“No, though I’m afraid it’s a particularly insalubrious region of the correct one,” the manager said. “We’re in a large crater which orbital imaging showed to have uniquely dense vegetation. Unfortunately, the attack and defense mechanisms so notable in vegetation elsewhere on BZ 459 are abnormally developed here as well.”
Farrell nodded, thinking of Blohm’s Spooks. He wondered if the managers’ headsets received military transmissions. All Farrell had reported was the fact of the Spook bodies.
“The crater walls separate the local biota from the remainder of the planet,” Lundie said. “The population pressures appear to have increased the rate of adaptation.”
“What about the animals?” Suares asked. “Are they different as well?”
“The survey didn’t use techniques that would penetrate the jungle canopy,” Lundie said. “The probability is that the same pressures affected the zoobiota as well as the phytobiota. Perhaps more so.”
Her words were chillingly emotionless.
“If the Kalendru landed here by chance,” al-Ibrahimi said, “they were remarkably unlucky. As we most certainly are.”
“We’ve got to begin ferrying people to the correct place at once,” Reitz said. “We won’t be able to complete the job before dark, but if this is as dangerous a place as you say we need to begin.”
“Ma’am, you’re right,” said Farrell, “but I don’t want to risk our only aircar until we know what the Spooks, sorry, the Kalendru, are up to. If the car overflies them, they’ll shoot it down.”
“Why are Kalendru here?” Reitz demanded. “Is the Unity sending colonies to the war zone? Is that it?”
“No,” al-Ibrahimi said flatly. “The Spooks—”
He looked deliberately at Farrell and nodded.
“—shouldn’t be here. A probe this far into human-settled space is risky, and that they chose to land on BZ 459 would be unthinkable had they not done so.”
“A crash landing, perhaps?” Suares said. “Castaways?”
“No,” said Lundie. “A prepared landing, on a magnetic mass placed with considerable effort.”
“I just want to avoid them,” said Farrell. “When we make it to the commo capsule, I’ll call in a proper force to deal with them.”
“That shouldn’t be difficult,” Lundie said. “I’ll be on the aircar—with your agreement, sir?”
“You or me,” al-Ibrahimi said. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Lundie’s face went still in a fashion Farrell had learned was equivalent to another person’s scowl. “There will be strikers in the car as guards,” she resumed. “The military sensors in the helmets are capable of identifying Kalendru equipment at ranges beyond risk to us in this dense vegetation.”
“Not really,” Farrell explained. “We can only use high gain in a virtually sterile environment. The signatures of an aircar in operation swamp the signal from, say, a Spook laser’s cooling mechanism.”
“I can discriminate,” Lundie said flatly. “My headset, cued to the helmets, can discriminate. The guards can filter their inputs as they desire. I’ll use their passive sensors at maximum sensitivity.”
She looked at the project manager. There was steel in her expression and flint in his.
Al-Ibrahimi smiled minusculy. “Yes,” he said. “The initial flight to the grid will involve minimal personnel—my aide, the pilot, and however many personnel you choose to attach, Major.”
“I’ll go also,” Suares said. He seemed surprised when everyone stared at him.
“For site planning,” he explained, as if it should have been obvious. “As an architect, not because I’m a . . .” He waggled his hands to indicate the slight significance of his position as building councillor.
“We won’t be able to ferry the heavy equipment and materials on the vehicle available,” Suares added. “I need to plan housing construction as quickly as possible. Do we have an inventory of hand tools?”
“Yes,” said Lundie.
“I’ll ride along, sir,” Kuznetsov said. “I’ve used commo capsules before.”
“Who do you want to take with you?” Farrell asked.
Kuznetsov shrugged. “If we can really dodge the Spooks,” she said, “I’m fine by myself. You need all the strikers here.”
Farrell grimaced. “You got that right,” he agreed. This balls-up could be straightened out inside of a week; but keeping the civilians alive for that week wasn’t a job Art Farrell looked forward to.
“All right, Mr. Suares,” al-Ibrahimi said. “I take your point. And as the sooner we start, the better, I—”