Alyx found herself afterward staying close to the others.

They were transfixed by the books. Thick, heavy tomes, mostly stacked on shelves, some lying on tabletops. The bindings were stiff with age, but might once have been soft and pliable. One lay open.

“Magnificent,” said Hutch.

They were in a vacuum, so things like books would probably last indefinitely, unless the paper contained its own acids. Nevertheless, they kept a respectful distance from the open volume, careful not to touch it, fearful lest it crumble. The open pages were thick with dust. Hutch tried to brush it away with her hand, but it was useless. Alyx didn’t think anyone would ever read what was on those pages.

Here and there she could make out a squiggle, a line of print. And there was even a notation, apparently entered by hand. (Or by claw or tentacle or who knew what?) It was halfway down the left page, and consisted of a few characters, a couple of words, maybe. This guy is full of it, Alyx interpreted liberally. Doesn’t know what he’s talking about.