In the same way, Kallik had superior analytical ability, while Atvar H'sial possessed a great knowledge of Builder history. Nenda suspected that Darya Lang knew even more, but he wasn't about to head into that territory. Atvar H'sial's satisfaction when Darya was left behind on the other ship had sent a pheromonal message you could read at a hundred meters.
And amid all this talent, what did Louis Nenda himself do? He knew the answer to that. He did anything left over that had to be done, and he examined anything that made his guts rumble uneasily for no defined reason. While the Have-It-All and the Pride of Orion closed in on each other, he took a closer look at the planets orbiting their frozen primary.
Ignoring the usual space rubble of minor planetoids and comets, the count was unusually high. The tracking equipment on the Have-It-All reported forty-seven sizeable bodies, eighteen of them massive enough to maintain some kind of atmosphere. Few of them did—most were simply too cold—but one oddity would have caught the eye of a space traveller far less seasoned than Louis Nenda. Of the five worlds orbiting within the life-zone region of a normal star of equivalent mass, one planet was a monster larger than all the others combined. It was also the coldest one, almost as big as the star around which it orbited. Based on diameter alone that should make it a gas-giant with a gravitational field strong enough to sweep clear a broad swath of space. That had not happened. The deep ranging system on the Have-It-All revealed the existence of celestial debris, including objects no bigger than orbiting mountains, crisscrossing the orbit of the monster world.
You could not expect to see much from eighty million kilometers, but Nenda focused the Have-It-All's best scope on the planet.
The instrument's smart sensor complained at once. This target provides no emitted radiation at any wavelength useful for imaging. The body is close to absolute zero.
"I know. Do the best you can."
That may still prove unsatisfactory. There is nothing to work with but a meager supply of photons provided by the reflected light of distant stars. Image dwell time may be unacceptably long.
"I'll be the judge of that. Show us what you're gettin' as you go, and stop moanin'."
The image built slowly. At first it was no more than the faintest speckling of points of light, providing the ghostly outline of a disk that might well be no more than a man's wishful thinking. Louis Nenda waited. He had the patience of a man who had once spent two days and nights immersed in the oozy swamps of Doradus Nine, ears and nostrils stopped while he breathed through a narrow straw and troops of Doradan Colubrids sought to exact revenge for the death of their ancestral leader. No chance. If necessary, he would have waited a week.
Photon by unpredictable photon, the picture on the screen strengthened and solidified. Nenda was not seeing the banded cloud patterns of a typical gas-giant. He did not expect it. At such low temperatures, all gases must change state to become liquids or solids. Rather, he thought to see the typical fractal cracking of a methane or nitrogen iceworld surface. But that too was incorrect.
Just what was the pattern, slowly building on the display? He saw linear features, straight as though ruled on the distant ball. Or did he imagine them? He was well aware of the tendency of human eyes to "connect the dots," making from random patterns of light and dark a structured mental picture.
He said to the sensor, "Hey, I need an independent check. Am I really seein' straight lines on the image you're producin', or am I making 'em all up?"
They are real. Would you like an enhancement of linear features?
"Not yet. Wait another ten minutes, then you can—"
The blast of a siren through the interior of the Have-It-All cut off his instructions. It was followed at once by J'merlia's soft voice. "We are about to make our rendezvous with the Pride of Orion. Be prepared for possible anomalous accelerations."
With J'merlia at the controls, the chances of a rough ride were close to zero. But either you did what your pilot told you, or you looked for a different pilot. Nenda said to the imager, "Any problem with building the picture while we rendezvous?"
Yes and no. The ship's movements experienced during rendezvous can readily be corrected using image motion compensation algorithms. However, the planet is turning on its axis. Even if we continue imaging, our final result will be of variable definition, since the dwell time for the whole surface will not be uniform.
"Times are hard all over. Do the best you can, an' keep addin' photons to give us a good picture." Nenda took a final look at the image on the display. Numerous dark dots were coupled by narrow lines to form a fine web over the whole planetary surface. It was exactly the kind of pattern that the mind liked to conjure up—except that in this case, the sensor assured him that what he saw was not just the result of human imagination.
