Crashlander

«Well, they've got their own planets, but even Outsiders pay rent when they use somebody's sunlight. The Clouds will be packed with refugee species and locals, too. If … Ander, I can't see why they would want the Clouds of Magellan at all. They could find something closer. Something in the plane of the galaxy, for the shielding effect, maybe a spherical cluster. Did I mention I was out of the aliens business?»

He scowled. «Yeah, and settled down forever, except you weren't. What happened?»

I thought it through before I spoke. Here was my tale, and whatever Ander could check had better be the truth.

«We ran,» I said. «Bad mistake, but I still don't know what I could have done differently. Puppeteers don't come into it. Or … well, I got money from them years ago. I thought the ARM couldn't trace that.»

Of course the ARM had, and it wasn't much. But General Products had indemnified Elephant for his hull, and Elephant had given that to me when we were ready to flee Earth. They wouldn't trace that.

Ander said, «Beowulf, what if they've got a low-thrust drive big enough for a planet? The Outsiders could boost them up to speed. They'd use their own drive to turn and then stop over the next two hundred thousand years.»

I thought it over. «They wouldn't have to depend on anyone else, then. Yeah. Puppeteers wouldn't trust Outsiders for their species survival.»

«Do you think Outsiders trust puppeteers?»

Nobody knew very much about Outsiders. «Ander? There's a place where there's no Outsiders.»

«What are you thinking? Close to a sun?»

«Outsiders and starseeds. We only guess at the relationship, but the best guess is they'll try to rescue the starseeds. Stet?»

«Stet. Maybe they'll make for the Clouds of Magellan.»

«The shock wave will drive the starseeds ahead of it, wherever they're going. There won't be Outsiders near the Core. Ander, there won't be anybody near the Core.»

I was trying to picture it. Worlds in flight — «Drive up along the galactic pole, then turn toward the hub. In ten thousand years they'd meet the shock wave from the Core explosion. I saw it, Ander. A shell of exploding suns, fairly tight, fairly narrow. They'd be through it in another five thousand years. The Outsiders are gone. All the sapient species are gone, too, dead or fled or hopelessly mutated and still mutating. Thousands of worlds would have been sterilized — maybe millions — but they'd still be covered with free oxygen and organic sludge and maybe even deep-sea life. All ready for easy terraforming. That's it. They're headed for the Core.»

He said, «Well.» And thought again and said, «At least it's different.»

«Is this what you came for?»

«Beowulf, I believe I can tell Sigmund it was worth the trip. Now, will you tell me what happened to Feather Filip and Carlos Wu?»

«Yeah. And Carlos Wu's autodoc?»

He shrugged it off. «Feather Filip vanished from the same time and locale as you and Carlos Wu and Sharrol Janss. I'm supposed to find out who's dead.»

It wasn't a slip of the tongue. He put the question that brutally quite deliberately. Maybe it got him what he wanted; because the blood was draining out of my face again. I found my hand at my throat, massaging.

I said, «Nobody should have to eat with you, Ander.»

He looked at the monster on my plate and again wouldn't give me the satisfaction. «Who's dead?»

Me! I said, «At least Carlos. You want it from the beginning?»

«Why not?»

PROCRUSTES

Asleep, my mind plays it all back in fragments and dreams. From time to time a block of nerves wakes:

That's some kind of ARM weapon! Move it move it too late blam. My head rolls loose on black sand. Bones shattered, ribs and spine. Fear worse than the agony. Agony fading and I'm gone.

Legs try to kick. Nothing moves. Again, harder, move! No go. The 'doc floats nicely on the lift plate, but its mass is resisting me. Push! Voice behind me, I turn, she's holding some kind of tube. Blam. My head bounces on sand. Agony flaring, sensation fading. Try to hang on, stay lucid … but everything turns mellow.

My balance swings wildly around my inner ear. Where's the planet's axis? Fafnir doesn't have polar caps. The ancient lander is flying itself. Carlos looks worried, but Feather's having the time of her life.

Sprawled across the planet's face, a hurricane flattened along one edge. Under the vast cloud fingerprint, a ruddy snake divides the blue of a world-girdling ocean. A long, narrow continent runs almost pole to pole.

The lander reenters over featureless ocean. Nothing down there seems to be looking at us. I'm taking us down fast. Larger islands have low, flat buildings on them. Pick a little one. Hover while flame digs the lamplighter pit wider and deeper, until the lander sinks into the hole with inches to spare. Plan A is right on track.

I remember how Plan A ended. The Surgery program senses my distress and turns me off.