But they hadn't been physically in the same room for twice as long. They'd attended a navigation seminar at home on the Wheel. He'd been drawn to her, had spent part of an evening at a dinner party with her. But conditions had never been right. They'd always been going in opposite directions.
She was looking at pictures. "It's not much of a tower, is it?" It was circular, made of stone, with eight windows, each at a different level, facing a different direction. It stood twelve meters high. But the sensors had indicated another fifteen meters down to its base below ground, where it appeared to be connected to the interior of the city wall. There was a possibility they could use it to get directly into the city.
Marcel had propped two pictures of it on his console. One was a close-up. The other depicted the tower in all its isolation.
"When are you planning to start?" he asked.
She canted her head. "Soon as we can pack the sandwiches."
"Hutch, my number one would like to go down with you."
She looked pleased. "Sure. If he wants, we'll be glad to have him."
"He's a she. Name's Kellie Collier. She's good. Be a big help if you run into trouble."
"I can use her. You don't have any archeologists on board, I don't guess?"
"No. I've got a boatload of mathematicians, physicists, climatolo-gists."
Hutch nodded. "How about an industrial-sized laser?"
He laughed. "Wish I did." "Okay. It was worth a try." "Hutch, one other thing." "Yes?"
"As I'm sure you know, we don't have a lander. If you get in trouble, I can't come after you."
"I know. Have no fear, I plan to be very careful."
"Good. And do me a favor while you're down there?"
"Sure."
"Keep a channel open. So I can listen to what's going on."
Hutch had put off informing Nightingale that Gomez thought it would be a good idea if he accompanied the landing party. She doubted he'd want to go, and was even less persuaded he'd be of use if he did. But at the moment she, Toni, and Kellie Collier were the entire team. She was going to need a couple of volunteers to stand guard and help carry out the artifacts. If they were able to find any artifacts.
She thoroughly disliked this part of her job. They were calling on her to do something she knew little about, and she'd been around Academy politics long enough to know that Gomez would get credit for anything that came off successfully, and Hutch's name would be forever blackened by any failure.
Like the loss of Richard Wald twenty years ago.
Wald had been a preeminent archeologist whom Hutch had piloted to Quraqua. During a long test of wills with a group of terraformers, Wald had been lost to a tidal wave. That episode had become legendary. Wald had stayed too long at an underwater site on that world, had stayed even while the wave approached, and in the end Hutch had been unable to lift him safely away. Some people had blamed her for the misfortune, claiming that she was the only one who had a clear view of events, and that she'd waited too long to warn him.
She wondered whether Nightingale was another instance of the Academy's tendency to find scapegoats.
It was time to get it over with. She finished talking with Marcel, stopped by the common room for a sandwich, and then strolled down to Nightingale's quarters and knocked on the door.
He opened up and looked surprised. "Hello, Hutch," he said. "Come in." He'd been working at his computer. An image of Deepsix floated on the wallscreen. She glanced at it, at its blue seas, its cloud masses, its vast ice-covered continents. "Beautiful world," she said.
He nodded. "Cold world. They all look good from orbit."
"Randy, I'm sorry about the delay getting home."
"Hutch." His eyes fixed hers. "You didn't come here to go on about flight schedules. What can I do for you?"
She handed him a copy of the transmission. He read it, looked at her, dropped his eyes again to the paper, looked up. "This is what Gomez wants," he said. "What do you want?"
She'd expected him to decline without hesitation. "I'd be pleased if you came. I can use some help."
"Who else is going?"
"First officer from Wendy."
"That's it?"
"And Toni."
"You understand, despite what Gomez thinks, I have no special knowledge. I know the place is dangerous, but any living world is dangerous. You don't need me to tell you that. And I'm not an archeologist."
"I know."
"If anyone were to ask my advice, Hutch, I'd say forget it. Stay away from the place."
"I don't have that option."
"I know. You still want me?"
"Yes. If you'll come, I'd like very much to have you."
Marcel was surprised to discover how little interest in going down to the surface existed among his passengers. The general consensus seemed to be that if it were true there were natives of one sort or another on Deepsix, it was hard to see the significance of the fact. Nobody really cared. The culture was clearly primitive, and therefore there would be nothing to learn.
He understood that exocology, that branch of the sciences which concerned itself with the social structures of alien societies, wasn't part of their specialty, but he thought nonetheless they'd want to be on the ground for a major scientific find. A few came forward, commented that they wished they could go down, but then, when he offered to ask Hutch, backed off. Just too much to do. Experiments to set up. Otherwise, I'd go in a minute. You understand.
Only Chiang Harmon volunteered. And Marcel suspected he wanted to go because Kellie was going.
Theoretically, the ground mission should be simple. Just land, get pictures and samples, and come back. If natives show up, get pictures of them, too. Hutch hadn't brought up the thorny issue of attempting to rescue any inhabitants, so he was going to let it lie. He decided that if locals appeared, and they indicated they wanted help, then he would try to provide it. Otherwise, he would simply let it go. It was a decision that kept him awake at night, but it seemed the only practical approach.
There was another aspect to the mission that worried him. He knew how the scientific mind worked. Hutch's team would get down there, they'd be looking at a new marvel, and they'd inevitably discover things that would be hard to explain. And they'd want to get the last possible artifact, the last possible answer, and he had no trouble imagining Deepsix gliding toward its unhappy conclusion while he pleaded with Hutch to get off the surface, and she continually reassured him that she would. That she needed only another hour.
Of course Hutch didn't officially possess a scientific mind. And she'd stated she planned to be away with time to spare. So why not take her at her word?
On the Evening Star, Gregory MacAllister had just excused himself for the evening and left The Navigator, headed for his quarters, when a young woman approached and asked if she might speak with him briefly. He recognized her as having been present in the bistro during the evening's discussion on the postmodernist movement in Russian theater. She'd been seated toward the rear, and had contributed nothing, but had remained attentive throughout.
That the woman was extraordinarily attractive cut no ice with him. MacAllister never had trouble collecting beautiful women. But he could be impressed by a person's ability to concentrate, which always implied talent.
He was no respecter of money or position, nor could he be won over by charm or by that series of affectations known as charisma. During his sixty-odd years, he had found there were as many louts in the patrician classes as there were ignoramuses farther down the social spectrum. He liked to believe that only intellect engaged him, al-