Progress reports came regularly from Marcel, but they were directed to Hutch. "Thirteen so far today," she said.

Kellie frowned. Not great. But it was enough.

"Everybody here can swim?" asked Hutch.

Surprisingly, only Chiang lacked the skill.

The river was wide, and it looked deep in midstream. Thick twisted foliage hung down along both banks. They surveyed the area, looking for a local alligator-equivalent, but saw nothing.

"We still don't know what's in the water," said Nightingale. "I suggest we build a raft."

"Don't have time," said Hutch. If there was anything in the river, there was a good chance that the e-suits would prevent their being perceived as prey. There would, after all, be no scent.

"I don't think you should rely too heavily on that," said Nightingale.

Hutch waded in until she was hip deep. Then they waited. Her heart pounded, but she tried to look calm. She watched the river and the banks for any sudden movement. But nothing came for her, and she felt more confident with each passing minute. When they were at last convinced it was safe, they found a dead limb Chiang could cling to and pushed off. MacAllister turned out to be an accomplished swimmer. Chiang said nothing while they towed him across, but Hutch saw that he felt humiliated. It would have been less difficult for

him, she realized, had Kellie not been there. She was pleased to see that Kellie was also aware of the situation and made a point of staying close to him. She caught an amused smile from MacAllister, who seemed to miss none of the undercurrents among his companions.

They arrived on the far side in good order and resumed their march. Eventually the country turned uphill again. Chiang, who had been leading, fell toward the rear. Kellie moved up beside him and took him again to the front. She said something to him on a private channel.

He was replying when a snowbank rose, roared, and charged. Hutch saw only talons and green eyes and long, curved teeth while she fumbled for her laser, got it into her hand, lost the grip, then dropped it.

Kellie, directly in the thing's path, went down and tried to scramble out of the way. MacAllister seemed to have forgotten about his cutter. Instead, he raised his staff and brought it down on the creature's skull. The thing spat and growled and a cutter beam flashed close to Hutch's face. The growling went high-pitched, then stopped. When Hutch stumbled to her feet, helped by Nightingale, it lay twitching. Its head was half severed, and a red-brown viscous liquid pumped out onto the snow. Its dead eyes continued to watch her.

It was about the size of a bear. Chiang was standing off to one side, his cutter held straight out. He saw Hutch, nodded, shut it off, and lowered it.

Hutch checked her parts. Everything seemed to be there. "I never saw it," she said, patting MacAllister's shoulder. "Hell of a job with the staff."

Kellie embraced Chiang and kissed his cheek.

"What was it?" Chiang asked.

"Dinner," said Hutch. "If all goes well."

They sliced off gobs of meat and wrapped them in plastic bags.

Toward the end of the afternoon, they topped the last rise, and the land began a long gentle decline. The storms had cleared off, and they had, for the first time since leaving the tower, a bright cheerful sky. They kept on until sundown, and Kellie urged that they continue. But the pace was too much for Mac and Nightingale, so Hutch called a halt near a stand of old trees that would provide firewood and privacy. They'd logged eighteen kilometers.

Pretty good, actually.

"Especially," said Nightingale, lowering himself onto a downed tree trunk, "when you consider this is hard country. It'll level out soon. And we should be almost out of the snow."

MacAllister also looked exhausted.

"Chiang," Kellie said, "let's get some wood." She picked up a dead branch and, as if that were a signal, the ground shook. Just once, for a few seconds.

They built a fire and roasted the meat. It smelled good, not unlike venison.

"Who's going to sample it?" asked Mac.

Hutch took a piece, thinking how being a leader wasn't all it was cracked up to be. She would follow Embry's prescription and go very slowly.

"Let me cut it for you," said Nightingale. He sliced off a narrow strip, held it so she could see it in the firelight, and surprised her by turning off his suit and taking a bite.

They watched him. "Thanks," said Hutch.

He shrugged, chewed it methodically, commented that it was good, and swallowed. Then he reactivated the field.

Hutch wondered why he'd done it. Nightingale did not strike her as someone who was given to the gallant gesture. She suspected he was responding on some level to MacAllister's presence. Showing him how wrong he had been.

A half hour passed. The meat looked ready. Chiang put on the coffee.

Nightingale showed no ill effect and announced that the rest of them could hang about if they liked, but that he was ready to eat. They looked at one another, killed the fields, and carved up dinner. It was quite good.

Conversation during meals was limited because of the low temperatures. Eating was strictly business on Deepsix, and if she lived through this, Hutch knew she would always recall these quick impersonal meals, nobody talking while they huddled as close to the fire as they could get, bolting food and coffee in the sting of cold air.

Happy days on the prairie.

They had no salt, no condiments of any kind, but that seemed only a detail.

Hutch made an announcement during the meal: "Marcel," she said, "tells me that the media are only a couple of days away. They were coming to shoot the collision, but now it's all about us."

"Of course," said Chiang.

"Anyhow, they're asking whether they'll be able to interview us when they get here."

MacAllister was clearly enjoying his supper. "That should be intriguing," he said, between bites. "We can have an end-of-the-world party right there on Universal News, which reports only the facts. Without bias or principle." It was a mild reference to Universal's Without bias or distortion credo. He looked toward the eastern sky, bright with unfamiliar constellations. It was too early yet for Morgan. "Yes, indeed," he said. "If they play it right, they should be able to get their best numbers of the year. Except maybe for the World Bowl."

"Hutch, we got a response from the Academy on your early reports at the tower. They congratulate you for your work and want you to keep digging. That's the phrase they use. Look for more evidence of the state of their science, it says. They want you to let the other sites go because there isn't time."

"Good," she said. "Tell them we'll comply."

"They also want you to be careful. They say to avoid any hazardous situations."

"Augie, wake up."

Emma didn't always sleep well, and she sometimes prowled the ship at night. What she did out there he didn't know. It was even possible she ran an occasional liaison with the captain. He didn't really care all that much. As long as she was available when he needed her. But she had hold of his arm at the moment, and was dragging him out of a very sound sleep. His first thought was that the Edward J. Zwick had sprung a leak. "What's wrong?" he asked, looking up at her.

She was the image of delight. "Augie, we've gotten a huge break."

He tried to imagine what it could be, but utterly failed. In any case, he thought, surely it could wait until morning.

"They've had an accident," she said. "Some of them are stranded down there. They're trying to find a rescue vessel and apparently not having much luck."

That woke him up. "What kind of accident? Was anybody killed?"

"Yep. Two or three. And you know who's among the strandees? MacAllister."

"My God. Is that right?"