There was one more thing that had to be done before rendezvous. Nenda turned to Atvar H'sial, who had been listening intently to some mysterious two-dimensional data stream of sound.
"At, can I borrow J'merlia for a while? I have a job for him."
"If it will extend into the time of our meeting on the Pride of Orion, you will deprive me of my interpreter."
"I'm not as good with the pheromones as J'merlia, but I can run you a pretty good simultaneous translation."
"Then I agree. You will, of course, owe me a favor. I will go now to J'merlia and command him to follow your instructions."
The Cecropian glided out. Nenda turned to Kallik. "I have a tough one for you."
"Master Nenda, I will operate to the best of my abilities."
"This will need them. While Atvar H'sial and I are gone, I want you and J'merlia to plot out the locations of Bose transition points in the Sag Arm. Mark as many of them as you can, along with associated closest stars and distances."
"Master Nenda, we lack data about the Sag Arm. How are we to locate Bose nodes?"
"If I knew that, would I be askin' for help? You can make a start with the data base from the Polypheme ship. It was all loaded into the banks on the Pride of Orion. You should be able to access that from here."
"Data provided from Chism Polypheme sources are notoriously unreliable."
"Sure they are. But that doesn't mean everything in them is wrong."
He heard the faint sigh of equalizing air pressures. J'merlia had already docked them with the Pride of Orion, and so gently that Nenda had not even felt the contact. Which meant that Louis had to get a move on—the last thing he wanted was somebody on board the other ship deciding to take a look at the interior of the Have-It-All. He had closed the weapons ports as soon as he gave the command to seek the Pride of Orion, but there were plenty of other things he did not want exposed to prying eyes.
He gave a few final instructions to Kallik and hurried out. Behind him, the instrument sensor was turning for sympathy to Kallik, the only organic being remaining in the chamber.
This task cannot be performed well unless the ship moves closer to the target. A simple accumulation of photons will not suffice to provide a first-rate image. There is also the question of resolution. Even with diffraction-limited optics—
* * *
Nenda was barely in time. But for the actions of Atvar H'sial he would not have been. The umbilical between the two ships was already in position when he reached the hatch, and Atvar H'sial was standing in front of it. The Cecropian had towered up to her full height, with her black wing cases stretched as wide as they would go to block the whole umbilical. The pheromones wafting from her were wordless, but they betrayed a smoldering anger.
"What's up, At? Give us a bit more room there." Nenda squeezed his way through on her right-hand side. He pushed the wing cases and delicate vestigial wings out of the way, and found himself face to face with a human female. "I see. And who the hell might you be?"
But he could already guess the answer. The only strangers on the Pride of Orion were the "survival experts." This had to be one of that team of five, kept in strict seclusion by Julian Graves.
Nenda cou
ld see now why Graves had hidden them. The woman in front of him was fresh-faced and slim. With her big blue eyes and curls of golden hair, she looked about sixteen years old. She ignored his question and stared at Atvar H'sial with obvious curiosity.
"So this is a Cecropian," she said. "Funny, I thought he would be bigger."
"She, not he. The only Cecropians you'll ever meet away from their home world are females. You were standing in Atvar H'sial's way."
"No. She was in mine."
"Same thing. You're lucky she didn't pick you up and squash you flat. Cecropians are strong, an' they don't have much patience with humans. Weren't you briefed on this sort of thing before they let you out of the creche?"
The woman again ignored his words, but she did stop staring at Atvar H'sial. She turned those innocent blue eyes on Louis, and said, "I suppose you must be Nenda. Graves warned us about you."
He knew it was a deliberate come-on, but he couldn't resist. "Warned you of what about me?"
"Oh, that you are a thief, and a villain, and probably a murderer. Is it true?"
"Go to hell."
