The power and majesty of the great liner was somehow lost when it was in dock. He'd not been all that impressed when he'd boarded her back at the Wheel. But out here the Star was in her element, afloat among strange constellations beneath a sun that wasn't quite the right color, above a world whose icy continents bore unfamiliar shapes. This view alone, he decided, was worth the side trip.
"Did I tell you," said Casey, "I'm checked out to pilot these things?" She looked pleased with herself.
That fact caught MacAllister's respect. Deep space seemed to be her journalistic specialty. Acquiring a pilot's skills told him she was serious. "Excellent," he said. He turned away from the view, glanced at her, then looked out again at the shimmering atmosphere below. "So how did you manage that?"
"My father owns a yacht."
"Ah." He recognized the family name. "Your father's Desmond Hayes."
"Yes." She clamped her teeth together as if she'd been caught in a faux pas. And he understood: rich man's daughter trying to make it on her own.
Desmond Hayes was the founder of Lifelong Enterprises, which had funded numerous biotech advances, and was one of the major forces behind recent life-extending breakthroughs. He was notoriously wealthy, had a taste for power, and talked often of running for political office. He was seldom seen without a beautiful young woman on his arm. A ridiculous figure, on the whole.
"Well," MacAllister said, "it's always a good idea to have a backup pilot."
They were over clumps of cumulus now, bright in the starlight. MacAllister heard and felt the beginnings of atmospheric resistance. He brought up the autobar menu. They were well stocked. "How about a drink, Casey?"
"That sounds like a good idea," she said. "A mint driver would be nice, if they have one."
He punched it in, handed it over to her, and made a hot rum for himself. "Wetheral," he said, "let's take a look at the countryside before we set down."
It proved to be a singularly uninviting landscape, mostly just snow and ice. The narrow equatorial belt provided dense forest along its southern edge, open country to the northeast, and low rolling hills and occasional patches of trees near the tower.
At dawn, they cruised over a shoreline dominated by enormous peaks. "This is the northern coast," Wetheral explained. Several strips of beach presented themselves. In all, it was a magnificent seascape.
They continued their exploration while the sun rose higher, until finally MacAllister informed Wetheral they'd seen enough. "Let's go talk to the people at the tower," he said.
The pilot brought them back toward the south, and thirty minutes later they descended toward Burbage Point. A few trees rose out of the snow.
"Dismal place," she said.
But MacAllister liked it. There was something majestic in the desolation.
Despite the short night, they were up early and back in the tower immediately after sunrise. Hutch, Nightingale, and Kellie returned to the tunnel to recommence digging, while Chiang took over guard duty at the entrance and Toni went up to the roof.
This second sunrise on the new world was bright and enticing. The snow glittered in the hard cold light. The trees from which the cat had appeared glowed green and purple, and a sprinkling of white clouds drifted through the sky.
They'd been working only ten minutes when Kellie found a few half-legible symbols on one of the walls.
She recorded them with the microscan, and they decided to try to salvage the images themselves. But when they used the lasers to remove the segment of wall, it crumbled. "There's a technique for this," Hutch grumbled, "but I don't know what it is."
Marcel broke in on the private channel. "Hutch?"
"I'm here. What've you got?"
"We think it's a skyhook."
"You're kidding."
"You think I could make this up?"
"Hold on. I'm going to put you on the allcom, and I want you to tell everybody." She switched him over.
He repeated the news, and Nightingale announced himself stunned.
"What does Gunther think?" asked Kellie.
"It's Gunther's conclusion. Hell, what do I know about this stuff? But I'll give him this: I can't imagine what else it could be."
"That means," said Hutch, "this place isn't representative at all. We've wandered into a remote site that didn't keep up with the rest of the world."
"Looks like it. But there's no evidence of technological civilization anywhere on the surface."
"They had an ice age," said Hutch. "It got covered."
"We don't think even an ice age would completely erase all signs of an advanced culture. There'd be towers. Real towers, not that debacle you have. Maybe they'd get knocked over, but we'd still be able to see they'd been there. There'd be dams, harbor construction, all sorts of things. Concrete doesn't go away."
"What's going to happen to it?" asked Kellie. "The skyhook?"
"In about a week it'll go down with Deepsix."
"So where does that leave us?" asked Hutch. "Are we wasting our time here?"
She heard Marcel sigh. "I don't know anything about archeology," he said. "We've forwarded everything we have to the Academy, and to the archeologists at Nok. They're considerably closer, and maybe we'll get some suggestions back from them."
"There's something else here," said Kellie. She'd uncovered a metal bar.
"Hold on, Marcel." Hutch moved into position to give Wendy a good look.
Kellie tried to brush the dirt away. "Careful," Hutch said. "It looks sharp."
Nightingale dug a dart out of the frozen clay. Feather stalks remained at its base.
The bar was attached to a crosspiece. And the crosspiece became a rack. The rack was stocked with tubes.
They were narrow and about two-thirds of a meter long. Hutch picked one up and examined it by torchlight. It was hollow, made of light wood. Brittle now, of course. One end was narrowed and had a fitting that might have been a mouthpiece.
"You thinking what I am?" asked Kellie.
"Yep. It's a blowgun."
They found a second dart.
And a couple of javelins.
"Stone heads," Hutch said.
And small. A half meter long.
They also found some shields. These were made of iron and had been covered with animal skins, which fell apart when they touched them.
"Blowguns and skyhooks," said Marcel. "An interesting world."
"About the skyhook-" said Nightingale.
"Yes?"
"If they actually had one at one time, part of it would still be here somewhere, right? I mean, that would have to be a big structure. And it has to be on the equator, so it's not under the ice somewhere."
"We're way ahead of you, Randy. We think the base might have been in a mountain chain along the coast a few hundred kilometers southwest of where you are. We're waiting for satellites to get into position to do a scan."
"The west coast," she said.
"Right. Some of the peaks in that area seem to have permanent clouds over them. If we find something, you'll want to take a run over there yourself. We might be looking at the ultimate dig site."
They carried the blowguns, the javelins, and several darts up to ground level. Outside, the wind had blown up again, and snow had begun to fall. They had no bags of sufficient size for the rack, so they cut the plastic in strips and wrapped it as best they could. But when they tried to move it to the lander, the wind caught the plastic and almost ripped it out of their hands. "Bendo and Klopp," said Nightingale, referring to a currently popular comedy team that specialized in pratfalls.
Hutch nodded. "I guess. Let's leave it here until things calm down."