"It won’t work out neatly," I said. "Maybe it won’t work out at all. But we are here to solve Muta’s problems. That’s why I got bitten by the Balrog. That’s why you happened to be on Cashleen. That’s why Li and Ubatu stowed away on the shuttle. And the Academy taught me exactly what it taught you: that an Explorer’s life is messy except when your strings are being pulled by smart, powerful aliens. Then the going gets neat and tidy… doesn’t it, Admiral?"

Festina glared for another moment; then she sighed. "Yes. When the Big Boys choose you as a pawn, they put you onto their chessboard and move you straight into trouble. But only up to a point. I don’t know exactly how the League thinks, but in recent years, I’ve developed a hand-waving theory about the way they treat us lesser beings. They’ll manipulate the shit out of us, without a shred of guilt, to bring us to a crossroads and a life-or-death decision. Then they let the chips fall where they may. The League won’t save your ass if you choose wrong. And there’s no guarantee you’ll like your choices. You might find death the most attractive option. The League doesn’t care much about human lives, but it cares a lot about human decisions. Sometimes I wonder if they deliberately arrange crises to test us. As if what we do in emergencies can answer some question they can’t address on their own."

Silence. Then I rolled my eyes and groaned. "And people call Buddhists superstitious! If you actually believe that old wives’ tale — that humans are needed by semidivine aliens to solve some grand problem that’s too deep for anyone else — honestly, Festina, that’s archaic! Haven’t we outgrown such wishful thinking? ‘Ooo, Homo sapiens may seem insignificant compared to higher species, but we’re actually the only hope for the League’s intellectual completion.’ What’s next, believing in fairies?"

Festina laughed and shoved me away. She made some retort, but the words were inaudible, muffled by her helmet. I found myself laughing too, not because anything was funny, but just from release of tension… and suddenly, the gloom around us was gone, literally as well as emotionally. The EMP cloud shot toward Drill-Press, and we were left blinking in bright afternoon sunshine.

I looked around for Tut. He wasn’t immediately visible, but I finally caught sight of him lying on his back, half hidden by yellow grass. Not too surprisingly, he was naked again; though he’d (mostly) stayed in uniform while aboard Pistachio, Tut apparently had strong nudist leanings. This time, with his tightsuit dead, he hadn’t had the luxury of instant undressing by emergency evac. Instead, he’d wrestled his suit off piece by piece — a strenuous process bare-handed, since disrobing was usually done by robots — then he’d piled component parts into a pillow for his head. When I walked up to him, he smiled and waved but remained where he was.

"Lot cooler like this, Mom. Want to join me?"

I shook my head. Explorers — sane Explorers — have a horror of exposing themselves to the microbes of an unknown planet. Eventually (as I’d already realized), my suit would have to come off. Its near-perfect insulation held in almost every microjoule of heat my body produced; without cooling systems, the interior was already reaching sauna temperature. Thanks to my Bamar genes, I could tolerate equatorial conditions for a while. But not forever. I was steeped in sweat like tea in a pot, all trickles and salt in my eyes.

Still, I could hold out till we got to the Unity camp. Then I’d rummage through the huts for clothing that fit me. Tut would have to do the same — nudist or not, he’d need clothes. It was autumn in this part of the world; come nightfall, the air would turn cool. And who knew how long we’d be here? In days or weeks, winter would come. Even though we were close to the tropics, there’d be frigid snaps that no one could survive naked.

Odd to think about freezing when I was verging on heatstroke. Welcome to the Explorer Corps.

When I turned back to look at Festina, she’d already removed her helmet. She hadn’t taken it off purely because she was hot (though the hair framing her face was sodden with perspiration); she’d been forced to open up because she wanted to talk to Pistachio. In her hand was the comm from the first stasis field she’d cracked… but the unit had apparently been EMP’d by the fog. Festina poked the ON button a few times without any effect. Then she tossed the device aside and opened another mirror-sphere. Another anchor, stun-pistol, Bumbler, and comm. I looked, but didn’t see the EMP cloud anywhere. Either it was truly gone, or it was playing possum in the hope we’d try to set up a Sperm-link again.

Festina turned on the new comm unit. It responded immediately: "Admiral Ramos, come in. Admiral Ramos, come in…" Pistachio’s ship-soul was once more on autorepeat.

"Ramos here," Festina said. Her voice barely reached my ears because of the muffling effect of my own helmet. I was annoyed to hear her so poorly… and annoyed that I immediately thought, Oh, I’ll take the helmet off, when only a few seconds earlier, I’d told myself I’d keep my suit sealed despite the threat of heat prostration. What a vac-head I was! Stubborn in the face of possible death, but buckling immediately if it meant being left out of other people’s conversation.

Still, I wanted to hear and to talk without my head trapped in a fishbowl. I flipped up the latches and unscrewed the helmet from its throat seal. The instant my suit was open, heat poured out through the neckhole, propelled by the high pressure that had inflated the suit’s skin. The subsequent rush of coolness was bliss.

"Admiral!" Cohen’s voice came through Festina’s handheld comm. Now I could hear it clearly. "What’s your status, Admiral? We thought the tail had locked, but then-"

"There’s an entity down here," Festina interrupted. "A cloud that can EMP things. Its behavior appears intelligent… or at least purposeful. Setting up a link would have given it a free ride to Pistachio."

"Oy. That would have been bad." The captain paused. "So what now?"

"We’re close to Camp Esteem. We’ll take a look around. But first, can you check the whereabouts of Li and Ubatu?"

A brief pause. Then: "The ship-soul says they aren’t aboard."

"Damn." Festina made a face. "Anyone else missing?"

Another pause. "No, Admiral. Just those two."

"Then they’re down here with us. Stowed away on the shuttle. Fuckwits. If they survived the landing, they’re in Drill-Press; we’ll have to go there after Camp Esteem." Festina took an angry breath. "While we’re doing that, Captain, why don’t you draw up a list of charges to put those shitheads in jail? It’ll help pass the time."

"Anything else we can do, Admiral?"

"No. Do not under any circumstances send another rescue team. That’s a Class One order. Stay in orbit and monitor the situation."

"I hate to ask this, Admiral, but how long do you want us to stay?"

"Last I heard, the Unity were sending one of their luna-ships. ETA three days. So stay till it gets here. After that, use your judgment; but given how little the Unity likes us, they’ll probably order you out of the system once you’ve given them a report."

"So they order me," Cohen said. "Doesn’t mean I have to go."

Festina suppressed a smile. "Captain, there’s no need to set off a diplomatic incident. The Unity may be humorless, but they’re not evil or incompetent. They’ll do what they can to rescue everyone — us as well as their own people. And a luna-ship has a lot more resources than a small Technocracy frigate. If it’s possible to get us back safely, the Unity will do it."

"And if it isn’t possible?"