one."
Mahree sighed. "I'm not surprised, although I agree with you. It might not matter whether we're armed or not, since they may not even recognize our weapons for what they are."
"And vice versa, I suppose." Rob leaned his head in his hands. "God, I'm so tired. I can't remember when I last slept well. This waiting is wearing us all down. You could take a laser and slice up the tension in this ship, then stack it in the cargo hold, it's so tangible."
"I know. I heard that Uncle Raoul and Joan had a terrible fight last night.
They hardly ever fight," Mahree said, shaking her head sadly.
Rob indicated the stack of computer flimsies. "Can I help you with this, or should I go below and check the zucchini?"
He looked so worn and haggard that Mahree's heart lurched, and she couldn't trust her eyes to meet his. "You go on," she said. "I'd rather work alone for a while. This stuff requires total concentration."
"Right." He stood up. "You sure everything's okay?"
She forced herself to smile brightly. "Positive. Don't worry so much."
"There goes the E-beacon," one of the engineering techs said as Desiree lurched slightly.
So Raoul decided to follow my advice, Rob thought. I hope that E-beacon won't turn out to be the only trace of us anyone ever finds. He brought himself up short. Stop it. Those talks with Simon must be getting to you.
He glanced up at the viewscreen as he sat in the booth in the crowded galley. The stars shone in unwinking glory, for Desiree had emerged into realspace several minutes ago.
Ahead of them lay System X. From this distance, farther than from Sol to Pluto, the central star was only marginally brighter and larger than the surrounding stellar profusion.
"Yellow-white," Joan Atwood's voice reached the listeners in the galley.
"Younger and a little larger than Sol."
"Sixteen planets," Paul Monteleon said. "Three ringed gas giants, plus five ice-and-rock chunks out here at the farthest reaches . . . barely bigger than moons."
"Can you pinpoint the source of the transmissions?" Raoul asked, his voice coming through strained and hoarse.
47
"Not yet," said Jerry, sounding abstracted. "But they're not from these eight worlds. They're from deeper in ... which makes sense."
Rob watched tensely as they passed within visual range of one of the frozen worldlets. Sunlight glittered off ammonia snowbanks and methane lakes.
"How many hours will it take us to reach those warmer worlds?" he asked Mahree, who was sitting in the next booth. "They're our best candidates."
"At this speed, about three hours to reach a distance of about two Astronomical Units," she answered. "That's a little more than the distance from Sol to Mars."
"Past the gas giants," Rob said. "By then we should be able to get some data on those eight inner worlds."
Mahree mumbled a monosyllabic agreement.
Rob glanced over at the girl, noting the dark shadows that still lay beneath her eyes. And those eyes ... there was something haunted about them, a sadness that he'd only seen before when she'd avoided talking about the deaths of her friends from Lotis Fever. Mahree had aged in the days since they'd received the first transmission. Her previously rounded, unmarked features appeared fined-down, more mature. She'll be an attractive woman someday, Rob found himself thinking.
She turned to glance at him, blushing, and he realized with a start that he'd been staring. He colored, too. "Sorry. I seem to be fading in and out of consciousness."
"That's all right," she said, but she didn't meet his eyes.
Rob wondered whether Mahree was still upset about her nightmare. But he'd asked her if anything was wrong and she'd said "no," so there was nothing more he could do.
As they sat watching the viewscreen, Yoki came in and crowded into the seat beside Rob. "How's it going?"
"Nothing so far," he told her, giving her hand a quick, unobtrusive squeeze.
"Just more hurry up and wait."
"We all must be masochists," Yoki said, glancing around the
Mahree sighed. "I'm not surprised, although I agree with you. It might not matter whether we're armed or not, since they may not even recognize our weapons for what they are."
"And vice versa, I suppose." Rob leaned his head in his hands. "God, I'm so tired. I can't remember when I last slept well. This waiting is wearing us all down. You could take a laser and slice up the tension in this ship, then stack it in the cargo hold, it's so tangible."
"I know. I heard that Uncle Raoul and Joan had a terrible fight last night.
They hardly ever fight," Mahree said, shaking her head sadly.
Rob indicated the stack of computer flimsies. "Can I help you with this, or should I go below and check the zucchini?"
He looked so worn and haggard that Mahree's heart lurched, and she couldn't trust her eyes to meet his. "You go on," she said. "I'd rather work alone for a while. This stuff requires total concentration."
"Right." He stood up. "You sure everything's okay?"
She forced herself to smile brightly. "Positive. Don't worry so much."
"There goes the E-beacon," one of the engineering techs said as Desiree lurched slightly.
So Raoul decided to follow my advice, Rob thought. I hope that E-beacon won't turn out to be the only trace of us anyone ever finds. He brought himself up short. Stop it. Those talks with Simon must be getting to you.
He glanced up at the viewscreen as he sat in the booth in the crowded galley. The stars shone in unwinking glory, for Desiree had emerged into realspace several minutes ago.
Ahead of them lay System X. From this distance, farther than from Sol to Pluto, the central star was only marginally brighter and larger than the surrounding stellar profusion.
"Yellow-white," Joan Atwood's voice reached the listeners in the galley.
"Younger and a little larger than Sol."
"Sixteen planets," Paul Monteleon said. "Three ringed gas giants, plus five ice-and-rock chunks out here at the farthest reaches . . . barely bigger than moons."
"Can you pinpoint the source of the transmissions?" Raoul asked, his voice coming through strained and hoarse.
47
"Not yet," said Jerry, sounding abstracted. "But they're not from these eight worlds. They're from deeper in ... which makes sense."
Rob watched tensely as they passed within visual range of one of the frozen worldlets. Sunlight glittered off ammonia snowbanks and methane lakes.
"How many hours will it take us to reach those warmer worlds?" he asked Mahree, who was sitting in the next booth. "They're our best candidates."
"At this speed, about three hours to reach a distance of about two Astronomical Units," she answered. "That's a little more than the distance from Sol to Mars."
"Past the gas giants," Rob said. "By then we should be able to get some data on those eight inner worlds."
Mahree mumbled a monosyllabic agreement.
Rob glanced over at the girl, noting the dark shadows that still lay beneath her eyes. And those eyes ... there was something haunted about them, a sadness that he'd only seen before when she'd avoided talking about the deaths of her friends from Lotis Fever. Mahree had aged in the days since they'd received the first transmission. Her previously rounded, unmarked features appeared fined-down, more mature. She'll be an attractive woman someday, Rob found himself thinking.
She turned to glance at him, blushing, and he realized with a start that he'd been staring. He colored, too. "Sorry. I seem to be fading in and out of consciousness."
"That's all right," she said, but she didn't meet his eyes.
Rob wondered whether Mahree was still upset about her nightmare. But he'd asked her if anything was wrong and she'd said "no," so there was nothing more he could do.
As they sat watching the viewscreen, Yoki came in and crowded into the seat beside Rob. "How's it going?"
"Nothing so far," he told her, giving her hand a quick, unobtrusive squeeze.
"Just more hurry up and wait."
"We all must be masochists," Yoki said, glancing around the
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