“Talk to the captain over there. Maybe you can arrange it.”

“We’re working on it. By the way, we found something interesting.”

“What’s that?”

“A small amphitheater, we think. With electronics. And seating. Chairs are just the right size for us. Well, maybe a little small. But it has power. We think if we can figure out how to get it running, we may get some answers. Tor’s working on it now.”

“Tor? What’s Tor know about it?”

“As much as any of us.”

“If you do get something,” she said, “record it. The signal’s not strong enough for me to do it at this end.”

ACTUALLY, IT LOOKED simple enough. There were twelve chairs spread well apart in two rows with an aisle down the middle. The arm of one of the chairs at the front opened up, and inside was a pressure-sensitive plate, a couple of push buttons, and a semitransparent red disk that Tor thought might be a light sensor.

“What do you think?” asked George.

“It’s got power,” Tor said. “Put your hand on it. You can feel it.”

George touched it and nodded. “Let’s try it, okay?”

They took three seats in the front row left, with Tor on the aisle. When they’d indicated they were ready, he selected the larger button, a black square, and pushed it. The door closed and air flowed into the room. Not breathable. Relatively little oxygen, but air all the same.

He tried the smaller one, which was round and emerald-colored. It lit up. The power levels increased. Lights came on around the chamber, and dimmed. The room faded, became transparent, became a field of stars and rings, and they, with their chairs, were afloat in the night!

“Tor.” Alyx’s voice was very small, and she reached over and took his hand. There was really nothing particularly outré about the technology, nothing they hadn’t seen before. Yet having the chindi come suddenly to life was unsettling.

“I’m here, Alyx.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“Showtime. You should be right at home.”

The long arc of a planetary ring curved away into the stars. It glittered white and gold until, far out in the night, a shadow fell across it. He turned in his chair, looking for the source of the shadow, and saw behind him the vast bulk of a gas giant. It was not either of the Twins. Its skies were dark, restless, with churning winds and streaking clouds and electrical storms everywhere.

“Look,” said George. To the right.

There was a small moon. Actually, it was hard to be sure about size, because there was nothing against which to make contrasts. But it was probably only a few hundred meters long. It was a barbell of a world, thin in the middle, misshapen and swollen at either end. At first he couldn’t make out why George was interested in it. Then he saw the ship beyond. It was sleek, exotic, different. Light poured out of a single line of ports, and there was movement inside! The vessel seemed to be tracking the moonlet.

“What is it?” asked Alyx.

“Don’t know,” George whispered impatiently. “Watch.”

The ship was closing. It got within a few meters, and a hatch opened. A figure appeared, silhouetted against the ship’s internal lights. It was wearing a pressure suit.

The moonlet was tumbling, but the ship had set itself so that it maintained the same aspect.

The figure launched itself from the airlock. A tether trailed behind. It approached the rock, using a set of thrusters, a go-pack, but a larger, more ungainly version than the ones he was accustomed to. It slowed, and stopped. A second figure appeared, carrying a rod. There was a sphere at the upper end of the rod, about the size of a basketball, and there was something mounted on it. A bird’s image, he thought.

“What is it?” asked Alyx.

Tor tried pressing the plate and was gratified to discover he could exercise some control over the environment. He could bring the ship and the moonlet closer, he could change the angles, he could withdraw and watch from a distance. He could even swing around the area to get a look at the neighborhood. Four moons could be brought within his field of view. All were in their second quarter. One exceptionally bright satellite had oceans and continents, rivers and cumulus clouds. A bright sun dominated the sky.

“Can you increase the magnification?” asked George. “It would be nice to get a better look.”

Tor brought the two figures in as close as he could. They wore helmets. They were humanoid. But beyond that he couldn’t see what manner of creatures they were.

A second tether unfurled, and the second spacewalker, still carrying the rod, joined the first.

“What are they doing?” asked Alyx.

Tor was baffled. He saw nothing unusual about the moonlet. The pressure suits reminded him of the kind that humans had worn during the early days of the lunar missions. They were large and clumsy, with enormous boots and tool belts slung around their middles. Symbols were stitched on their sleeves.

“The thing on the sphere,” said George. “It looks like a hawk.”

More or less. Tor thought it was a bit stringy for a hawk, but it was avian and decidedly predatory.

They were both moving methodically toward the moon, using the thrusters on their backpacks. They rotated themselves, bringing their legs down, striving to land on the surface. It appeared they hoped to arrange things so they both touched down at the same moment. If so, they didn’t quite manage it.

The rod-carrier came in a second or two behind his partner. They must have been wearing grip shoes of some sort, because they landed and stayed. There was another delay, perhaps as much as a minute, while they turned on lamps fitted to their sleeves and stood front to front. Then they fitted the end of the rod opposite the hawk to a base plate. They laid the plate flat down on the rocky surface, knelt beside it, and produced a handful of spikes.

“It’s a marker,” said Alyx.

They drove the spikes in and tugged at the rod. It was secure.

“What in hell,” asked Tor, “is the significance? It’s just a big rock.”

“Maybe a battle was fought there,” said Alyx.

George frowned. “That seems unlikely.”

One of the figures stood beside the rod, and the other lifted a device that had been suspended from his belt and aimed it at his colleague.

“Picture!” whispered Alyx. “He’s taking a picture.”

They took more. Pictures of each other. Of the rod. Of the rock. Sometimes they pointed the device out toward the stars.

Then they put it away and walked across the moonlet. One knelt, produced a chisel, and loosened a piece of rock. He brought out a bag, put the piece in the bag, sealed it, and attached it to his belt.

When light fell on their faceplates, Tor could see nothing except a reflection of the light source, sometimes the sun, sometimes the rings, sometimes a nearby moon or one of their own lamps.

Tor went in close to get a better look at the rod. The hawk was perched on a small globe. Its wings were half-folded, its tail feathers spread. Its short curved beak was open. When he’d seen enough, he started to go long range again.

“Hold it,” said Alyx.

He reversed himself and tried to close back in, pushing on the plate, left side, right, top, and bottom. Rings and moons and stars wheeled around them. The dark giant moved beneath and drifted to the rear. Damned system. But gradually he began to understand how it all worked. He found the moonlet and locked in on the top of the rod. On the globe.

“Good,” said Alyx. And then: “How about that?”

“How about what?” asked George.

“Look at the sphere,” she said.

Tor did, but saw nothing out of the way. It was gold, and it had a few irregularly raised sections.

“Can you bring up the big moon again?” asked Alyx. “The one with the atmosphere?”

He tried to remember where it was, rotated the sky, found it, and brought it in close.