Chapter One

A Billion Times Told Lovelier

What a cruel, hard bastard of a world, Latimore thought.

He stood on a cliff overlooking supremely monotonous terrain. As far as he could see, red rock and more red rock met his view, striated into minor variations of red that did nothing to soothe the eye. It was as if the region had been painted by a cosmic artist with no imagination. Plus, the place was hot—unrelentingly, mind-numbing hot. Despite his ocular implants, the sun was daunting. It beat down as if in endless rage, determined to right some ancient wrong, or perhaps the recent indignity of his crew’s arrival.

Damn it, what had happened to the Venture’s crew? And why had Steele chosen to set down here in this godforsaken wasteland rather than in the greener, far more temperate region at the equator? The first crew’s mission had been to explore and access the planet for industrial and commercial development, not fry themselves in the desert. The only water available was spit or what he carried in his flask or onboard his hovercraft. But then, they weren’t using hovercraft anymore, were they? After his crew’s aerial search had turned up nothing, he had ordered them to scour the area on foot, root through caves and underground crevices. So far, their efforts had produced only bruises and contusions.

He pulled out his com-link and contacted the others, knowing it was a waste of time but determined to follow SOP. Gouyen Wingfield, the biologist, had discovered a small, hardy plant. No sign of the Venture’s crew, of course.

Latimore ordered each to keep searching then pocketed the link. Squinting up at the molten sun, he moved grimly on. Five hours at least till nightfall. Plenty of work time left.

Thirty minutes later he descended into a shallow canyon to the northeast and sat down on a red rock to rest and get his bearings. Wiping his brow, he took a few sips from his flask and surveyed his surroundings. Beyond the canyon’s walls, taller peaks circled him, pitiless promontories on which nothing grew and where death waited only a misstep away.

Latimore frowned. It was hard to believe there was any life or beauty on this foreboding planet, but orbital photos had confirmed what had been abundantly obvious from space. Lagos boasted a tropical zone at the equator that combined verdant vitality with cool blue water. At least that part’s worth the visit, he thought, but investigating the previous crew’s fate was turning out to be a waste of time. Oh, they had found the Venture and its scout ship unscathed and deserted, but there was no explanation of what had gone wrong, even in the ships’ logs.

Suddenly he caught a movement about eighty meters away. He reached for his ’nocs and scanned the canyon floor. Nothing.

His brief hope faded. The Venture’s men were long dead. Likely, he had glimpsed one of those large prairie dog-like creatures that inhabited the region. He considered uplinking with their comsat to high-mag his location, then dismissed the idea. It would take too much time and whatever he had seen (assuming it wasn’t his imagination) could be long gone by then. Better to move forward, keeping his eyes open.

He did so, after undoing his holster strap and making sure his laser was primed. While the region didn’t appear to have any dangerous animals, it was wise to be careful.

The canyon was barren, offering nothing even lizard or snake-like in the way of diversion. Still, you never knew what might be out of sight. On Talera, in the Pegasus system, a survey team had ventured into a similar region that proved to be honeycombed with underground caves. They had fallen and disappeared without a trace.

That’s a comforting thought. While chasing a will-o’-the-wisp, I take a nosedive into a shithole, Latimore thought. Just what I need to cap my career.

He smiled, and then caught another movement straight ahead, much closer and near a large rock.

Latimore advanced carefully, every sense alert. Whatever it was, it must be hiding behind the rock to avoid detection, suggesting some degree of sentience. He clutched his laser as he drew closer.

He stopped a meter from the waist-high rock and considered his options. What should he do? Hunting prey was out of his line.

Latimore inhaled the furnace-hot air. “Come out,” he said.

Nothing. But then alien prairie dogs wouldn’t understand Standard. Perhaps a sterner tone would bridge the language gap. “Come out from behind that rock,” he ordered. “Now!”

He waited. Was that breathing he heard, or his imagination? Seconds stretched, each one punctuated by his heartbeat. When he finally decided to move, a drop of sweat ran into his eye and he reached up to wipe it away.

A form streaked around the rock and launched itself at him. He swung the laser to shoot it, but the creature rammed into his stomach. He stumbled back and went down, his head striking the ground hard.

Stunned, he lay there as his attacker screeched and bludgeoned him. He tried to protect himself, but his head hurt and he could barely lift his hands. Consciousness flickered, and everything started to go black.

He fought the darkness, knowing that if he passed out the thing would kill him. His fingers twitched and he realized he still held the laser.

Another blow smashed into his skull. He moaned and lifted his hand.

The laser erupted in blinding light, sending a beam narrowly past the thing above him. Latimore cried out as another savage blow connected with his shoulder, and swung the laser to the left. He pulled the trigger again.

