"What's our course of action now?" he asked. "What do we do?"

"I don't know yet. I haven't had a chance-"

"— to analyze the situation." MacAllister could summon the tones of an angry god. He did so. "As I understand our status, rescue would seem to be out of the question. Impossible. Am I correct?"

"It would appear so."

"Am I correct?"

"Yes." Hesitantly.

"Then do us a common courtesy, Captain: The situation here has deteriorated severely. You'll make it easier on all of us if you confine yourself to the facts and refrain from cheerleading."

Marcel was silent.

And MacAllister was right. Hutch was crushed by the finality of events. "Marcel," she said, "we're going to sign off for a bit."

"Okay." But she didn't hear the distant click and knew he was still on the circuit. "I'll be here," he said at last. "If I can help."

He signed off.

Chiang kicked some snow into the chasm. "We could all just jump in," he said. "End it."

"Save the gallows humor," said Kellie.

"I wasn't trying to be funny." He folded his arms, and for an unsettling moment Hutch thought he really was considering it. She started cautiously in his direction, but Kellie got there first, took his arm, and pulled him away from the edge. He laughed. "Although," he said, "I can't see where it makes much difference."

Hutch changed her tone, implying they were now getting to serious business. "How much time do we have left?" she asked. "Anybody know?"

"Impact occurs December 9," said Kellie. "At 5:56 p.m. zulu." Ship time.

MacAllister glanced at his watch. "What kind of time are we talking?"

"Zulu," Nightingale sneered. "Orbital. Greenwich Mean. The time on your watch."

It was just after midnight on the twenty-eighth. At the tower, it was a couple of hours after sunrise.

"But the place will begin to break up," said Nightingale, "a day or so before the collision."

"Pity." MacAllister shook his head. "We have front-row seats for the most spectacular extravaganza in history, and we won't be here at showtime."

Chiang did not look amused. "Something to consider," he said. "Do we have a way to make a painless exit? When the time comes?"

MacAllister pushed his hands down into his vest pockets. "What about tranks?"

"It's a little premature to be talking like that," said Hutch.

"Is it really?" MacAllister looked down at her from a considerable height. "Well, let's all be sure to keep our spirits up. Wouldn't want anything less, would we?"

"That's enough, MacAllister," she said. "Try not to get hysterical."

"You know," Nightingale said, "if you hadn't panicked and tried to get clear with the lander, maybe none of this would have happened." He let them see he was enjoying himself.

"Look, the lander was about to go into the ditch. We tried to save it."

"You tried to save your fat ass-"

Hutch broke in and got between them. "Gentlemen, this isn't going to help."

"Sure it is," said Nightingale. "There's something to be said for truth. That's what you always say, isn't it, Mac? It doesn't matter who gets hurt; let's just get the truth out on the table. The truth is, you tried to run. The other lander was already gone, and you-"

"That's enough, Randy." She used the most threatening tone she could summon.

He glared at her and turned away.

"What is it with you two?" Hutch asked, looking at MacAllister.

The editor shrugged. "He objects to something I wrote a long time ago."

"MacAllister," she said, "you have friends everywhere."

"Even at World's End. I guess so."

Nightingale stood, looking out over the abyss. The others hunkered down in the snow. Nobody said much. Hutch pulled her knees close and propped her chin on it.

Nightingale pushed his hands into his vest pockets. The wind had already blown a covering of snow over the graves. Chiang took Kellie's arm and asked if she was okay. MacAllister glanced at the time every couple of minutes, as if he had a pressing appointment.

Hutch withdrew into her own black thoughts until Nightingale's voice brought her out of it. "There might still be a way to get to orbit," he said.

She looked at him bleakly. One did not walk off a planetary surface. "How?"

"There's a lander on the ground. Not far from here, I don't think."

"Tess!" said MacAllister.

Nightingale nodded. "That's good," he said. "You remember after all."

"I remember that you left one of the landers behind. But that's twenty years ago."

"I didn't say there was transportation. I said there might be a way." He was moving snow around with his foot, pushing it over the edge into the chasm. "It sure as hell beats jumping in there."

Hutch felt a rush of hope. Any kind of chance looked pretty good at the moment. "You said not far, Randy. How far?"

"I'm not sure. Southwest of here. Probably about two hundred kilometers. We were a little bit north of the equator."

Twenty years. Kellie shook her head. "The fuel will be long gone," she said.

MacAllister looked from Kellie to Hutch to Nightingale, hoping someone would say something encouraging.

Hutch obliged. "Maybe not," she said. "Marcel, we need you."

It took a few moments, but he came on-line. "What can I do for you, Hutch?"

"Do you have access to the schematics for Tess? The lander that got left behind in the original expedition?"

She could hear him relaying the question to Bill. Then he was back. "I'm looking at them," he said.

"What kind of reactor was it equipped with?"

"Direct-conversion Bussard-Ligon."

"Okay." Her spirits rose. "There might be a chance at that."

"I see where you're headed," said Marcel.

Kellie was puzzled. "I still don't understand where we'd get fuel for it."

"Think about it a minute," said Hutch. "Most landers are designed for the sole purpose of getting from orbit to surface. Up and down. Moving supplies and people between a ground base and a ship. The landers used in planetary exploration, though, like the one we came down in, or like Tess, are different: They were intended to get around on the ground. You take it down, and you keep it with you. It helps in the exploration, and you don't have to run it back and forth to orbit every few flights to refuel."

Kellie was starting to show interest.

"That's why they carry the Bussard-Ligon," continued Hutch.

"Which means what?" asked MacAllister.

"Their jets burn hydrogen, like all landers. The reactor maintains the ship's normal power levels. It keeps batteries charged, powers the capacitors, keeps the lights on."

"And?"

"It can also be used to separate hydrogen from oxygen to produce fuel."

MacAllister's face lit up. "You're saying it can make jet fuel?"

"All we'll need is some water," said Hutch. "Yes. That's exactly what it can do."

"There was a river nearby," said Nightingale.

"Well, how about that," said MacAllister. "We finally get lucky."

Nightingale allowed his contempt for MacAllister's ignorance to show. "Landing sites for exobiologists," he said, "were often near water. On beaches, near lakes, and so on. It's where animals congregate."

"And pilots are trained to use them," added Hutch, "whenever they can. So they can keep the tanks topped off."

"So how do we get the reactor running?" asked Nightingale. "What fuels it?"

"Boron," said Hutch.

That induced a worried look. "Where do we get boron?"

"There should be a supply in the lander. There'd have to be."

"How much would we need?" asked Nightingale.

She held thumb and index finger a few centimeters apart. "Not much at all. I'd think a couple of tablespoons will be more than sufficient to get us up and running. We'll check the specifics later."

MacAllister clapped his palms together. "Then we're in business," he said. "All we have to do is head over to the other lander, and we're out of here." He turned to Chiang. "I have to tell you, Chiang, I was worried there for a minute."