“Where’s it going?”

“Apparently nowhere. It’s aimed in the general direction of Andromeda.”

She looked down on the roiling atmosphere and watched the Slurpy expand as they approached. The chindi was out of sight. The light from the distant sun and the two giants and the rings moved and shifted, providing an ominous cloudscape. It reminded her of the northern hill country on Quraqua, or the Canadian plains, where you could see heavy snow approaching for hours.

“Scoops deployed,” said Bill. “All systems are on-line. We are ready to take on fuel.”

It wasn’t of course an ordinary snowstorm. This was a storm with large slurries and slushes, with water ice and sleet particles.

“Slow to storm rate plus four zero,” she said. Storm velocity plus forty kilometers per hour.

She overheard Alyx comment that the storm was beautiful. She was right.

The Memphis was near the top of the Slurpy, planning to cross only a narrow section, to come out of it with her tanks full after two hours. If she went through the middle of the orbiting fuel station, slowing down sufficiently to play it safe, the chindi could well come around again before she got clear and plow into her rear.

She found a section of the storm front that seemed relatively tranquil and directed Bill to take them in.

The light turned gray. A blast of wind hit them, and a sudden burst of hail rattled across the hull.

“Incredible,” said Bill. “I never thought I’d see anything like this.”

Visibility faded to a few meters. Wet flakes oozed onto the viewports and the two imagers. “We need wipers,” she told the AI.

The winds buffeted them, and then subsided. Sometimes the immediate environment was dead still, and they saw only white veils of mist. The snow swirled over them, and gobs of half-frozen ammonia sploshed across the hull. Their lights played against shadowy forms, insubstantial creatures of the night.

The Memphis could completely refuel in a single pass. Maybe two at most. But the chindi had far more extensive requirements. It would take a lot of power and a lot of reaction mass to get all that rock moving. It might need a couple of weeks to top off its tanks. She wondered how long it had been here.

“We are doing nicely,” said Bill. “Tanks should be full within the anticipated time.”

WHEN THE REFUELING was completed, Hutch took them higher until they cleared the Slurpy. Bill reported that the chindi remained in orbit.

Over the next few hours they settled in just behind and above it. George began wondering aloud what the chindi would do if the Memphis placed itself directly in its path.

Hutch knew a run-it-up-the-flagpole idea when she heard one. “We don’t want to do that,” she said.

“Hutch, couldn’t we do it in a way that would involve no risk? Just keep our engines running. Maintain enough distance.”

“No, George. It’s really not a good idea.”

“Where’s the risk?”

“For one thing, they’ve shown a tendency not to notice us. At some point, they’re going to accelerate. We wouldn’t want to be in their way when they do.”

He sank into a chair. “Tor, what do you think? Would you be willing to take a run across their bow?”

“It’s not up for a vote,” said Hutch.

“I agree with Hutch,” said Tor.

George switched to his most reasonable tone. “Hutch,” he said, “I wouldn’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to, but I have to remind you—”

“It’s your ship, but I’m responsible for its safety, George.”

“I can relieve you. Then you won’t have to worry about it.”

Hutch shook her head. “You can’t do that in midflight unless you have a qualified replacement.”

“Who says?”

“It’s in the rules.”

“What rules?”

“Regulations for Ships’ Masters.”

“I don’t see how that binds me.”

“It binds me.” She sat down beside him. “Look, George, I know how you feel about this. I know how much you want to make contact with these guys. But I think a little patience is in order.”

“What do you suggest?”

“For now, we only have two alternatives. Watch and wait, or—”

“—Or what?”

“Go home.”

His eyes locked on her. “That’s out of the question.”

“I agree. So let’s just sit tight for the moment.”

“You know,” said Nick, “it’s possible that the reason they don’t answer is that there’s nobody over there.”

“How could that be?” rumbled George.

“Automated ship,” said Hutch.

“What?”

“It might be automated. Run by an AI.”

“But surely even an AI would respond.”

“Depends on the programming. Don’t forget that AI’s aren’t really intelligent.” Somewhere, deep in the ship, she thought she heard Bill sigh.

George shook his head. It was a cruel-world shake. Defeated, he settled back and closed his eyes.

Tor said, quietly, “But it might be time to take the plunge.”

“Meaning what?” asked Alyx.

“Go over and knock on their door.”

George, without opening his eyes, nodded solemnly. Yes. That was the way to go.

“No,” said Hutch. She wished Tor would be quiet. “That’s extremely dangerous. We don’t know anything about what’s in there. This thing is connected with the destruction of two ships.”

“No,” said George. “We don’t know that. Those attacks were carried out by robots. This is different. We’ve had a chance to look at it. The ship. Do you see any sign of weapons?”

Alyx shook her head. “I think Hutch is right. I think we ought to go slow.”

“You’d be putting your lives on the line,” said Hutch.

“But it doesn’t put the ship in danger,” said George. “It seems to me we can take whatever other risk we deem appropriate.” He glanced at Nick and Tor. “Am I right?”

He was right.

“This is what we came for,” said Tor. “If we have to go up and ring their bell, then I say let’s do it. Alyx, you can stay here with Hutch if you want.”

“Tor, this is not a good idea.” She saw something bordering on disappointment in his face. And it hurt.

Nick had been studying the inside of a coffee cup. Now he looked up. “Hutch,” he said, “may I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” She was losing.

“Why is the Memphis not armed? Why isn’t there a single armed ship in the entire fleet of superluminals? There are, what, twenty-some of them now. And not a weapon to be found. Why is that?”

“Because there’s never been anybody to shoot at, I guess. There has never been a threat.”

Nick flashed his reassuring funeral director’s smile. He’s-gone-to-the-sweet-bye-and-bye. Everything’s-going-to-be-fine. “Isn’t it also because we believe that anybody smart enough to develop interstellar travel isn’t going to be hostile? I’ve heard you say that yourself.”

“That’s so,” Hutch said. “It’s what we assume. It’s not something you bet your life on.”

“You also suggested these guys went in, found the body of the second occupant, and buried him. That doesn’t sound very fearsome.”

“But it’s guesswork, Nick. The reality is we just don’t know. And even if they’re not hostile, what happens if the chindi takes off while you’re knocking on the door?”

Nick frowned. “I don’t know,” he said. “What happens? I assume it wouldn’t be good.”

“Bye-bye,” said Hutch.