Hali looked at him. She had never suspected such action and determination in old Ferry. He seemed beyond desperation, caught up in some overriding program of his own. She realized then that the old man was sober.

“If we only had a flight manual,” he said.

A metallic female voice startled them, crackling from an overhead vocoder: “You have a manual.”

“Who the hell are you?” Ferry demanded.

“I am Bitten. I am the system of this freighter. I am designed for conventional or conversational program in emergencies. You wish to separate from Ship, correct?”

“Yes, but . . .”

A roar shuddered through the freighter. The forward plaz displayed a blinding glimpse of Rega, then a panorama of stars as they shot free of Ship. They began a slow one-eighty turn toward Pandora, and Hali saw a gaping hole that had been Docking Bay Eight. Roboxes already were swarming over the area like insects, starting repairs on the ragged edges.

“Well,” Ferry muttered, “what now?”

Hali tried to swallow in a dry throat, then: “What Waela said—the cradle of the sea. Does she know something about . . .”

“Life support has been activated,” Bitten announced. “Does the sleeping one require additional attention?”

Hali jerked around and studied her patient. Waela lay in quiet sleep, her chest rising and falling evenly. Hali unstrapped, crept back to Waela’s side and ran a test series: Everything read as normal as could be expected—blood pressure up a bit, adrenaline on the high side but dropping. No medication was indicated.

Ferry’s voice intruded on Hali’s thoughts then as he asked Bitten for their ETA to Pandora’s atmosphere.

Hali turned and stared at the planet with a growing sense of wonder. Her shipboard life was ended. The only thing she knew for sure about her life now was that she still had it.

Bitten’s metallic rasping filled the cabin: “Two hours, thirty-five minutes to atmosphere. Additional twenty-five minutes for entry and docking at Colony.”

“We can’t dock at Colony!” Hali said. She made her way back to her seat and strapped down. “What are our alternatives?”

“Colony is the only docking station approved for this vessel,” Bitten intoned.

“What about a surface landing?”

“Certain conditions permit surface landing without damage to vessel and crew. But our departure destroyed all forward landing gear and docking valves. These are not necessary at Colony.”

“But we can’t land at Colony!” She stared at Ferry, who sat frozen either in fear or complete resignation.

“Survival of unprotected crew elsewhere on Pandora surface not likely,” Bitten intoned.

Hali felt her mind whirling. Survival not likely! She had the sudden feeling that this whole thing was high drama, something staged and unreal. She looked at Ferry. He continued to stare out the forward plaz. That was it: Ferry was acting out of character—too far out.

But Murdoch’s ear . . . that hole in Ship . . .