"Graves said that you would cuss and flame and generally act like an uncultured barbarian."
"What do you mean, act? You got the real thing here."
As they spoke, Nenda was reevaluating the woman in front of him and providing an edited pheromonal version of their conversation to Atvar H'sial. The impression of youth came partly from the pale and flawless skin, but beneath it he could see strong tendons in her bare arms. Her eyes might seem innocent, but they were everywhere, scanning him and Atvar H'sial. Her movements were unnaturally rapid and precise, and he guessed at hidden enhancements.
He said, "Do you have a name?" and as the woman in front of him answered he passed a pheromonal message to Atvar H'sial: "Keep crowding us forward along the umbilical. We definitely don't want her near the Have-It-All."
"I am Sinara Bellstock. Born on Miranda, trained on Persephone."
"Louis, I do not like this human female. Her pheromones suggest a desire for continued badinage and intimate discourse with you."
"That's crazy. At, if I listened to you I'd never speak to a human woman."
He said to Sinara Bellstock, "Trained to do what?" At the same time he moved past her, forcing her either to follow him or come into contact with Atvar H'sial. The Cecropian was gliding steadily forward and blocking the whole corridor.
"Trained in martial arts, trained in weapons, trained in diplomacy. Trained to endure pain, trained to be patient, trained to evaluate a situation quickly and then act. Trained to survive."
But not trained to lie, and cheat, or disbelieve half the things that you are told? Then good luck, lady. Because you're going to need it. Without all those other things you wouldn't last ten minutes on half the worlds in the local arm.
Louis did not speak those words to Sinara Bellstock. Nor did he convey them pheromonally to Atvar H'sial, who continued to transmit bursts of suspicion and displeasure. They were at the end of the umbilical, and as they entered the docking chamber of the Pride of Orion he could see four people waiting for them. There was Julian Graves, and E.C. Tally, and behind those two were Darya Lang and Hans Rebka.
Louis Nenda experienced multiple feelings of relief. The effort of speaking to a human and simultaneously holding a pheromonal conversation on a different subject with Atvar H'sial made his head feel like it would split in two. It would be a luxury to sit for a while and just listen to what others had to say.
And then there was the behavior of Atvar H'sial herself. Preoccupied with Sinara Bellstock, for the first time in years the Cecropian was not reacting with suspicion and annoyance to the sight of Darya Lang.
Louis moved forward. He had never thought it could happen, but the sight of Hans Rebka's scowl of greeting and of E.C. Tally eagerly poised to speak brought a smile to his face.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Theories, theories, theories.
With every passing hour, Hans Rebka became more convinced that his presence on the expedition to the Sag Arm was a mistake. Sure, it was nice to have been saved at the eleventh hour from what, even being optimistic, still looked like certain death by execution on Candela. But saved to do what? No one on the Pride of Orion seemed willing to let him do anything.
He had tried to make Julian Graves see reason. The Ethical Councilor simply shook his bald head and muttered to himself for a few moments.
"I hear you, Captain Rebka," he said at last. "And yes, I admit that so far you have been given little or nothing to do. That does not change my opinion. I possess a deep inner conviction that at some point you will prove to be essential to the success—even the survival—of this group."
"Doing what? How can I be needed for survival, when you brought along your own specialist survival team to ensure that?"
Hans Rebka's tone was sarcastic. He had met the "survival specialists" just before the ship made the final Bose transition to the great, frigid stellar system within which the Pride of Orion now floated. He had been appalled—appalled at their youth, at their lack of experience in dangerous situations, and most of all by their utter self-confidence. If you wanted to get yourself killed, there was no better way than to think you knew all the tricks. It took experience to make you realize that the universe could always pull another one out of the bag and throw it at you.
The irony of his words was lost on Julian Graves. The councilor frowned, pondered, and replied, "It is difficult for a logical mind to accept the idea that a redundancy of talents for survival might be a bad thing. In any case, my belief does not stem from logic alone. It draws also from personal experience. You saved my life in the past, not once but at least three times. I rely upon you to do it again."
