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“Right. No point in the individual units if you can’t cover the lander.”

Stevens finished unloading and announced that he’d be starting back to Broadside that evening. Schedule’s tight, no time to screw around. And he laughed, implying that the same bureaucrats who hustled him back to Broadside in a mad rush would keep him waiting a week.

He had dinner with them, and irritated everybody by referring to the Goompahs as Goonies. Thought it was just impossibly funny. “That’s what they’re calling them back at Broadside,” he said. And then, looking around at the others, “Who’s going back with me?”

They’d talked about it at length. Two years was a long bite out of anyone’s life. It apparently never occurred to Kellie to ask to be relieved. The Jenkins was her ship, and if it was staying, she was staying. Jack saw himself as mission director and, like Kellie, felt an obligation to remain. He also expected to go back eventually as a celebrity. Books would be written about Lookout, and biographies about him. “If we handle this right,” he told Digger, “we can save a few of these critters and go back with our tickets punched.”

And Digger could imagine no conditions under which he would abandon Kellie. Or, for that matter, Jack, whose opinion of him mattered.

So only Winnie was leaving. “Family obligations,” she explained, not without a sense of guilt.

When the dinner ended, they said goodbye, companions of the past fifteen months. “Don’t get caught in the storm,” Winnie told them, as she delivered embraces to all and disappeared through the airlock.

Stevens was telling Kellie something about the hyperlink arrangements. He wished them luck, and he, too, made his exit. The hatches closed, and they heard the muffled clangs of the docking grapplers.

Then the Cumberland was drifting away. And they were alone.

TRANSMISSIONS FROM DAVID Collingdale (“Jahanigrams”) had been arriving regularly, spelling out what the linguists didn’t know, which was a lot, and what they needed Jack to do when the lightbenders arrived. More and better recordings. More pictures to provide context for the conversations. Recordings of the natives in various situations, at play, at worship, haggling over prices, and, trickiest of all, during courtship. The Jahanigrams became a major source of amusement.

They also received a transmission from the Hawksbill. A tall, dark-haired woman, just beginning to go gray, identified herself as Marge Conway. “I’m bringing some equipment with me,” she said, “to try to create a cloud cover over the cities.” She was wearing a baseball cap, which she tugged down over one eye. Digger suspected she’d been an athlete of some sort in her younger days. “The equipment will be stealth technology stuff. The Goompahs won’t be able to see it unless they get right on top of it.

“I need a favor. I’d like you to scout the area for me. Find eight places where I can lock down my gear. These places need to have a few trees, at least. The more the better, actually. They should be as remote from populated areas as possible. And preferably four on either side of the isthmus, although that’s not a necessity. They should be spread out, to the degree it’s practical. I appreciate your help. By the way, I’d also be grateful if you could have Bill do some weather scans of the isthmus and offshore waters. Get me as much climate information as you can.

“Thanks. I’m looking forward to working with you on this. With a little bit of luck, we should be able to pull off a rescue.”

“And I bet she will,” said Jack.

IN THE MORNING they tried out the lightbenders. Jack was the only one of the three who had any experience with the devices. He opened the packages, took them out, and removed several pairs of goggles. “So we can see each other,” he said, pointedly holding them up and then laying them on a table.

The lightbender consisted of a set of transparent coveralls and a wide belt. The belt buckle doubled as both control and power unit.

Jack pulled on the coveralls, added a wide-brimmed safari hat, smiled at them, and touched the buckle.

Digger watched with pleasure as Jack faded from sight. The process took about three seconds during which he became transparent, then vanished completely. Except for his eyes. They looked back at him from the middle of the chamber. More intensely blue and bigger than he’d ever noticed. And disembodied.

“My irises, to be precise,” Jack said. “The system is selective. Has to be. If it blanked out your eyes, you wouldn’t be able to see. So it isn’t perfect.”

“I’ll be damned,” Digger said. “You know, I’ve seen it in the sims, but actually standing in a room when it happens—” He started thinking about the possibilities of being invisible.

“That’s why they don’t sell them down at the mall,” said Kellie, reading his expression.

She and Digger strapped on the gear. She faded away and Digger looked down at his body, found the appropriate stud on his belt, slid it sideways, and watched himself vanish. A wave of vertigo swept through him.

“It’ll seem a little strange at first,” said Jack’s voice.

Kellie’s dark eyes were full of mischief.

“Take a pair of goggles,” said Jack, “so we can see each other.” One of them rose from the table, apparently on its own, and went over the blue eyes. The goggles vanished and the eyes came back. “Ah,” Jack said, “that’s better.” The other two pairs also levitated, and one floated over to Digger. He took it and put it on.

The light in the room dimmed, but two shimmering silhouettes appeared.

“You’ll need to be careful about walking until you get used to things. You can see the ground, but you can’t see your feet. At least not the way you’re accustomed to seeing them. Sometimes they’re not where you think they are. People have broken ankles. And worse.”

Kellie popped back into the light. “I’m ready to go,” she said.

“You know”—Digger smiled—“you could get into a lot of trouble with one of these things.”

“Try your luck, cowboy,” Kellie said.

The Cumberland had also brought a substantial supply of pickups. They looked like large coins. Wilcox Comm. Corp. was engraved on the head, with an eagle symbol, and a reproduction of their headquarters on the flip side. They were powered, like the e-suits, by vacuum energy, and consequently could be expected to perform for indefinite periods of time. The back side would adhere, according to the directions, to virtually any solid surface.

They put about thirty of them into a case and stored it in the lander. It was late evening on the Jenkins, late afternoon on the isthmus. “Let’s try to get some sleep,” said Jack. “We’ll go down first thing tomorrow.”

When everyone had retired, Digger stopped by the bridge, saw that Kellie wasn’t there, and knocked gently on her compartment door.

“Who is it?” she said.

“Me.”

The door opened slightly. She stood tying her robe. “Yes, Dig?”

“I love you, babe,” he said.

“I love you, too.” She made no move to open wider.

“You know,” he said innocently, “you never know what might happen on these surface trips.”

“They can be pretty dangerous,” she agreed.

He reached in, touched her hair, pulled her forward. She complied, and their lips brushed softly. She came forward the rest of the way on her own, crushed her mouth against his, and held on to him. He was acutely aware of her heartbeat, her breasts, her tongue, her hair. His right hand pushed against the nape of her neck, sank down her back, cupped one buttock.

And she backed away. “Enough,” she said.

“Kellie—”

“No.” She put a hand on his shoulder, restraining him. “Once it starts, you can’t get it stopped. Be patient.”

“We have been,” he said. “We just signed up for, what, another year or so out here?”