Thomas Harlan - Wasteland of flint

"An Imperial scout probe surveyed the system six years ago and eventually the data was processed and flagged for human review. This notable mountain range is called the Escarpment. It girdles the planet, running north to south at an angle. As you see, it has a sharper incline on the east than the west. Some of the peaks pierce the atmospheric envelope. The Escarpment divides the world."

"It's not natural," Gretchen said, her mind beginning to shake off the travel fatigue. Her migraine was coming back, too. She really needed to sleep or take a real bath rather than go through a mission briefing. "Unless crustal tectonics are completely awry on this world?"

Gossi continued to smile, nodding. "You are correct. It is not natural. Initial analysis indicated a possibility the world had been shaped . An expedition was approved, of course, to take a closer look at the situation."

"To muck about for First Sun artifacts, you mean." Parker slumped in the chair next to Gretchen, hands cradling his cup. Steam drifted up in the moist air. "Poke about looking for something portable, easy to carry, easy to sell — "

Gossi raised a hand. "A full scientific expedition was sent, with the Temple -class support ship Palenque as transport and orbital base. All this has been officially approved and registered, Parker- tzin . The Company has never had a great presence in this sector, and it was decided that — given the nature of the planet — a substantial effort was warranted."

"What happened?" Gretchen felt her patience fray. An exploration ship like the Palenque carried a crew of fifteen and a full expedition would be at least twenty people. This grimy little office couldn't provide the support a real dig needed. The Company was rushing things, as usual. If the initial expedition found something interesting, then Gossi would suddenly have a whole operation here on the station to run. More money, more status, someone to serve coffee for him — he had to like that prospect. He might be able to get rid of all those other name plaques on the door. "Parker here says he was rerouted from another mission. My last posting order said I was going to Kolob. Now I'm not… So, are they all dead?"

Gossi's round face crinkled up in disgust and Gretchen felt a spark of amusement. She was getting grumpy, which was not wise. "My pardon, Gossi- tzin , it's been a long day."

"Well." The Maltese visibly reboarded his train of thought, "Sixteen days ago a transmission was received from the Palenque with the usual weekly report. At that time, everything was fine. Unfortunately, we have not received any reports since then. When the second report failed to arrive, I informed the home office and efforts began to mount a relief effort."

Parker tilted his head to one side, thinking, then said: "How long does it take a courier drone to reach Ctesiphon from Ephesus? A week? You're saying they've been out of contact for as much as three weeks?"

"No…" Gossi tabbed through the briefing document, glancing sideways at Magdalena. "The Palenque is fitted with a new, experimental tachyon transmitter. It allows immediate communication between the station main relay and the ship. So, as I have said, sixteen days have passed since our last, ah, active communication."

The Hesht's ears flipped back and yellow eyes blinked as she came awake. "Why do you say active? Has there been some other message? A distress beacon?"

"Not as such…" Gossi seemed to struggle with the words. Gretchen leaned forward, interested. "I am told by the station technicians they have a t- lock on the Palenque, but the transmitter is not responding to requests for an open channel. I have been informed this means the transmitter is still nominally operating, but it is, ah, on standby."

"It's turned off? And the crew haven't noticed?" Parker made a face.

"Something else must have happened," Gretchen raised her voice slightly. "But the ship still has power or the transmitter is on a battery of some kind… Can weturn on the transmitter from here? Send a wake-up command?"

Gossi spread his hands. "I am told…no."

Out of the corner of her eye, Gretchen saw Magdalena's whiskers twitch, but the Hesht said nothing.

Gretchen looked around at the others, then back at Gossi, eyes narrowed. "You have another ship to take us to the Ephesus system? I presume Magdalena knows how to fix the transmitter, and Parker can pilot the Palenque home if it's not entirely disabled. Bandao will shoot anything dangerous. Why am I going?"

"You're the senior Company field employee in the sector." Gossi's round smile had returned. He was comfortable with this avenue of discussion. "You are also the only person we could find, quickly, with experience in a biosphere like Ephesus's, due to your time on Old Mars."

Gretchen nodded slowly. The polar excavations had been her first posting. Tedious work in a very hostile environment, picking bits of an unidentified spacecraft out of permafrost. "What else are we bringing back? Something from the surface?"

"Perhaps nothing." Gossi tabbed the briefing packet again. The holo image of the planet expanded, then shrank, focusing in on a section of the southern hemisphere. Long shadows cut across a desolate plain. Some of them made what seemed, in the low resolution of the orbital scan, to be a double-circle. "One of the field reports from the scientists in the initial team says structures — manufactured structures — have been observed from orbit. I wonder — I fear — the team found something and brought it up to the ship for examination. It's an old story…everyone's heard it before, yes? A dangerous artifact, an accident, the crew so horribly slain. Another sixty-five million quills of Company money wiped out."

Gossi stopped, shaking his head in dismay, and there was a moment of silence. It was an old story. The Company suffered a very high rate of attrition — in personnel, in spacecraft, in equipment — which made the recovery of saleable material critical. To the Company, anyway. Graduate students were far cheaper and more plentiful than Nanhuaque-drive starships. Gretchen didn't think it was a good idea to trade her own life — of which she had only one at last report — for some broken indecipherable bit of ancient machinery. She looked around. Parker, Bandao and Magdalena were looking expectantly at her.

It was an odd moment. Gretchen thought later that time didn't stop, but it did stretch . She had never really been in charge before. Gangs of native workers in the pits on Ugarit didn't count…the dig director had been breathing down her neck the whole time. These three strangers wanted her to make a decision, to tell them what to do, to be the leader.

In that crisp moment, she saw blue smoke curling up past Parker's head, the glow of the holo-cast shining on his forehead; the points of Magdalena's teeth were showing, fine and white; Bandao was plucking at the sleeve of his plain cotton shirt, the subtle woven pattern almost obscuring the outline of a small flat pistol tucked into the back of his belt. A perfect full awareness filled her — this was not what she wanted to do — but it was what she was going to do. She looked down, breaking the moment.

Gossi coughed, batting his hand at Parker's smoke. Gretchen picked up her briefing pad and tabbed through the pages, a dizzying red-tan-blue-white glow flashing in her eyes.

"The Palenque requires a crew of at least six to operate safely." She looked up, raising an eyebrow at Gossi. "What kind of ship are we taking? Can we split her crew to cover both?"

The Maltese raised both hands, then flared them slightly. He smiled. Gretchen's nose crinkled up. "What kind of ship, Gossi- tzin? We do have a ship to take us there?"