A sharp cry. His assailant rose and staggered back, clutching a smoking arm. The smell of burned flesh filled Latimore’s nostrils; he shook his head to clear it and got up, studying the creature. Though dirty and longhaired, it was human and wore what looked like the remains of a uniform. Peering at the bearded, grime-caked face, he remembered a company photo he had seen.

“Captain Steele,” he said. “Is that you?”

Eyes blinked in a dirty face and he saw a little sanity struggle back into them. Then the man moaned and lurched off, his ruined arm smoking in the hot air.

Latimore started to pursue but something held him back. Be careful, his inner voice warned. A wounded animal is twice as deadly.

Usually Latimore heeded such counsel, since the judgment of that inner voice, what he had learned to call his “brother” or “other self” was invariably good. Time and again, his brother had proven to be an asset rather than a liability. When he’d been younger, he’d asked his friends about their inner voices, but none of them seemed to have one with a mind of its own. Latimore had accepted his difference from others and learned to conceal it from everyone except Gouyen, his lover and crewmate. He knew that if he had a mental disorder—his superiors would certainly strip his command if they knew—it was a highly efficient one which had enabled him to accumulate an exemplary service record. What doubts he had involved himself rather than the more competent and complete cohabitant of his skull who often guided his life.

At the moment his brother was silent, offering no advice. What should he do? He hadn’t been told not to follow his attacker, only to be careful. And Latimore did have his orders. He had come here explicitly to find out what had happened to Steele and his crew. He had to follow. Hopefully he hadn’t sabotaged his mission by killing the Venture’s sole survivor before he could learn what happened.

He holstered his weapon and commed his crew, quickly giving his location and an explanation. Though it would take Tom Maro, their navigator and tech, at least an hour to get a hovercraft from camp and fly here, Latimore told him to start at once. Then he took off in pursuit of the man, his muscles aching from the pummeling he had taken. To Latimore’s surprise, catching Steele—assuming it was Steele—was not easy. Though the man was wounded and barefoot, he had perhaps a seventy-meter lead and was moving fast. It didn’t help that Latimore had a headache of his own to slow him down.

Why didn’t his wound incapacitate Steele, and how could his feet stand the heat? Hell, you could fry eggs on this sand. Latimore pounded after Steele in his standard issue boots, fiery air searing his lungs.

Even when the ground started to rise, Steele didn’t slacken. Latimore found himself falling farther and farther behind. He thought of firing bursts ahead of Steele to make him stop, but decided not to spook the man further. For that matter, was Steele even fleeing or just running for some demented reason of his own?

Eventually Steele reached a rock-strewn slope on the other side of the canyon and started to climb it. Thoroughly winded, Latimore stopped. What was the fool doing now? Raising his eyes, Latimore saw that the incline ran only about one-third up a sheer, high cliff. There was no way Steele was going to climb that.

He considered waiting until Steele lost his footing and slid back down, but then the man reached a tall, jagged rock and disappeared behind it.

Latimore took several gulps from his flask and waited, his lungs working like a bellows. When he could breathe easier, he started up the slope, his sore muscles complaining. As he climbed, his implants adjusted to the bright sky now filling half his vision. Even dimmed, the three-ringed primary seared his eyes. He dropped his gaze and concentrated on the slope’s terrain. One false step and he would roll a long way.

Finally he neared the rock Steele had disappeared behind. He stopped and drew his laser. What if Steele attacked him again? Latimore carefully adjusted his stance, realizing that a mere tap could send him reeling.

“Steele?” he called.

No reply. The wind stirred, threatening to topple him. He climbed up to the rock and around it.

Steele wasn’t there, but a narrow fissure cut into the rock less than two meters away. Shifting his weapon to his left hand, Latimore drew his laser-light and aimed it at the cave.

It’s dark, his brother said. Wait for Maro. Steele can jump out from one of a hundred places and bash your brains in from behind. Remember, it’s his backyard, not yours.

Thanks, brother, he replied. It was excellent advice, and he knew he’d better listen to it.

Suddenly a scream came from the cave. It was bloodcurdling, the kind that summons visions of the damned. What would make such a solid company man emit such a sound? Was he being attacked or had he turned into a mad animal? If there was something dangerous in this region, why hadn’t he gone north to the temperate zone or simply left Lagos and returned to base? An even more disturbing thought, perhaps Steele was the best and strongest of the lot; perhaps the other members of his crew hadn’t even managed to survive whatever it was they had found here in the rock-bound wilderness of Lagos.

The scream died, and then sprang up again. This time it was close, seemingly just inside the mouth of the cave. If Latimore went in, perhaps he could save Steele, or calm him, save him from himself. Then, after they transported him to camp, Gouyen could treat him and they could find out what had happened to the Venture’s crew. But if Latimore stayed here, Steele might die or escape through some back entrance. In that case, the previous crew’s fate would remain a mystery. No, he couldn’t risk that.

