He would have liked to spend an evening in a Goompah theater with Mary.

THEY ALSO WATCHED three funerals. The dead were wrapped in sheets and interred in the ground in the presence of family and friends. The mourners did not give in to weeping or other signs of hysteria, although several had to be helped away, and two collapsed altogether.

Collingdale and the linguists listened closely to the ceremonies. The blessings of the gods were invoked in two, and religious references did not show up at all in the third. There was no talk at any of them of a hereafter or suggestions that the deceased had gone to a better world, leading the humans to suspect that the Goompahs did not believe in an afterlife. He suggested to Judy that she advise her people not to mention the fact in personal messages home. “No point stirring up the missionary society,” he said.

They also were able to interpret the signs that Jack and Digger had seen on the schoolroom wall on their first visit. It had been somewhat difficult because the characters were stylized. But they read THINK FOR YOURSELF and SHOW ME THE EVIDENCE.

They had a record of one class in which the students were learning basic arithmetic. They were operating off a base twelve. Which meant that 14 + 15 = 29, but there are actually 33 items in the result. Ed explained it to him, but it gave Collingdale a headache, and he simply nodded yes when asked if he understood. It didn’t really matter anyhow.

He was impressed by the fact that widespread literacy seemed to exist. That was no small accomplishment when one considered the paucity of reading materials.

There was a priest class, whose actions Digger had recorded on several occasions.

Think for yourself.

There was no visual record of the sacrifice made at Saniusar. Digger had said there were several hundred locals in attendance. Pretty sparse crowd when you think of it, in a town with a population they’d estimated at around thirty thousand.

That was 1 percent for a service intended to invoke salvation for the city. “It tells me,” Frank Bergen said, “that these critters don’t take their religious obligations very seriously.”

THE ONE ASPECT of life on Lookout that Collingdale found unsettling was the open sexuality. That struck him as stranger even than the cleric who had gone into the ocean. Scheduled orgies could be found most nights in most cities. With signs inviting participants to pop by. The Goompahs no longer looked like the happy innocents of the early days.

Hutch had also been surprised and had told him she would have liked to bury it for the time being, but the news had already gotten out. A number of politicians and religious leaders had expressed their shock. If you could do orgies at city hall, what kind of society were you running? No wonder they didn’t have time to conduct wars.

The general public, Hutch thought, seemed to be taking it in stride.

He was still in the workroom looking at the Goompah aphorisms when Bill broke in. “Incoming for you, David,” he said. “From the Hawksbill.”

Julie Carson was about an hour and a half away via hyperlight transmission.

One of the screens lit up with the Hawksbill seal, then Julie appeared. “Dave,” she said, “I wanted to say thanks for the material on the Goompahs. We’re getting an education. Whit, by the way, is trying to learn the language, but I don’t think he’s having much luck.”

Collingdale felt a sudden bump and heard the steady thrum of power in the bulkhead change tones. It grew louder. And became erratic.

“He thinks they’re more advanced than we are.” Julie smiled. At least he thought she had. Her image disintegrated, came back, and began to roll over. “He says they’re less violent and less hung up about sex. I’ve watched them pop one another in the street, and they don’t seem less violent to me. They just look funnier when they fall down.”

The screen went blank. The captain’s voice broke in: “ Everybody please get to a harness. We’ll be making a jump in less than one minute. I say again. ”

Collingdale’s heart sank. They were still ten weeks from Lookout.

ARCHIVE

We now know that the creatures the media have been so blithely referring to as Goompahs, with all the innocence and unsophistication that term implies, in fact worship pagan gods, practice an equivalent of human sacrifice, and engage in unrestrained sex. Margaret, this is shocking behavior, utterly beyond belief. It demonstrates the absolute depravity of the Nonintervention Protocol. Do these unfortunate creatures possess souls? Of course they do, or they wouldn’t be seeking their Creator. But they’re being misled, and they need to be shown the truth. I urge everyone who’s out there watching today to get in touch with their congressman, to write to the Council, to demand that the Protocol be declared null and void.

When you think about it, Margaret, it’s already too late for a lot of them. A disaster of major proportions is about to overtake them, and large numbers of them are going to their judgment utterly unprepared. We have an obligation to act, and it seems to me if we fail to do so, we will share their guilt.

— Rev. George Christopher

The Tabernacle Hour

On board the al-Jahani.

Wednesday, September 17.

THEY WERE OUT under the stars again.

