“I don’t believe they’d do that.”

“Don’t be too sure. This situation has suddenly become very scary.”

Suddenly. “Solly. It’s always been scary.” She couldn’t keep the note of recrimination out of her voice.

He tried to apologize, but she brushed it away. No matter. It’s okay.

It wasn’t, of course. But deep down she felt a sense of gratification that she’d been shown to be right.

He talked to the Patrol again, detailing the mechanical problems. “This is becoming a nightmare,” he told her. Then he shut down the engines.

“You said something about taking a wrench to it,” she said.

“That’s what we have to do. But it’s on the lower level, back in the woodwork. It’ll take a half hour or more. That’s too much time.”

“So what do we do?”

“Give me a moment.” He handed her a wristlamp, told her to turn it on, and opened a closet. He vanished inside and she heard him moving things around, heard the sound of a panel sliding back, and then the room went dark. But it wasn’t like the normal darkness in the pilot’s room, where one could sit in the glow of the instrument panels. Everything died: screens, gauges, status lamps, telltales, the electronic burble of the equipment. The place had gone completely black and silent. She tried to change her position and felt herself rising out of the seat. The artificial gravity was off.

A few security lights, operating on a separate circuit, began to glow. A battery lantern snapped on behind her. “That’ll stop it,” he said.

“I hate to bring this up.” She was afloat now. “Do we still have life support?”

“No. Everything’s shut down, except the engines. They’re on a bypass. But we’ll be okay long enough to disable the transmitter.”

They switched to grip shoes and went down to the bottom floor, where long windows looked into the cargo and storage bays. The lamps threw shadows behind stocks of food, esoteric equipment that would have been used in the Taratuba mission, the recycling units, and the gravity control system. Solly opened a cabinet and picked out some tools. Satisfied, he led her toward the front of the ship.

Twin water tanks were housed forward in bays on either side of the passageway. They entered the starboard side and knelt down beside the tank. Solly anchored the lantern, which had a magnetic base, and began removing a panel.

Kim watched him work, got up, and went back into the corridor. She could see the stairway at the rear, outlined by security lights. In the launch bay, in the glow of her wrist-lamp, the lander’s cockpit looked like a fish’s head, rising through the floor. Its circular viewports stared back at her.

Solly laid the panel alongside the tank and looked inside the wall at a crawl space. “It’ll take a while,” he said, ducking into it. “I have to remove some other stuff to get at the transmitter.” He took the lantern and was gone.

The darkness pressed down on her.

She could hear the clink of Solly’s tools and the occasional scrape of metal on metal. Now and then something banged. The noise lifted her spirits. She stayed close by.

After a few minutes she heard a grunt of satisfaction. “That’ll do for the son of a bitch,” he said.

At that moment, a circle of illumination snapped on at the top of the staircase and her weight came back with the force of a blow between the shoulder blades. Although both shoes had been in contact with the deck, it was nonetheless like stepping into an unexpected hole in an unlit room. She twisted her knee and yelped. “Solly,” she cried, “warn me next time.” Her voice echoed off the walls.

“Wasn’t me,” he yelled.

Lights were coming on everywhere, in the passageway, the individual bays, even in the crawl space.

“Power’s back on!” she said.

“I can see that. This goddamn thing could have juiced me.”

She smelled something burning. Then he reappeared. “One problem settled anyhow,” he said. “Nobody’s going to communicate with anybody.”

“Solly.” She kept her voice very low. “Why’d the power come back on?”

“Somebody turned it on.” He was holding the wrench in his right hand.

“What do we do now?”

“We’re going to get rid of our visitor.”

“How do we do that? We can’t even find it.”

They returned down the corridor and stood at the foot of the staircase, looking up at the landing. The airtight door at the top was open, just as they’d left it.

“We need to get some help,” she said.

“That might not be easy. I just finished off the transmitter.”

“You mean we can’t communicate locally either?”

“Not with anybody outside screaming range. I would have just disabled the hypercomm function if I’d known how. Takes a goddamn engineer to figure some of this equipment out.”

“So what’s next?” she asked.

Solly put his arm around her and held her for a moment. “Stick with me.”

He led the way up the staircase and with noticeable reluctance put his head through the open door and looked both ways along the corridor. “Don’t see anything,” he said.

The doors to the various compartments were all closed, save for the rec room, which was always open. They peeked in, saw nothing, and climbed to the top floor.

From the pilot’s room came the quiet murmur of the instruments. Everything was back on line.

Kim was alarmed to see that the status board was blinking red, but Solly explained it was only a warning that there was no transmission capability.

The Patrol was talking to them, asking what was wrong, pointing out they were off course, urging them to respond, assuring them help was on the way. They would be alongside, they said, in two hours.

Solly went back into the closet and showed her the power cutoff. It was a long black handle. It was up, in the white area, designated ON. “That caps it,” said Solly. “We do have an intruder.”

“No way it could trip back itself?”

“No,” he said. “It’s not supposed to be possible for it to turn itself on or off.”

“Maybe,” said Kim, “we should blink our lights for the Patrol. Let them know we’ve no communications.”

“They’ll figure it out on their own.” He slumped into a seat. “It’s invisible. But it’s solid, right? It has to be. I mean, it turns handles.”

“No,” Kim said. “We know it’s physical. That’s not quite the same thing as being solid.”

“Well, whatever, it’s time to get rid of it.”

“How?”

“Easy.” He took two pressure suits out of the utility locker and handed her one. “Put this on.”

“Why? What’s the plan?”

“We’re going to blow it out the door.”

At first she didn’t know what he meant. And then she understood. “Depressurize,” she said.

“Sure. It’s the only way I know.”

“Brilliant, Solly,” she said. “I’d never have thought of it.”

He shrugged. “I saw it done in an old video.”

She stripped off her outer clothes and got into the suit. It was the first time she’d ever worn one and she needed help to secure the helmet properly. “You okay?” he asked.

She felt as if she couldn’t get enough air.

“Just relax,” he said. He did something to her backpack. “How’s that?”

Better. “Thanks.”

“It’s okay.” He showed her the controls on her gloves, how she could adjust temperature, the air mix, whatever, and pulled on his own suit while she demonstrated she knew how to handle everything. He locked down his helmet and ran a radio check.

“Now,” he said, “let’s get rid of the pest.”

They stowed their personal gear, toothbrushes, soap, clothes, commlinks. Then they walked through the ship, all three floors, opening every interior hatch, and leaving them open. When they’d finished they returned to the pilot’s room and sat down. Kim looked around, could see nothing else that required their attention. “I think we’re ready,” she said.

Solly nodded, turned off the blowers, and shut down the air supply.