"It doesn't know who I am," she said. "It has to be reset to respond to me."

"Then reset it."

They were sliding.

"That takes time." She blurted the words.

"Casey-"

"I know. Don't you think I know?" She was bent over the control board.

He was pushing hard, trying to get as far as he could from the airlock. "Do something!"

"I have to figure out how to disengage the autopilot."

"Maybe it's that thing over there." He pointed to a yellow switch.

"This is going to go a whole lot better if you don't talk too much just now. I'll…" She pressed a stud, apparently having found what she was looking for.

MacAllister heard a few electronic bleeps, then the soft rumble of power somewhere beneath the seat. The restraints locked him down, and he gripped the chair arms and closed his eyes.

The seat lifted, and the spacecraft seemed to begin righting itself. Locked behind squeezed-shut eyelids, he couldn't be sure what was happening and was afraid to look. He was regretting the stupidity that had brought him down to this despicable place. His life for a pile of rubble.

Gravity flowed away, and the lander began to rise. "Good, Casey," he said, speaking from his long experience that one should encourage people when they're doing what you desperately want them to do. As if she might otherwise crash the spacecraft.

He slowly opened his eyes. She was moving a yoke, pulling it back, slowly, cautiously, and he saw that she was every bit as terrified as he was. The ground was several meters below, dropping away. Thank God.

They rose over the crevice. It appeared still to be widening. Great mounds of earth and snow were crashing into it.

The vehicle dipped suddenly, and Casey fought for control.

"You're doing fine," MacAllister pleaded. "Beautiful."

"Please shut up," she snapped.

He wished she sounded more confident. He wished she would head for the north, where there was plenty of space, worlds of space, of quiet flat plain, and just set it down. It seemed easy enough. She'd already done the hard part. Yet she continued to wrestle with the yoke and the engine made odd noises and they spurted across the sky and then she slowed them down and a sudden wind hammered at them.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

The vehicle lurched. Dropped. Soared. "The spike," she said through clenched teeth. "It's different from the system I trained on."

"Just take your time."

"Need to use the thrusters," she said.

"Can you do it?"

"If I can figure out how to aim them."

MacAllister caught a glimpse of Nightingale kneeling in the snow, watching. Lucky bastard, he thought. Luck of the draw. The crevice opens under us instead of under him. In the end, survival goes not to the fit, but to the fortunate. It explains a lot about the way Darwin really works.

At that moment the thrusters roared on. The seat came up and hit MacAllister in the rear. The ground blurred beneath him, and Casey yelped and began frantically doing things to the console. He decided that his Darwinian thought would be his last, and composed himself for the inevitable. Dead in a spacecraft accident on a distant world. But not in the canyon, at least. Not buried.

They raced over the ground toward a line of hills in the northwest, and it occurred to him that they would not be able to take him back for proper disposal. Because the madwoman at the controls was about to wreck the lander. And nobody was going to volunteer to come down from orbit to pick up the pieces.

The spacecraft was trying to turn over, and it didn't look as if Casey had any idea what she was doing. The roar of the thrusters filled the cabin and then suddenly the thunder was gone. She must have found the cutoff switch and she'd now be looking for whatever constituted the brakes.

The hills were coming up fast, and the only sounds were the wind whipping over the fuselage and the frantic pleas of his pilot.

"Come on, you son of a bitch."

She yanked back on the yoke. The slopes rolled beneath them. Beyond the land flattened. The spacecraft, having apparently spent all forward energy, and having somehow lost the levitating power of the spike, began to fall.

"Damn," said Casey.

MacAllister squeezed the arms of his chair, and they slammed into the ground. The impact jarred his neck, snapped his head back, twisted his spine. But the damned thing hadn't blown up. Casey slumped in her harness. He started to release his restraints, heard an explosion in back and smelled smoke.

He climbed out of his seat and noted that they'd never closed the hatch. Just as well. Save him the trouble of opening it.

The seats were crushed together, and he had to struggle to get to Casey. She was covered with blood, and her head lolled back. A massive bruise was forming on her jaw, and her eyes had rolled up into her head. Another blast rocked the lander. Flames began to lick up around the windows.

He released her from her harness and backed out through the airlock, half carrying, half dragging her. They were just clear when it erupted into a fireball.

Nightingale watched the thick pall of smoke rising from behind the cluster of hills to the northwest. He wasn't aware of the true significance of the last minute until he heard Kellie's voice on the circuit.

"Marcel," she said, "I think we just lost both landers."

X

Faith has its price. When misfortune strikes the true believer, he assumes he has done something to deserve punishment, but isn't quite certain what. The realist, recognizing that he lives in a Darwinian universe, is simply grateful to have made it to another sunset.

— Gregory MacAllister, Preface to James Clark: The Complete Works

Hours to breakup (est): 255

"Both landers?" Marcel was horrified. "When?"

"Just now."

"For God's sake, Kellie, how could that happen?"

"The Star's boat fell into a hole. Ours went down behind a hill and exploded. Randy and I are on our way over there now. But there's a lot of smoke."

"Who was in the lander?"

"MacAllister and the woman he came down with. Both passengers from the Star. They must have tried to get clear, but I don't think whoever was flying knew what they were doing."

"Anybody else hurt?"

"Their pilot's gone, too. I'm sure he's dead. Fell into the same hole as his lander."

Marcel stared openmouthed at Bill's image, which was watching from the overhead monitor. Nobody from either of the Academy ships had been hurt But it sounded as if it had been a clean sweep for the Evening Star. What the hell were those people doing down there in the first place?

"Okay," he said. "I'll let Captain Nicholson know. And I'll arrange to get another lander out here. Keep me informed."

"Will do, Marcel. We're on our way out now to the crash site." Marcel signed off and massaged his forehead. "Bill," he said, "who's close enough to get here in time?"

"I'll check," the AI said. "Should be somebody."

Huddled in the tunnel, Hutch had a more immediate problem. The roof had fallen in and blocked her exit. Nevertheless, the implication left her chilled. "Both of them? Well, that's sure good news." She played her lamp beam against the rock, rafters, and dirt that sealed the passageway. "I hate to add to your problems," she said, "but I could use a little help myself."

"Chiang should be there any minute."

One dead. Maybe three or four.

"Kellie," she said, "call Marcel. Tell him what happened. We're going to need another lander."

"I've already done that. He's working on it. Told me not to worry."

"Uh-oh. I always get nervous when people tell me that."

"Have no fear."

"Hutch." Chiang's voice. "How're you doing?"

"As well as could be expected. I'm not hurt."

"Did you want us to hang on until you get out?" asked Kellie.