“No chance?” he asked Alexandra, pleading with her, demanding that she come up with something.

“I’m sorry, David,” she said. “It’s kaput.”

They were moving at 20,000 kph. Crawling. “How about if we just try it? Just make the jump back? See what happens.”

Alexandra was about average size, came up maybe to Collingdale’s shoulder. She lacked the presence of some of the other female captains he’d known, did not have the knack of putting iron into her voice when she needed to, did not have Priscilla Hutchins’s blue gaze that warned you to back off. Nevertheless she said no, and he understood that she would not risk the ship.

She was blond, with good features, not beautiful, but the kind of woman you knew you could trust if you were in trouble. Under normal circumstances she was congenial, easygoing, flexible. “Overriding,” she said, “would pose a severe risk to the ship and the passengers, and we will not do it.”

There wasn’t much jiggle room that he could see. He argued for a couple of minutes before reluctantly conceding. “I’d better let Julie know.”

“I’ve already sent a message to the Hawksbill. They should be getting it in about”—she checked the time—“an hour.”

“How about Hutch?”

“I thought you’d want to do that.”

Yes. The crash-and-burn transmission.

First he needed to inform the passengers. He did it from the bridge, telling them what they’d undoubtedly already guessed, that they were stranded, that help would be coming, but that all possibility of moving on to Lookout was gone. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We took our chances, and it looks as if we lost.” He paused and shrugged helplessly. “I’m not sure yet how long we’ll be here. Broadside has been notified. They’ll send over a relief mission, but the captain tells me it’s going to take a few weeks to get to us, at best. So everybody make themselves comfortable.

“I should add, by the way, that there’s no danger.”

He sent the bad news to Hutch from his quarters, keeping it short, nothing but the facts. Engine burnout. Going nowhere. We’ve let Broadside know. Everybody’s safe. We have plenty of air and food. He tried to sound upbeat, knowing the news would hit her hard. There was nothing she could do, of course. She was too far. There’d be no rabbits out of the hat this time, like the ones at Deepsix and on the chindi.

The next message went to the Jenkins. “Digger, we won’t be coming. Jump engines blown. I’m going to try to arrange transportation for myself on the Hawksbill. But you better assume everything’s up to you. You need to figure out a way to get the Goompahs to evacuate the cities prior to the hit.”

Then he considered what he wanted to tell Julie. He started by calling Alexandra, who was back on the bridge. “If we ask them to come here, to us, do they lose enough time that we endanger their mission?”

Alex looked tired. “Hard to say, Dave. If they get lucky and find us right away, it shouldn’t be a problem. But the jumps are imprecise. You know that as well as I do. And especially under these conditions.”

“What conditions do you mean?”

“They’re already in hyperspace. They’re going to have to jump out, figure out where they are, set a new course, and come get us.”

Damn. He looked out his portal at the stars. He could see the Tyrolean Cloud that, according to Melinda Park, was a hundred light-years across, filled with burning gas and young stars. At their present speed, the al-Jahani would need five million years just to go from one end of the cloud to the other. “Thanks, Alex,” he said.

He switched over to the AI. “Bill, message for the Hawksbill.”

“Ready to record, David.”

The Hawksbill was a cargo hauler with a total passenger capacity of two. They already had two. They’d need Marge, so Whitlock would have to come aboard the al-Jahani, trade places with Collingdale.

How the hell could he say that? Julie, it looks as if the al-Jahani is out of action. I need you to pick me up. I know there’s a space problem, but we don’t really need the poet.

No, best not insult Whitlock. Julie seemed to like him.

He wrote his ideas down, made a few adjustments, activated the system, and read it to her, trying to look spontaneous. Then he told Bill to send it.

Next he tracked down Judy. “Let’s get everybody together,” he said. “We need to talk.”

The mood on the ship was bleak. The frustration was fed not only by the perceived importance of the mission, but by the depth of individual commitment. These were people who’d invested a year and a half of their lives. His group of linguists, his Goompahs, had spent seven months working to acquire the language, had done so, had actually believed they were going to go into the Intigo and rescue tens of thousands of the natives. The others, the senior personnel, the Upper Strata, were watching an unparalleled opportunity, a chance to observe a functioning alien civilization, go south.

“What are you going to tell them?”

Before he could answer, his link vibrated against his wrist. “Collingdale,” he said.

“Dave.” Alexandra’s voice. “I’ve got a delegation of your people up here.”

He looked at Judy. “You know about this?”