Things were moving with astonishing speed already; only nine days ago, they had made their landing, and now they had been ceded territory in the most attractive of the Potato's seven chambers. If this didn't demonstrate the weakness of their opponents, what possible could?

Three SSTs approached him. The lead trooper carried a few papers, no doubt for him to sign in his capacity as director of fourth chamber exploitation.

"Colonel," the first soldier said, pulling a pistol from behind the papers. He pointed the pistol at Vielgorsky and tipped his cap higher.

"Mirsky," Vielgorsky said, losing none of his control.

The other two soldiers were Pogodin and the scientist Pritikin. Each carried an AKV slung over his shoulder. Mirsky took Vielgorsky's arm and poked the pistol into his side, near the kidneys. "Not a word, please."

"What are you doing?" Vielgorsky whispered harshly. Mirsky thrust the pistol forward with more force.

"Quiet. Your rat is gnawing a hole in my bungalow."

They walked with measured steps to a truck waiting by the lakeshore. Pogodin unceremoniously pushed Vielgorsky into the back and threw a tarp over him, climbing in after and lightly tapping the barrel of the AKV on the bulge his head made.

Mirsky climbed behind the steering column and looked across the dark sand to the soldiers in the woods. Another group was playing lapta—a kind of baseball—with branches and pinecones; none seemed concerned with the truck or its occupants.

"Where are we going, General?" Vielgorsky asked from the rear, voice muffled by the tarp.

"Quiet, sir," Pogodin said, prodding him again with the AKV.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The chaotic and scarred section of the corridor stretched for half a million kilometers, airless and barren. Plans for a second sortie to the floor were abandoned; without an atmosphere, ascent and descent would use an exorbitant amount of fuel. If the barren segment continued past their million kilometer turnaround point, they would abandon the mission and reverse course, Lanier decided.

"Do you think all of it's like this?" Farley asked, sitting next to him. "From here on?"

Lanier shook his head. "They took Patricia somewhere."

"Have you thought about the wells? Perhaps they left the corridor, and we can't follow."

"I've thought of that—and I have a hunch they didn't use a well."

"Another wall!" Heineman announced.

They gathered in the cockpit, Carrolson sitting in the copilot's seat and Farley and Lanier jammed into the hatchway. Lanier was all too aware of the press of Farley's body.

The tuberider's passage through the corridor was dizzying; it reminded Lanier of running through a drain pipe. The corridor fled past on all sides, purple and brown and black with its scars, the revealed corridor surface dirty bronze. The Forward-Looking Radar returned a steady beep at half-second intervals.