They were about an hour and a little under eleven hundred klicks out from their target mountains when the first signs of trouble appeared.

It started as a faint sizzling sound, like meat on an open-fire grill in the distance, accompanied by a slight drooping of the fueler's starboard side. "Max?" Pheylan asked, frowning at the status board. The whole line of lights under the AIRFOIL heading had begun to flicker uncertainly between green and red.

"The airfoils are losing charge capacity," Max said. "I'm attempting to degauss and restart them, one at a time."

The fueler dipped again, this time to port, this time noticeably deeper. "How long does the procedure take?"

"In a maintenance shop it would normally take three hours," Max said. "There are shortcuts, though, for emergencies. None of them recommended, I might add, but under the circumstances I don't think we have many other options."

"Not many, no," Pheylan agreed tightly, checking the location display. They were still well out of the line-of-sight range they'd need to signal Holloway with either the fueler's laser or radio. And considering how and where they'd meshed in, there was a good chance the Peacekeepers didn't even know they were there. "We need to find a way to signal Holloway before we go down. What's the best in-atmosphere range we can get out of our Shrike missiles?"

"That number isn't listed in the specifications," Max said. "From this altitude, launched at optimum angle, I estimate they have a range of approximately six hundred eighty kilometers."

Pheylan grimaced. Not nearly far enough to be seen from mountains a thousand klicks away. "How much farther can we get before the airfoils fail completely?"

"Unknown," Max said. "I estimate a probability of point five that we can go another two to three hundred kilometers before we have to put down. But we'll be losing altitude before then."

And a lower altitude would also limit the missiles' range. "Activate two of the missiles," he ordered. "Fire the first at optimum angle when you can't hold this altitude any more. Fire the second at your best guess for farthest range after that point. Fuse them both for above-ground detonation—we want something they'll be able to see."

"Understood."

The screeching and jostling continued to worsen as the flight began to take on the characteristics of an entertainment-park thrill ride. Pheylan split his attention between the displays and the status board, the back of his mind working out contingency plans depending on how far they got and whether it appeared likely that the Peacekeepers might see either of his distress missiles.

And then, with 850 klicks to go, a new sound interjected itself into the growing cacophony: the distinctive bubbling hiss of a missile being launched. "First Shrike is away," Max announced. "I'd like to try decreasing our altitude. That may help with the airfoil reactivation."

"Go ahead," Pheylan said. "Try not to hit anything."

The fueler took on a downward pitch as they dropped toward the ground. "It doesn't look from here like it's helping," Pheylan said, watching the status board.

"Not from here, either," Max admitted. "I don't think there's anything more I can do, Commander. I can nurse them along a little farther; but when they go, they'll go."

And without at least some airfoil capability it would be all but impossible to land the fueler without splattering it all over the landscape. "Understood," Pheylan said. "Fire that second missile and start looking for a place to set down."

"I have a possible location directly ahead," Max said as the second bubbling hiss briefly sounded. A flashing circle appeared on one of the displays, the range finder marking it as forty klicks away. "It looks like a fire clearing on the side of a low hill," the computer went on. "Plenty of visibility if you choose to wait for rescue; conversely, the immediate route toward the northeast appears reasonable if you instead choose to begin walking."

"What, no restaurant?"

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind," Pheylan sighed. Sometimes the parameters that a parasentient computer decided to focus on could get a little strange. "Just concentrate on getting us down in one piece. The nonessentials we can sort out later."

"It was just barely in range of our spotters," Crane said, tapping a spot with his finger as Holloway and Takara joined him at the map table. "But it was definitely a Peacekeeper missile. Gasperi says either a Sperling or an old Shrike."

"Any idea where it came from?" Holloway said.

"Southwest somewhere," Crane said. "He says that if it was a Sperling, it could have made maybe eight hundred klicks. The Shrike could only have gone six or seven."

"Six to eight hundred klicks," Takara muttered. "Well, that certainly narrows it down."

"Sorry, sir, it's the best we can do," Crane apologized.

"I know." Takara looked at Holloway. "So are we going to go take a look?"

"We don't have much choice," Holloway said, running his fingers through his hair. "Stray missiles are usually either misfires or distress signals. Either way, it says there's a Peacekeeper out there who needs help. Crane, what's vehicle status?"

"We've got an aircar and cargo carrier on standby," Crane said. "I also took the liberty of telling Duggen to pull together a team."

"Sounds good," Holloway said. "Go ahead and confirm the orders."

"Yes, sir."

"You think we should send Bethmann with them?" Takara suggested.

Holloway shook his head. "I'm not going to risk our only combat-capable Corvine. Not even if that was Admiral Rudzinski stuck out there." He rubbed a finger across his lower lip. "I wonder how he got in past the Zhirrzh warships."

"Sensor-stealthing, probably," Takara said. "Or else he just meshed in beneath them while they were all looking in the other direction."

"Pretty sloppy work on their part," Holloway said, a nebulous thought beginning to form in the back of his mind. If the Zhirrzh warships really weren't paying attention up there... "Let's hope he's brought some spare supplies or fuel with him."

"And that we can get to it before the Zhirrzh do," Takara added. "Exploding a missile in front of God and everybody kind of ruins the whole point of sneaking in."

"Maybe," Holloway said. "Have the Zhirrzh at the village reacted yet?"

Takara peered at the status display. "No one's reported any troop or vehicle movements," Takara said. "Why, you think they might not have noticed the blast?"

"Or else didn't understand its significance," Holloway said. "In fact, I'd put it more strongly: if I were their commander, I'd wonder if a useless explosion like that was an enemy trick to distract his attention while we hit him from another side."

"Possibly," Takara conceded. "Or he might think it was an accident."

"Either way, it keeps his attention here instead of wherever the downed ship is," Holloway said. "And if we're lucky he won't know otherwise until Duggen's team heads out."

Takara nodded. "At which point it becomes a race."

"Right," Holloway said grimly. "Let's just make damn sure we win it."

"Here," the Elder said, jabbing his tongue at a point on the map. "This is where the spacecraft came down."

"Rough country," Thrr-mezaz commented, eyeing the aerial photos of the region. "You're sure it didn't crash?"

The Elder nodded and vanished. "What about that second explosion?" Thrr-mezaz asked Klnn-vavgi.

"Again, no damage," Klnn-vavgi said. "At least none the Elders were able to see. We could get a closer look if you'd let me send a Stingbird over."

"No Stingbirds," Thrr-mezaz said firmly, gazing at the map and trying to think. The Requisite had tracked two separate explosive missiles from the Human-Conqueror spacecraft, both fired roughly this direction. No apparent damage from either missile, which implied they weren't meant as attacks. Signals?