Pulling out his com-link, he contacted his crew again and updated them. Gouyen protested Latimore’s plan to go after Steele, but he cut her off with a promise to be careful.

With the laser in one hand and the light in the other, Latimore entered the cave slowly. His eyes shifted from side to side, ready to shoot at the slightest movement. Three meters wide, the cave didn’t appear to offer opportunities for ambush—no rocks or recessed nooks, just smooth walls and ceiling. Soon, though, it turned to the left and he tensed as he slipped around the bend, only to find that the cave stretched straight ahead, empty and innocent in the glare of his laser-light. Still, Latimore’s unease rose.

A shrill laugh, completely mad, reached him from the dark depths of the cave ahead.

His skin crawled. Maybe he’d better tell Maro to bring a sedative, something to calm Steele down. He started to slip the light into a belt loop so he could use his com-link. But if he did that, he wouldn’t be able to see, would he? Better holster his weapon instead. But then he’d be defenseless if Steele attacked. Latimore stared at the ten-meter stretch ahead. Even if Steele charged, he would have time to draw and fire.

He holstered his laser and pulled out his com-link. “Tom, bring a sedative for Steele. Okay?”

No response, and several more attempts had the same result. That was strange. This unit was supposed to work even through lead walls. Men buried in caves like this one had used com-links to save their lives.

This cave’s different, he thought. All bets are off when you enter it.

He returned the unit to his belt. As he did, the laugh came again, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. The man’s drawing you to him, he thought. But he’s wounded and you’ve got both the laser and light. What could go wrong?

Everything, his inner counsel advised. You don’t know what’s waiting for you up ahead. Be careful, my brother.

Latimore swallowed and continued on. As he did, he noticed that the air was cooler and smelled of clay, with a trace of something else he couldn’t identify. A few steps more and the cave became actually cold. He reviewed all he knew about caves, which wasn’t much. But he did recall reading that they could distort sound and make it difficult to determine where it was coming from.

Caves were echo chambers. A scream that seemed to come from directly ahead might in fact…

He whirled around, his laser ready. Shadows pounced from the walls, aiming at his throat. But there was nothing there.

Shit. He swung back, but the way before him was still empty. Bracing himself, he moved on.

Something on the wall caught his attention. Raising the laser-light, he made out markings. They resembled no language or pictographs he’d seen before. One symbol, though, was repeated often: a small blue cube edged in black.

Could this be the language of an alien species? The company had skimped on this trip, so no xenologist. For all he knew these markings said “STAY OUT. DEATH TO TRESPASSERS.”

He tensed at another scream. It seemed quite close, just around the next bend.

He ventured on. Rounding the bend, he saw that the cave formed what looked like a chamber directly ahead. To his surprise, it was brightly lit.

He approached the narrow entrance, peering through it to both sides. When he saw no one waiting, he murmured a prayer and leapt inside.

Five meters away, Steele sat on a blanket against the wall, surrounded by flasks and tattered clothes. A lamp burned beside him, and his ruined arm lay limp in his lap. Even from where he stood, Latimore caught its acrid smell.

Though Steele was alone, Latimore stayed alert.

“Steele?” he asked.

The man gazed at him, shadows flickering across his face. Latimore waited, and then took a step toward him.

Sound—strident sound—burst upon him. He gasped, whirled about, almost dropping the laser. After several seconds he realized what it was.

The soaring, triumphant chords of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” flooded his ears, promising transcendence and spiritual fulfillment, joy beyond human measure. But what was it doing playing here?

The sublime music swept through him in a mighty flood. Rejoice, oh rejoice! Life is a miracle! But Steele’s face was a barren wasteland.

Latimore watched the man touch something beside him. Immediately the rapturous chords ceased.

He went to Steele, barely glancing at the sonic player at the man’s side. “Captain Steele,” he said kneeling, “is that you?”

“Yes.”

It was Steele, and he had finally responded. Perhaps there was hope. After all, if the man could still appreciate music…

“I’m Eric Latimore,” he said, “captain of the Merchant, and we’ve come for your crew. Can you tell me…”

“Let me ask you something,” Steele interrupted. “How much water can a liter container hold?”

Latimore frowned. “What?”

“A liter container. How much water can it hold?”

“I … guess it could hold a liter.”

“Not two liters?”

“No.”

“Not two hundred, or a thousand? Only one?”

Latimore felt lost. The man was mad and spouting nonsense. “Captain Steele, it’s only a liter.”

Steele blinked. “A pity. I hoped, like the music you just heard, it could transcend its limitations and contain more.”

“Captain Steele, what happened to your crew? Why did you abandon your ship?”

“I tried to hold it all, but I overflowed,” Steele said. “It just poured out of me, taking everything I was with it. But oh, for a while it was glorious.”

Latimore leaned closer. “What happened to your crew, Captain? Did anyone survive?”

