They had wandered outside, because it was only from out there, where the retreat tended to withdraw into the shadows, that he could make his point. Overhead, the big ring and the Twins were bright and hard. “The Beings are asleep in the courtyard,” she said, capitalizing the noun as he had. “You’re talking about a major project. We don’t have the people here to do it.”

He knew. He’d probably known before he’d asked Hutch. But he’d been hoping because he wanted so desperately to be able to make it happen.

He was in the position he’d dreamed about all his life, camped out in a living room that had served an alien intelligence. But it wasn’t turning out the way it was supposed to. The shelves were filled with books no one could read, or even take down. The walls were hung with pictures no one could make out. Down the back staircase, there was a power plant no one could understand. Outside, on the shelf, stood a lander that might be a great deal more than a lander, but no one could make anything out of that either.

When Mogambo got here, everything would change.

But Mogambo was the enemy.

“Isn’t there a law,” he asked Hutch, “that says the discovery belongs to us? To the first people on the spot?”

“Unfortunately,” she replied, “there were a series of bad experiences on Nok, Quraqua, and Pinnacle. In each case, the first people on the spot looted pretty much at will. When the researchers arrived, the original discoverers continued to make off with priceless artifacts, and in several cases did some serious vandalism. The result was the Exoarcheological Protection Act, which governs in these cases now. When the Academy shows up, they have jurisdiction.”

“So he can just walk right in—.”

“—And make himself at home. Yes, that’s exactly what he can do.”

It wasn’t that George was demanding credit for the discovery, although that would be nice, and probably would be his, in any case. And it wasn’t that he would have denied the discovery to the Academy. But he wanted to do the investigation himself. He wanted to bring out experts, his own people, translate the books, solve the riddle of who had buried whom, figure out what kind of technology had run the place. It was the dream of his life, come true in a way he could never have hoped. And they were going to take it from him.

“I’m sorry we let them know what we’d found,” he said. He turned a baleful eye on Hutch. “This isn’t your fault. But we’d have been better off with Preacher Brawley as our captain. Somebody not wedded to Academy regulations.”

“It’s not Academy regulations, George,” she said. Her eyes sparkled angrily. “It’s the law.”

“Oh, Hutch, for God’s sake, take a look around you. Do you see where you are? What makes you think any kind of human law applies out here?”

“If it doesn’t,” she said, “then why not just vandalize the place? Take everything. Who’s to stop you?”

“That’s enough, Hutch.”

“Just be aware that I’m tired of taking the blame every time you can’t get what you want. You hired me, you might want to consider taking my advice.” She was going to say more, to bring up Pete and Herman, but she caught herself. “I was required to make the report,” she added. They were up in the cupola, watching the Twins set. They were still living on a twenty-four-hour clock, paying no attention to day and night, such as they were, on Vertical. “All evidence of alien contact has to be reported. When it happens.”

He must have scowled at her because he was thinking how easy it would have been just to forget what they’d found, report nothing until they’d had a chance at it. And if she lost her license, so what? He’d have more than made it worth her while. But he didn’t say anything, and she just stood gazing back at him, not giving anything away, and finally she said, “It’s not an administrative issue, George. It’s a criminal matter. Criminal. Which means by the way, if it happens again, I’ll have to do it again.”

He decided to ask Sylvia Virgil to intervene. After all, it wasn’t as if he lacked influence himself. Hutch said fine, it was okay with her. When he was ready, she set him up in the cupola, where he could stand beside a giant chair, with a row of books on the wall behind him, and make his appeal. He explained what the problem was. They had been careful in their inspection of the retreat, he told her, and they had begun the process of understanding its nature. They had found the place when no one else had wanted to bother, and they had bled for it. Now the Academy proposed to take it from him.

He was getting worked up as he proceeded, and he told himself to keep cool. Let her see that he was resentful. That the Academy might pay a price down the road somewhere. But don’t let her think he’d become a crank.

He asked that Mogambo be placed under his authority. And he felt he did it in diplomatic fashion. Hutch warned him that it would be several days before they could hope for an answer, but that would be adequate because they would have it before the Longworth arrived. George could see that she didn’t expect his request to be granted, but she didn’t comment other than to tell him she hoped he had won her over. George got the impression she, Hutch, didn’t think highly of Mogambo.

HUTCH SPENT ONE night in the dome with Nick, Alyx, and George. (Tor, either seeking inspiration, or demonstrating his independence, stayed in the lander.) It was enough. Group sleepovers had never appealed much to her, and this was a restless bunch. It was all very historical, George maintained, entering all the details in his notebook, as if someone a thousand years from now would care that Nick hadn’t slept well or that Alyx was the first one up.

They never really got used to being in the Retreat. (It had by then acquired a capital letter.) They lowered their voices and talked about how much time they were going to spend with the books when they got translated. Hutch thought that would be an unlikely result. If they turned out to be treatises on celestial mechanics or on the philosophical aspects of the soul, they’d bail out pretty quickly. Nick admitted as much to her, while they stood in the half-light of the living room. “At the moment,” he said, “they’re like women.” He was talking about the books. “They’re mysterious and they look good and we can’t really touch them. But once it’s all laid out, where everybody can see….” He shrugged. Stopped. Realized he was in a mine field.

Hutch nodded but kept a straight face. “Men aren’t that way at all.”

“No, we’re not. We don’t rely on mystery.”

“Just as well,” she said.

OUTPOST FORWARDED A series of news reports on the discoveries at Safe Harbor, Paradise, and the Retreat. There was a covering comment by Virgil, informing them that the world was watching.

Maybe, but for all the wrong reasons. The world was fascinated by the nuclear devastation at Safe Harbor, and by the loss of Pete and Herman, which had become known as the Angel Murders. And she suspected that, for most of UNN’s audience, the most intriguing aspect of the Retreat would become the presence of bodies in the courtyard grave.

At the time of transmission, the media knew almost nothing about the Retreat other than the fact it was there. But they were stressing the hazards involved, the possibility of more murderous aliens running loose, stay tuned. After which they switched back to the usual, shoot-outs in the Middle East, a government sex scandal in London, a serial killer in Derbyshire, a revolt in Indonesia, and a corporate argument about who really controlled the newest longevity procedures.

In one of the broadcasts, Virgil was interviewed by Brace Kampanik of Worldwide. She expressed her concern for the losses endured by the mission, but argued that forays into the unknown are always done at hazard. But the discoveries would be “far-reaching,” she said, stipulating that “we are finally beginning to get a sense of what our neighborhood looks like.”