Timothy Zahn - Spinneret

"Yes, sir," she said, nodding. "I'll talk to Perez, see what I can do."

"I'd appreciate it. Thank you for dropping the tape by—I'll have it returned after I've finished with it. Dismissed."

She stood to go, and as she did so Brown's phone beeped. "Yes?" the major answered. " … What?" He looked at Meredith, a look of disbelief on his face.

"Martello Base says all the tools in the flyer hangar are gone—along with the shelves they were stored on."

Meredith keyed his own phone into the connection. "Meredith here. Put a guard on the docks immediately."

"Already done, Colonel," the duty officer reported. "We've started a full search and are checking to see if anything else is missing."

"Good. Major Brown and I will be right there. Keep us informed." He broke the connection and headed for the door.

Brown was already halfway there. "Why would anyone bother with the shelves?

They'd have to disassemble them to even get them out the door."

Meredith suddenly noticed that Carmen was still in the room, standing with one hand on the knob. "Get back to your computer," he ordered her. "Call up a description list of the tools stored in that hangar and put it out on the military net under a theft alert."

"Yes, sir." She frowned. "I don't like this, Colonel. It doesn't sound like a normal robbery to me."

"We'll find out soon enough. For now, just get that alert out."

It was only a two-minute car ride to Unie's docks; but even before the colonel, Brown, and Andrews arrived there, Carmen's hunch was proved correct as new and increasingly bizarre reports began to flood in. In Ceres, a tractor lost its harrow— somehow—while working on a new section of field. In Wright, a bulldozer sank out of sight in ground that wasn't even remotely swampy, leaving only various hoses and glass parts to mark the spot where it'd been. The rattled operator had had to be sedated, as had two of the five workers who had lost their shovel blades in an attempt to locate the vehicle. And Martello called back to report that shelving all over the base was missing, as were large numbers of tools.

Spare parts, in cardboard and plastic boxes, were left in piles where the shelves had been.

Andrews was the first one to actually come out and say it. "It's the metal," he said as they piled out of the car and jogged to the nearest motorboat. "It's all disappearing into the ground."

"That's impossible," Brown said, without conviction.

"Of course it is," Meredith snapped as he stepped off the dock into the boat's stern and swiveled the motor to drop the propeller shaft into the water. "But it's happening, isn't it?"

Andrews threw off the bow rope and gave them a hefty push toward deep water.

Simultaneously, Meredith hit the starter and they were off.

For about two seconds. Then, abruptly, the motor's roar became an anguished squeal that echoed in Meredith's ears even after he slapped the throttle back down.

Cursing, he reached for the starter again … but halfway there he changed his mind and instead swiveled the motor back out of the water.

From the waterline down, the shaft had simply vanished.

Meredith looked up to find both Andrews and Brown staring at the ruined motor.

Finally, Andrews shifted his gaze to Meredith and cleared his throat. "I guess whatever's stealing our metal works underwater, too."

There was nothing even Brown could say after that. In silence the men unshipped the boat's oars—plastic ones, fortunately— and headed back to shore.

The chaos lasted three hours more, and Meredith considered it a tribute to his officers and men that the colony remained as orderly as it did. Pockets of panic among the civilians were quickly defused by a combination of authoritative orders and up-to-the-minute information. One unexpected plus was that no one's life seemed to be in immediate danger; a series of quick tests on the plants and fish indicated that living tissue was not subject to the general metal loss, and Meredith was able to broadcast assurances that standing on furniture was unnecessary. The few people who went into hysterics anyway because they had touched the ground were bundled off to their local infirmaries, where they could be kept away from their already edgy neighbors while the doctors calmed them down. For a while, Meredith had teams of soldiers searching for equipment that might be salvaged, but soon gave the effort up. Metal not directly in contact with Astra's surface was untouched and apparently untouchable; for everything else, it was already far too late.

As it seemed to be, in fact, for Astra as a whole. When the phenomenon finally ceased, it left behind a ruined colony.

It was nearly sunset before the final list came through. Scanning the pages of closespaced computer print, Meredith felt a numbness settle in over his mind. Tools, heavy equipment, assorted spare parts—nearly a half-million dollars' worth, not counting transportation from Earth. Exhaling heavily, he looked up at the four senior officers grouped around his desk. "Suggestions, gentlemen?"

Major Craig Bamer laid aside his copy of the printout. "Speaking only for myself and the Crosse contingent, I think we can recover," he said. "As long as it doesn't happen again, we should be able to replace our losses. I see that plasticized undercoating on the boats seemed an effective counter; perhaps we can coat all our vehicles with it. Certainly we can learn not to leave smaller items lying on the ground; I taught my brother to do that when he was five."

"And the next time it happens, maybe it'll just pull harder— maybe hard enough to pull the metals out of us." Major Dunlop looked around the room. "Any idea how fast you'd die if that happened?"

"So you want to pull out?" Major Gregory asked. Meredith studied the other's face carefully, wondering where he stood. Gregory never liked committing himself early to a course of action, but his town of Wright had suffered even more losses than Martello had.

"Pull out, hell," Dunlop snorted. "I think we ought to teach those responsible a painful lesson."

"'Those responsible'?" Brown frowned. "Do I take it you're blaming the Rooshrike?"

"Who else? We weren't even settled before they were down here snooping around and probably scattering micro-who-knows-whatsies all over the place."

"Why would the Rooshrike do something like that?" Barner asked. "They're getting paid to let us stay here."

"Who knows how their minds work?" Dunlop shrugged. "Maybe this is their version of hologames."

Barner snorted. "That's absurd—"

"Rooshrike guilt or lack of it is not at issue," Meredith said, interrupting what could have become a lively discussion. "Let's leave the impotent sound and fury to the UN, all right? The only question here is whether or not we use the five days till the Aurora arrives to pack up the colony." A beep from his terminal signaled incoming data. Turning to it, he scanned the report as it filled the screen. It was as bad as he'd expected. Tight-lipped, he pressed for hard copy and handed the single sheet to Barner. "Soil analysis report from Dr. Haversham," he told the group quietly.

Barner muttered something vulger and passed the sheet on. "I never thought of that," he admitted, looking at Meredith. "That changes things, doesn't it?"

Meredith nodded, waiting silently as the others read the report. Every bit of the metal enrichment they'd added so carefully to Astra's fields had vanished.

"So what happens now?" Brown asked after a minute.

"Well, the crops are still alive, but unless we add more fertilizer right away they won't last very long. We've got the fertilizer, so that's not an immediate problem.

But it'll essentially wipe out our next year's allotment, which means we'll have to go hat in hand to Congress to ask for more."