over caretaking duties from its predecessors. I am aware that it could not have been prevented but it still looks bad in the records. I don’t like looking bad, Mr. Clemens.?He squinted up at the medic. ?You take my meaning??

?Perfectly, sir.?

Andrews continued. ?Rescue and resupply will be here soon enough. Meanwhile, you keep an eye on the lieutenant and if you observe anything, ah, potentially disruptive, I know that I can rely on you to notify me of it immediately. Right??

Clemens nodded briskly. ?Right.?

Though only partially mollified, the other man could think of nothing more to say. ?Very well, then. We understand one another. Good night, Mr. Clemens.?

?Good night, Superintendent.?He shut the door quietly behind him.

The wind of Fiorina rose and fell, dropping occasionally to querulous zephyrs or rising to tornadic shrieks, but it never stopped. It blew steadily off the bay, carrying the pungent odor of salt water to the outer sections of the installation. Sometimes storms and currents dredged odors more alien from the currents dredged odors more alien from the depths of the sea and sent them spiraling down through the air shafts, slipping through the scrubbers to remind the men that the world they occupied was foreign to the inhabitants of distant Earth, and would kill them if it could.

They went outside but rarely, preferring the familiar surroundings of the immense installation to the oppressive spaciousness of the sullen landscape. There was nothing to look at except the dark waves that broke on the black sand beach, nothing to remind them of the world they had once 97

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known. That was fortunate. Such memories were more painful than any degree of toil.

The water was cold and home to tiny, disgusting creatures that bit. Sometimes a few of the men chose to go fishing, but only for physical and not spiritual nourishment. Inside the facility it was warm and dry. The wind was no more than distant, discordant music, to be ignored. Sometimes it was necessary to go outside. These excursions were invariably brief, and attended to with as much haste as possible, moving from one refuge to another as quickly as possible.

In contrast, the figure picking through the sheltered mountain of debris was doing so with deliberation and care. Ripley paced the surface of the immense pit, her eyes fixed on its irregular surface. The original excavation had been filled in with discarded, broken equipment. She wrestled her way past monumental components, punctured storage tanks, worn-out drill bits the size of small trucks, brightly colored vines of old wiring and corroded tubes.

Wind whipped around outside and she clutched at the neck of the suit Clemens had found for her. The ruined mechanical landscape had seemed endless and the cold was still penetrating her muscles, slowing her and interfering with her perceptions.