Nick and Tor followed him down. Then Hutch, wearing a go-pack, managed somehow to step out of the airlock and drift gracefully to the surface. George noticed that there was no dust to kick up. They were standing on bare rock.

Hutch spoke into her link, probably to Bill. The lander rose and assumed a position about twelve meters off the ground. “Just in case this thing takes off,” she said. “If we need it in a hurry, all you have to do is tell Bill.”

Cobalt floated overhead like a giant moon. The sun, somehow brighter here than it had seemed from the Retreat, sparkled just above the horizon. Autumn was beneath them somewhere, invisible, but making its presence felt by the glare that illuminated the horizon on all sides. The horizon itself was impossibly close, a short stroll and take a dive. He found it momentarily hard to breathe and wanted to press back against a wall.

Nick was watching him with an odd expression. “You okay?” he asked.

George hadn’t realized his feelings were showing. “Yeah, Nick,” he said, making an effort to sound composed. “I’m fine.”

The hatch lay just ahead. Only a few dozen paces.

If there was any gravity at all, George couldn’t feel its effects. He wore the standard-issue grip shoes, but there was still a tendency to bounce and drift every time he took a step. Nevertheless he managed, and the others trailed out behind him, Nick staying just a couple of paces in the rear, and then Tor, who was looking around, trying to take it all in. And Hutch, dressed in her captain’s uniform, blue lined with white, with the Memphis patch over her left breast. Very official.

Not bad looking, he decided. Bit of a crank, but that probably resulted from having her authority go to her head. Not as lovely as Alyx, of course. Nobody was like Alyx. But she was attractive, nonetheless.

A dish antenna lay off to one side, supported on a six-meter-high mount. The cradle was utilitarian, a simple metal casing hoisted on a vertical axis. The dish was maybe four meters in diameter. Was it pointed back toward Icepack? He touched one of the support bars and sensed the flow of power.

There was nothing loose on the surface, no pebbles, no rocks or boulders. Not enough gravity, probably. Although it seemed as if there should be some accumulation.

“We’re on the hull of a ship,” said Hutch. “When it accelerates, everything that’s not nailed down falls off.”

The hatch was dead ahead. George thought he could feel the distant throbbing of engines. He pressed his palms against the rock, searching for vibrations. It was hard to be sure.

Hutch was talking to someone again. Maybe Alyx. Probably Bill. The Memphis was visible over the lip of the hill, off to his right. He did something wrong with his feet and drifted off the surface. Nick tugged him back down. “Whoa, George,” he said.

THE HATCH WAS round and gray and smooth, set flat in the ground. The ridges on either side were about fifty meters apart, and the hatch was almost centered between. It was hard not to think it had been deliberately placed within a marker. Visitors’ Entrance.

George’s heart pounded. They moved up on it crosswise, George on the left, Hutch to the right. And at last he stood over it, the thing he had pursued his entire life.

He pushed down onto his knees and started to float off again, but good old Nick was there, clapping a hand to his shoulder, restraining him.

There was no visible means of gaining ready access. No handle, no lever, no panel concealed in the stone. It was simply a round iron plate, about the size of a manhole cover. It projected ten centimeters out of the rock. He traced its rim with his fingers, felt under it, tried to lift.

There was no give at all.

“There must be a way to get it open,” Tor said.

“Maybe a remote of some kind.” Hutch glanced at George. “Your show, big fella. This is your chance.”

She flashed that pixie grin that told him okay, time to quit talking and take the plunge. He lifted the wrench out of his harness. Moment of glory. And he rapped twice on the hatch. He couldn’t hear the sound, of course, but the vibration ran up his arm.

They backed away a few paces.

Nobody spoke. He heard a click on his private channel, and then breathing. As if someone wanted to say something but had changed his mind.

Their shadows ran off in a variety of sizes and directions, created by the sun, Cobalt, and the various sets of rings.

He tried again. “Hello,” he said. Bang. “Anybody home?” Clang. The flat side of the wrench produced more vibrations. He imagined the sound echoing through the great ship.

They waited. George was conscious of Bill listening from the Memphis, and Alyx from the bridge.

They shifted around. Looked at one another. Stared down at the hatch.

Admired Autumn’s rings. From that angle, edge on, they were a razor-sharp slice of light across the top of the sky. Beyond them, a hazy narrow cloud curved to infinity. The outer ring.

“Taking a long time,” said Tor. “I don’t think anybody’s in there.”

“Be patient,” said Nick. “It’s a big ship. It’s possible they might have to come from several kilometers away to open up.”

Hutch said nothing. She looked daunting in the shifting, uncertain light. Little belt-high babe with her laser ready to defend the world against whatever waits behind the door. Whatever else he might think about her, he knew she would be a good woman to have at his back if they got in trouble.

“Anything happening?” Alyx’s voice.

“No,” said George. She was, of course, watching everything on the screens, the pictures transmitted by the imagers they all wore pinned to their vests. But Alyx wouldn’t know if vibrations had begun underfoot, if there were indications of activity below.

George was beginning to feel cold inside his energy field.

“They don’t seem to want company,” said Nick at last. “Maybe they’re too advanced to be bothered.”

Hutch shook her head. “I doubt it. Look at their technology. They’re still throwing stuff out the back in order to get propulsion.”

“So are we.”

“But we won’t be forever. There’re other ideas on the drawing boards.” Her eyes moved between him and the hatch. “They just may be less open to strangers.”

George checked the time, but couldn’t remember when they’d arrived. Had it been five minutes ago? Twenty? “I think we’ve waited long enough,” he said.

Tor and Nick concurred.

Hutch turned that deep blue gaze on him. “You sure you want to do this?”

“We have to.”

“You’re going to punch a hole into a hull that may be pressurized. You could kill somebody.”

She meant somebody inside. George had been trying not to think about that possibility. “I don’t see an alternative.”

Tor looked uncomfortable. “It would be a shaky start to diplomatic relations,” he said. “Maybe we should back off.”

George shook his head. “We can’t. Not now.” Surely if there were someone in the immediate area, he’d respond. Right? “Let’s go ahead. Hutch, may I have the cutter?”

She hesitated. “I’ll do it,” she said. “Everybody stay clear.”

George motioned the others back, but took his place alongside Hutch. Couldn’t have her assume all the risk.

She activated the cutter.

THE METAL FELT old. It was discolored, scabrous, dull, almost the same tone as the rock in which it was set.

It began to smoke and flake under the cutter. She narrowed the blade and concentrated on one pinpoint area. Just push a hole through first and find out whether she was dealing with air pressure.

They’d all fallen silent again. The red glimmer of the laser reflected off their energy shields.

“Hutch.” Bill’s voice, out of the darkness. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s another bottle out there. This one is approaching. From the object’s rear.”

“It’s not one of the two we saw earlier?”