So far as Graves was concerned, that ended the conversation. It was left to Hans Rebka to grit his teeth and sit on the edge of his seat when the Pride of Orion, signal beacon turned on and a dozen transmission devices blaring to betray its presence, made its Bose transition to a new stellar system which Hans had every reason to suspect might be dangerous.
That upon their arrival it seemed more dead than dangerous was nothing for which Hans or anyone else on board could take credit. He was wary as the survival team children—his term for them—oohed and aahed over observations of the cold, dark star and its frozen retinue of planets. The return of the signal beacon from the Have-It-All was less reassuring to him than to anyone else on board. He knew, even if they did not, that Louis Nenda had silenced the beacon and all other emanations from his ship until the crude but shrewd Karelian human felt there was no immediate danger. The Pride of Orion must have helped, a sacrificial goat that had bleated its beacon message non-stop from the moment of its arrival in the new stellar system.
Now Nenda was here, on board the Pride of Orion, and Hans didn't think for a moment that he had come to help. Nenda was here to improve his own chances of survival—and who could blame him?
Hans nodded a wary greeting as Nenda arrived. He placed himself at a point in the meeting room where the two men could keep an eye on each other. Behind Nenda, towering over everyone, was the Cecropian, Atvar H'sial. The twin yellow horns on the eyeless white head moved constantly from side to side. Hans knew that those horns received return signals from high-frequency sonic pulses emitted by the pleated resonator on Atvar H'sial's chin. They provided the Cecropian with vision through echolocation. What else they received, and whether or not human speech could be collected and interpreted, was anyone's guess. Atvar H'sial's slave and interpreter, the Lo'tfian J'merlia, was not present. He must have remained behind on Nenda's ship. How much could Nenda, with his pheromonal augment, tell the Cecropian of what was going on?
Louis Nenda was not about to say. He remained as silent as his Cecropian partner while Julian Graves introduced to them the five members of the survival specialist team.
"Ben Blesh, Torran Veck, Lara Quistner, and Teri Dahl." Graves waved a hand at the five, two men and three women sitting in a tight group.
"And Sinara Bellstock, whom you have already met."
Nenda nodded. From his inscrutable smile, Rebka decided that the man was as underwhelmed as Rebka himself by the youthful "survival specialists." Nenda was squat and grubby and uncouth, but as the man at your back in a crisis you'd choose him over all five.
"We are here," Graves went on, "but clearly we are not where any of us expected to be. This is not the Marglotta system. Therefore we must decide what to do next. To aid in that, we should pool any new knowledge. Mr. Nenda, perhaps you would begin by telling us what you and your associates have learned. I assume that you will be happy to speak for all."
Nenda's smile vanished. Starting the ball rolling was obviously not his first choice, and from the way that the Cecropian behind him reared up and back, the information had been passed by Nenda to her and was not welcomed.
"Mr. Nenda?"
"Right." Nenda paused for a moment—for more communication, Rebka suspected, with Atvar H'sial. "One dark star, small enough and dense enough to be a white dwarf, but drained of all its internal energy by some process we do not understand. Forty-seven planets, just as cold. Nothing living or able to live on them, at least in any form known to us. And one other oddity. The biggest of the planets in the region where you might expect to find life in a normal system is a monster, bigger than the star it's goin' around, but it doesn't have the strong gravitational field to go with it. We detected all kinds of smaller bodies in nearby orbits, where the region ought to have been swept clean. The big planet is also the coldest of the lot, impossibly cold. We are tryin' to build up a detailed picture of the surface, but from this distance that will be a long job. As for explanations, we don't have any. This is all on a scale to suggest the work of the Builders, but we don't believe the Builders have been active in this system."
Almost from Nenda's first sentence, Hans Rebka noticed Darya Lang stirring in her seat. At first she was nodding agreement, but at Nenda's final words and his mention of the Builders, she burst out, "No! Wrong, wrong, wrong."
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