Hummingbird held up a mangled, pitted chunk of wire and metal. "No chrono."
"Fine. What time is it?"
"Six-thirty," Hummingbird said after rather ostentatiously checking his own bare wrist.
"Time to mount up." Gretchen lifted her gauze-muffled hands. "Help, please?"
The hangar door groaned, both track engines long since consumed by the microflora, as they dragged on the chains. Reticulated metal clanked and rattled and the door inched up. Gretchen found she could lend a hand by clinging limply to the chain and letting gravity and weight do the work.
As the door rose in fits and starts, the morning sun blazed on their faces, shining hot through unusually clear, steady air. Gretchen peered suspiciously at the lab building. There were no mysterious figures silhouetted against the skyline on the dune ridges, nothing lurking in the shadows of the recessed doorways.
"What did I see?" She let the chain fall from her fingers, turning toward the Gagarin. The ultralight looked rather strange with the rockets strapped underneath and its wings folded up in parking mode. The other Midge was gone – stripped of parts and then broken down and scattered in the desert. Hummingbird had been busy while she slept, going here and there, scattering their belongings to the four directions.
Gretchen hoped, with a rather sick, dreadful yearning, there would be a shuttle waiting for them at height, ready to take them away into a universe of hot showers and sprung beds and differently flavored threesquare bars. I don't want to come back here. Not even if they offer me the dig director slot.
"As I said before," the nauallis grumbled, "you saw an echo. A copy engendered by your presence on this world."
"With my memories – my speech patterns? What could make a copy like that?"
"Something," Hummingbird said, opening the door on his side of the Gagarin. "Descended from a race of machines designed to disassemble organic molecules into their component atomic parts. You saw the matrix of patterns in the cylinder."
"Maps." Gretchen opened her door and – wincing – slid into the seat. Hummingbird was not a large man, but the cabin of the ultralight was now very, very crowded. With the doors closed they were cheek by jowl. Anderssen reached across him and keyed up the preflight check. The sound of the fuel cells waking up and the engines turning over had never been so welcome. "Diagrams of what to destroy…the eater had to be able to differentiate between targets."
"Not an impossible step from such a mechanism to one which could recognize and replicate an equivalent molecular system." Hummingbird tried to strap himself in but found the spacing between the seats very tight. Gretchen rolled her hip to the side, jamming her face against the window so he could lock in. "At least in broad strokes. The thing on the ship could not sustain itself, not out of the magnetic field of the planet."
Thinking about what he'd said, Gretchen reached across and tested his restraints. "Solid. Okay, engines are up, fuel pressure is constant…controls are responding."
The Gagarin shivered as the wheel brakes released. Gretchen goosed the engines slightly and the aircraft clattered out onto the sandy ground. One eye watching the fuel line readings, she turned the ultralight and they bounced and rattled across uneven ground toward the landing strip. After clearing the buildings, the Gagarin shivered, struck crosswise by a heavy gust.
"But…" Anderssen turned the aircraft nose to the wind and felt the wings flex slightly, even retracted. She flipped a series of switches on the overhead panel. Both wings began to extend, micromotors whining with effort. "You're thinking creatures that can live down here can't survive beyond the influence of the, ah, the thing hiding in the world. They need its presence to live?"
Hummingbird nodded, trying to keep calm as the ultralight shimmied and swayed from side to side. The extending wings weren't providing any lift, not yet, but their cross section was providing the gusty, prying wind with plenty of surface area to press against. The Gagarin began to bounce backward across the field, raising clouds of fine, sticky dust with each hop.
"Even a nanomachine," he said, gritting his teeth and clinging to the support bar as they slammed up and down, "must be powered by some means. The safest way is a broadcast system, so they may be denied sustenance if they run wild. Hazarding a guess, I would say the sleeping valkar is leaking power on some wavelength the descendants of the planet-killers can absorb, can use. While they are within the beneficent aura of the entity, they can live, work, replicate themselves."
The aircraft jounced sideways, throwing Hummingbird against the door.
"Making a copy of something like a human must use a lot of power." A clanking sound signaled the wings reaching full extension. The sharp hops transformed into long, slow arcs. Gretchen settled her hands – still wrapped in bandages and feeling enormous – on the control stick and sideboard panel. "Hold on. Here we go."
Both engines flared to life as she ran up the power. The ultralight settled out of a bounce and Gretchen pushed to maximum thrust. The Gagarin began to move forward, wheels whirring across the gravel and sand. With the wings at full extension, the aircraft generated a tremendous amount of lift and they were airborne within seconds. The camp buildings rushed past under their wheels and Gretchen swung the ultralight around in a long, broad turn. They continued to climb.
The plains sprawled below them. The camp became a collection of match-boxes. Off to the east, the standing stones of the observatory and the jagged lines of the excavation trenches stood out against a dun-colored background.
"Comm check." Gretchen clicked her throat mike live. "Clear?"
"Loud and clear," Hummingbird answered. The roar of wind and the hiss of the engines filled the tiny, cramped cockpit. "It may be…" He paused and Gretchen wondered if he was at a loss for words. "Perhaps the Ephesian life-form you saw – whatever had taken Russovsky's shape, and yours – learns in this way, by consuming another entity, by taking its memories and thoughts, even its physicality into itself." The nauallis's voice was almost tentative.
"Well," Gretchen said, filled with joy just to be airborne again, the nose of her ultralight pointed at the black vault of heaven. The Gagarin climbed steadily toward the southwest. Slowly, the dark sky swelled to fill the forward windows. The planet dropped behind, then bent away, the horizons receding into a white arc. "Then it tried to consume my memories. I can't remember much of what happened, but I know it was painful and unpleasant."
Hummingbird said nothing. Gretchen glanced aside at him and her eyebrows narrowed in concern. He looked ghastly. "What?"
"If that is true…" He turned to look at her. "How did it learn to make your shape?"
Gretchen blinked, then took a long swallow of water from her recycler tube. "Well," she said after thinking for a moment, "we'll know pretty soon if I'm a copy."
Ahead, the solid black bar of the sky was beginning to sparkle with the gleam of faint, diffuse stars. The hiss of the engines grew more strident as the air thinned.
Wind stirred in the empty hangar, scattering dust and hathol spores across the clean, smooth concrete. A rule-straight shadow delimited sun from shade, slowly edging toward the door frame as the sun moved in the sky. In the shadows, blowing sand and grit accumulated in a corner, gathered itself and began to exert an electrostatic field. More sand skittered across the floor. A nubbin of gravel compressed. The day continued to lengthen.
When the killing sun had passed zenith and the hangar was entirely in shadow, the collecting sand stirred, rose, sprouted long thin crystalline tubules. They knotted into the outline of two legs, a torso, a chest, arms, finally a head. The wind circled in the hangar, bringing a heavy cloud of dust and small stones.