"Then let's get started. What do you want me to do?"

"First, we need a lot of help. We need people who can go outside and work."

"I can do that. So can Mira."

"I'm not talking two people. I'm talking whole squadrons."

"Okay. So we ask for volunteers. Do a little basic training."

"This is stuff that's going to take people with some coordination. Our folks are all theorists. They'd kill themselves out there."

"So what kind of coordinated types do we need?"

"To start with, welders."

"Welders."

"Right. And I have to tell you, I have no idea where we'd be able to get them."

"Welding? How hard can it be?"

"I don't know. I've never done it."

"It seems to me we only need one person who knows how to do it. I mean, he can teach the others."

"So where do we find the one person?"

"Nobody here?"

"I've already looked."

"All right. Then we go to the Star. There are fifteen hundred people over there. Somebody ought to know something about it." He was already scratching notes. Suddenly he looked up and frowned. "It won't work," he said.

"Why not?"

"You're talking about a lot of e-suits. We have four on board. Maybe a few more on the other ships."

"We already checked it out. Hutch was hauling a shipment of them. They're on board Wildside, generators, boots, everything we need."

"Okay." Marcel felt a fresh surge of hope. "What about the welds? Will they actually hold? We're putting a lot of weight on them."

Beekman nodded. "We're confident. That's the best I can tell you. We have four ships to work with, and that's a lot of lock-down space. The material is superlight. So yes, if you ask me will it hold, I'm sure it will, if we do a good job."

"All right. What else do we need?"

"We're still working on it."

"Okay," he said. "Put together a complete list. Get it to me as soon as you have it. And, Gunther-"

"Yes?"

"Assume we're going to have to use it."

Nicholson was loitering in the dining room with several of his passengers when his commlink vibrated. "Command call, sir,"said the AI's voice.

He excused himself and retreated to a private inner lounge. "Put it through, Lori."

Marcel Clairveau materialized. "Erik," he said, "I need your help." -

"Of course. What can I do for you?"

"You're aware that we have no assurances the people on the ground will ever be able to reach orbit."

"I understand the situation completely." To Nicholson, facing ruin and disgrace whatever he did, it was hard to get emotionally worked up. So he had to make an effort to show that he was dismayed.

"There might be another way to go. If we have to. It would be on the desperate side, but it would be prudent for us to be prepared." He paused, looking steadily into Nicholson's eyes. "We'll require your assistance."

"You know I'll do what I can."

"Good. We need some volunteers, especially anyone with experience working in space, any engineers, anybody who has helped with large-scale construction. And a welder. Or several welders. But we have to have at least one."

Nicholson shook his head, puzzled. "May I ask why, Captain?"

"Some of them, the ones who are willing, will be given a couple of days' training. Then, if we need to go ahead with the alternative plan, most of them will go outside."

"My God, Marcel." Nicholson's pulse began to pound. "Have you lost your mind?"

"We'll be very careful, Erik. We'll do it only as a last resort."

"I don't care how careful you plan to be. I'm not going to permit my passengers to be sent outside. You have any idea how Corporate would react if I allowed something like that?"

"Corporate might not be too upset if you succeeded in rescuing MacAllister."

"No, "he said. "It's out of the question."

Marcel's image gazed at him. "You understand there'll be an investigation when it's over. I'd have no choice but to file a complaint against you."

"File and be damned!" he said. "I won't let you risk my passengers."

When darkness fell Wendy reported that they'd covered another twenty-four kilometers. By far their best day yet. That was attributable largely to the fact that the ground had become easier, and both MacAllister and Nightingale seemed to be growing accustomed to the routine.

They stopped by a stream, caught some fish, and cooked them. MacAllister acted as taster this time. He swallowed a small piece and became almost immediately violently ill. They threw the rest back and used the last of the reddimeals.

MacAllister was still retching at midnight, when Jerry rose. (They'd all picked up his habit of referring to it by Morgan's first name. It seemed less threatening that way.) The disk was quite clear. It was in a half-moon phase.

The gas giant was well above the trees before his stomach settled down enough to let him sleep. By dawn he was back to his normal abrasive self. He refused Hutch's offer to give him a couple more hours to rest.

"No time," he said, directing their attention toward Morgan. "Clock's running."

They set off at a good pace. The assorted wounds from the battle on the river were healing. Nightingale had soaked his blisters in warm water and medications, so even he was feeling better.

The land was flat and the walking easy. During the late afternoon, they broke by the side of a stream, and Marcel told them they were within seventy-five kilometers of the lander.

Plenty of time. "What's the northern coast look like?" Hutch asked.

"It's holding."

"Is that good or bad?"

"It's touch-and-go," he said. "We think you'll be all right."

Despite the good news, they pushed hard. Hutch shortened their breaks, and they literally ate on the march. Twice they were attacked, once by a group of things that looked like tumbleweeds, but which tried to sting and take down Hutch; and later, toward the end of the afternoon, by a flock of redbirds.

Nightingale recognized the redbirds as the same creatures that had overwhelmed the original expedition. This time there were fewer of them, and they were beaten off with relative ease. Kellie and Chiang were gouged during the incidents, but neither injury was severe.

Late that afternoon, they came across a field of magnificent purple blossoms. The flowers resembled giant orchids, supported by thick green stalks. They were within sixty-three kilometers of the lander, with four days remaining.

They hoped.

Nightingale looked exhausted, so Hutch decided to quit for an hour. They were, she thought in good shape.

They'd sampled several different types of fruit by then and had found a couple they enjoyed. Mostly they were berries of a fairly

tough nature, inured to the climate, but edible (and almost tasty) all the same. They located some, passed them around, and were glad to get off their feet.

Hutch wasn't hungry, and ate only enough to satisfy her conscience. Then she got up.

"Where you going?" asked Chiang.

"Washroom," she said. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Wait." Kellie jumped up. "I'll ride shotgun."

Hutch waved her away. The orchid patch was isolated, and beyond it they could see for a long distance. Nothing could approach unnoticed. "It's okay. I'll yell if I need help." She walked into the shrubbery.

After she'd finished, lured by the exquisite beauty of the giant blossoms, she took a few minutes in seclusion to enjoy the sense of well-being attendant on the forest. The day had grown uncharacteristically warm, and she liked the scent of the woods, mint and musk and pine and maybe orange. Consequently she left the e-suit off.

She approached one of the blossoms and stood before it. She stroked the petal, which was erotically soft.

Hutch regretted that these magnificent flowers were about to go extinct, and wondered whether it might be possible to rescue some pollen, take it back, and reproduce them at home. She walked from one to the next, gazing at each. At the fragile gold stamen and the long green shaft of the pistil, surging up from the receptacle. She stopped in front of one. The woods grew utterly still. She glanced around to be sure no one was watching, wondered why she cared, and stroked the pistil with her fingertips. Caressed it and felt it throb gently under her touch.