Her link vibrated. She was grateful for the interruption. "Yes?" she said.

"Embry." Marcel's image popped up on one of the auxiliary screens. "How are you making out?"

"Okay."

"I need a favor."

"What can I do for you?"

"If we have to go to the backup operation, we'll need all four ships. And we have to get set up so we'll be ready to launch if needed. What I'm trying to tell you is that Wildside is going to be doing some maneuvering."

"There's no pilot over here, Marcel."

"I know. We're going to have Lori operate her."

"Who's Lori?"

"The Star's AI."

"The Star's AI? What's wrong with Bill?"

"It's a long story. I'll be happy to tell you about it when we get time."

"Is it safe?"

"Sure. Now, can I get you to punch a code into the command console? It's right in front of the pilot's seat."

"The black panel with the blinking lamps?"

"That's it." He gave her a string of numbers, and she dutifully entered them. "That allows me to talk directly with the AI," he said. His eyes narrowed somewhat. "Now, you're sure you're doing okay?"

"I'm fine, Captain."

"Good. So you know: Tomorrow we're going to take Wildside out of orbit. You'll be going out to the skyhook assembly with the rest of us. There'll be a lot of activity when we get there, and we'll be putting some people aboard your ship. You don't have to do anything. Just sit tight. There's no danger."

"You mean to me. What about Hutch? What are her chances?"

"The truth?"

"Of course."

"I'd say the chances are decent."

He blinked off, and she sat staring at the blank screen. Then she opened a channel to the Evening Star, A young, female, redheaded simulation in the ship's uniform appeared. "Good morning," it said. "How may I help you?"

"When is the Star returning to Earth?"

"We are scheduled to depart Sunday the tenth, ma'am." The day after the collision.

"Would it be possible to book passage?"

The simulation appeared to glance at a monitor, although Embry knew that was not necessary. "Yes, it would," she said. "We have several excellent staterooms on our Festival Deck. Can I reserve one for you?"

With luck, she'd be able to bully the Academy into picking up the tab. "How much?" she asked.

"One-ten."

Steep. "I'll get back to you if I decide to do it," she said. No need to commit now. If everything went well, and the rescue worked, she wouldn't need it. And it would be a little embarrassing to be sitting over on the Star when Hutch and the others came back on board.

XIX

There's not much to differentiate one savage from another, whether you find him in a jungle or on the streets of a modem city. They are best left to themselves, and are worth serious study only by those interested in manufacturing a better blowgun. -Gregory MacAllister, The Modern World and Good Luck

Hours to breakup (est): 129

"Evening Star. How may we be of service?"

"This is John Drummond. On the Wendy Jay. I wonder if you could provide thrust information for the Star?"

"That would be no problem. Ship specifications are available. Please submit a transmission code."

The electronics wizard they were looking for turned out to be little more than an adolescent His name was Philip Zossimov. He was a product of the University of Moscow who served as a consultant to the British firm Technical Applications, Ltd. He had thick brown hair, a quiet demeanor, and an expression that implied he could do anything.

Beekman explained how they planned to manage the rescue. "But," he said, "we need to find a way to hold the mouth of the net open."

Zossimov asked to see pictures of the asteroid. "How are you arranging to get rid of it?" he asked. "The asteroid?"

"After we cut through the net," Beekman said, "it will drift off on its own. We can make adjustments if it would help you in your task."

"No," he said. "Go ahead as you intend. But you'll need a ring-shaped collar. I don't suppose you happen to have one?"

"No. That's why we needed you."

"Yes. Very good. All right, we'll have to make one." He looked around at the working staff, obviously unimpressed. "It's a two-part problem," he said. "We install the collar at the front of the net to hold it open, and then, once the lander is inside, we have to close it to make sure it stays inside."

"That's correct."

"All right. I'll want to see the specs."

"For…?"

"The ships. All of them."

"Okay," said Beekman. "I'll arrange it." He directed Bill to make them available. Then he turned back to Zossimov. "Philip," he said, "can you do it?"

"Oh, yes, I can do it. We'll need some parts, of course."

"Cannibalize anything. Katie here will work with you. She's a physicist with a specialty in quantum gravity. You don't care about that. What's important is that she knows Wendy. Do what you have to. But make it work."

"There's a possibility," he said, "we may have to shut down one of the ships."

"You can't do that. We need all four for the maneuvers."

"I see. What about life support?"

"We can evacuate one, if need be."

Hutch was still showing the aftereffects of her bout with the blossom. They'd given her an extra hour and a half to sleep.

"We don't have that kind of time," she complained when they finally woke her.

"Randy needed the time, too," Kellie said. "And this looked like a good way to provide it without laying more guilt on him for holding us up."

They fed her a quick breakfast and got on the road.

While they walked, Hutch talked to Marcel, who seemed unduly irritable. He denied that he was feeling out of sorts, but she recognized that he was worried because they were falling behind schedule. She did what she could to allay his concerns. We're close now, she told him. There don't seem to be any problems we can't handle. Try not to worry.

He asked about the orchid. Hutch looked accusingly at Kellie.

"I provided no details," Kellie said privately.

"Just a minor skirmish with a man-eating plant," Hutch told him.

"A plant? You mean an oversize Venus flytrap? Something like that?"

"Yeah," she said. "That's close enough."

When she'd signed off a few minutes later, Kellie grinned at her. "More like a woman-eating plant."

They'd gone only a few more steps when MacAllister got a call. Incoming visual.

"Somebody wants to talk," he told the others.

The image took shape, projected by MacAllister's link. They were looking at a young man. Brushed-back attractive. Lean, angular jaw. Good smile. Dark brown hair neatly cut. He wore a white pullover shirt and gray slacks, and his expression suggested he understood he was intruding but hoped no one would mind.

"August Canyon," said MacAllister.

The visitor looked pleased. "Good morning, Mr. MacAllister. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." He was seated on a fabric chair, which floated a meter or so above the ground, as they walked. "I know this is a difficult time for you. But I'm sure you're aware that the entire world is following this. I wonder if you'd care to comment for the interglobal audience?"

"About Deepsix?"

"Yes."

"Sure. This place is a pit. And I'll admit to being scared half out of my mind."

"Well. I'm sure you are." He smiled pleasantly. "But help is on the way, of course?"

"No. As I understand it, no help is available." MacAllister was falling behind the others, so he picked up his pace a bit. Canyon, of course, stayed right with him. "Tell me, you don't happen to have a lander on board, I don't suppose?"

"I'm afraid not. Wish we did. We thought we were just coming out here to record an astronomical event. Never occurred to anybody there might be a story on the ground, too."

"Yes." MacAllister looked over at Hutch. Hutch had also felt for a moment that they might have gotten lucky. But Marcel would have had the media vessel in his database, and would have known. Still, there was always human oversight. Common enough, and one hoped.