Resurgence

Finally, Nenda said, “At thinks you’ve nailed it on the button. Your buddies are one small piece of a much bigger operation, and when that’s done they’ll be history. At believes the Big Chill is on the way. The sun will go out and Marglot will become the ultimate icebox. Does that make sense in terms of what the bugs have been sayin’ to each other?”

“I do not know.” For the first time since his original embodiment, E.C. felt that the speed of his mental processes was inadequate. First he needed to frame Atvar H’sial’s hypothesis in strictly logical terms, then he must evaluate its consistency in terms of the entire mass of beetleback recorded data. “The question is difficult. The necessary analysis may take hours.”

“Well, hours is what we’ve got. About three more of ’em, is my guess, before we touch down near the suit beacons. Go to it, E.C. Oh, an’ Atvar H’sial says there’s one thing we need to know in particular.”

“Ask, and I will seek to determine it.”

“It’s a simple question: If there’s goin’ to be a big freeze, how long until the action starts? When is Showtime?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Help needed from the Have-It-All.

Hans Rebka had trained himself to sleep at almost any place and any time. That talent, however, was not an asset in times of danger. Then you normally slept little, if at all.

But when were you in danger? Sometimes common sense said one thing, while a part of your suspicious hindbrain declined to agree. Inside the cone-house everything was quiet. Outside, the rain had ended and the wind died away. With no animal life, large or small, night on Marglot should be both silent and safe.

That certainly seemed to be the opinion of the rest of the party. Hans, with the headlight of his suit reduced to the faintest glimmer, moved quietly from figure to still figure. Torran Veck—Julian Graves—Darya Lang—Teri Dahl—Ben Blesh—all were asleep, though now and again Ben would murmur something unintelligible.

So why was Hans awake? The sound when it came was at first no louder than the rustle of wind across tall grass. It seemed like imagination, until as it strengthened Hans heard a rhythmic undertone. That was the noise of the engine of a ground or air vehicle—and it was approaching.

Hans went to Darya and shook her.

“Best if we’re awake, I think.” And then, when she stared at him as though she had never seen him before, “Help me rouse the others. Visitors are on the way.”

She blinked up at him. “Can’t be. We’re the only ones on the planet.”

“Not anymore. Trust me.” Hans moved on, to shake Julian Graves awake. By the time everyone was sitting up there could no longer be any doubt about the sound outside.

“Best if most of you stay where we are. I’ll take a look.” Hans expected opposition, but the others were still hardly more than half awake. He slipped out, pushing aside the thick leaf layers.

The night was unexpectedly cold. It was also cloudy. Was the area around the Hot Pole ever anything but cloudy?

He walked around the cone-house in time to see a pinnace making a soft landing about fifty meters away.

Smart thinking. Whoever was flying it had homed in on the suit beacons and knew that they were in the cone-house. But the pilot wouldn’t know who else or what else might be inside with them. Rebka walked toward the ship. When the hatch opened and the figure who emerged was Louis Nenda, somehow that was no surprise at all.

* * *

The cone-house was big enough, even for eleven. After the excited—and bewildered—greetings, comparisons began.

Comparisons, because you could hardly call them explanations. Each group in turn told what had happened after leaving the Pride of Orion

and described how they came to be on Marglot. Julian Graves was the last to speak. Long before he was done, Louis Nenda was wriggling and fidgeting where he sat. He raised his eyebrows at Hans Rebka.

Hans waited for Graves’s final words, then said to Nenda, “I agree. You’re right.”

“Right? I’m more than right. I’m damned right, and this is all wrong.” And, when the others stared at Nenda, “Don’t you see it, any of you except Rebka?”

Hans said, “They don’t. We have to explain.” He turned to the rest. “There’s such a thing as coincidence, but this goes beyond it. Look at the facts. Every group went in different directions and did totally different things. But here we are on Marglot, all of us.”

“Not all of us.” Ben spoke softly. “Lara isn’t here. That was my fault.”

“No.” Darya turned to him. “It was my fault. I was the one who insisted on going to Iceworld.”

Rebka said, “It was Lara’s own fault—she deliberately disobeyed Ben’s order. Anyway, we’ve already been over that ten times. We have to focus on today. How did it happen that we all arrived here, like magic?”