Steele’s gaze sharpened and he met Latimore’s eyes. “My sad crew, even I, fell woefully short—a small, frail vessel.” He smiled. “Beethoven is beautiful, but I assure you, there is something better still. Oh, yes. To quote an old book, it was something ‘a billion times told lovelier.’”

Latimore waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. After a moment Steele’s eyes dulled and Latimore checked his pulse. The man was dead.

He closed Steele’s eyes. I killed him, he thought. If I hadn’t shot him, he’d still be alive and might tell me what we need to know. Now it dies with him. I’ve not only killed a man but sabotaged my mission.

His brother could be supportive as well as cautionary. Be reasonable. The man forced you to kill him. If you hadn’t, you’d be dead. You had no choice.

Thanks, he answered in his thoughts. Still, Steele was dead. Latimore sighed and sat down beside the man, wondering what secrets lay locked inside Steele’s decaying brain. Perhaps everything, but more probably nothing. No doubt endless hours in the hot sun had baked his brain to mush.

Still, some things Steele had said sounded almost lucid. “Beethoven is beautiful.” Oh yes, he was.

Examining the corpse, Latimore noticed that Steele’s right fist was clenched as if it held something. He tried prying the fingers apart but they resisted.

Finally, as he labored, the hand opened as if of its own accord. In it lay a small cube that still emitted a bluish faint glow.

Latimore gazed at it, finding its radiance soothing, almost seductive. He reached for it.

Don’t, his brother said.

Latimore waited, but his brother offered no reason. Perhaps he shared Latimore’s fascination with the thing. He watched the cube’s glow fade and then took it from Steele’s hand to study it. It reminded him of the cubes he had seen marked on the wall. He rose to his feet, feeling a sense of comfort and well-being as he slipped it into his breast pocket.

He left the chamber without looking back. When Maro arrived they’d use the hovercraft to transport Steele. Gouyen could examine him back at camp.

As he walked, he holstered the laser and pocketed the light. The danger was over. Inside, he felt his brother start to speak, but the glorious tones of “Ode to Joy” rose inside him and Latimore sang along.

Nearing the mouth of the cave, he felt something stir against his chest and stopped. He removed the cube from his pocket. To his surprise, it was glowing again, a bright blue-black luminescence. Even as he held it, it brightened further.

He put the cube back. Ever so faintly, it seemed to beat in unison with his heart, but he told himself that was only his imagination.

---

Chapter Two

Something of Interest

“Well, Dr. Wingfield, what do you think?” Latimore asked.

Gouyen, who had been examining Steele’s body, lowered the autodoc’s transparent seal to keep his remains fresh. “I’ll know more after I get the test results.” She sighed and removed her surgical mask.

“Any tentative conclusions?”

A frown marred her sharp features. “Sure, total depletion by a hostile environment. This area is all desert, Eric.”

“He could have left, gone to explore the temperate zone.”

“Yes,” she allowed. “But as you said, the man was mad, tried to kill you. Evidently his crew died and he was all alone. Loneliness can drive anyone crazy.”

Latimore glanced about the med module, then at the silver disk of their scout ship ten meters away. An ice chest and a few chairs beneath a gaily colored, incongruous lawn umbrella completed the camp, which was surrounded by a ring of nightlights.

From where he stood, he could see Steele’s scout ship a short walk from their camp. As for Steele’s mainship, it soared alongside the Merchant ninety klicks above in geosynchronous orbit. After Latimore’s crew had searched the Venture, he had ordered it tethered to their own ship by a half-klick line.

He turned back to Gouyen. “What about some of the things he said, like being a liter that tried to hold too much?”

She shrugged. “Maybe he was raving about how his assignment overwhelmed him.”

Latimore rubbed his neck, which ached from Steele’s attack. “He made another odd remark. After he turned off Beethoven’s symphony, he quoted something. ‘A billion times told lovelier.’”

“Hmm, I’ll run that phrase through the computer.”

“What about the disk?”

“I’ve scanned it. It seems to be only music, but I’ll have Tom check it later.” Gouyen removed her gloves and apron, then frowned and left the med module. Latimore followed.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Something doesn’t seem right,” she said. She raised a slender hand and indicated the dry, rocky landscape. “It just doesn’t seem right,” she repeated.

Latimore managed a smile. “Your Apache heritage kicking in, Gouyen?”

Her lips twitched. Her name meant “Wise Woman.” It amused her every time he reminded her of it.

He stepped closer. “What’s wrong here?”

She sniffed deeply, as if tracking game. “I don’t know.” She swung to him with a wry smile. “The first Gouyen lived 700 years ago. These days I’m a paleface, just like you.”

“Still, you sense something. Your genes may be diluted, but they’re still there.”

She glanced about and rubbed her elbows with her hands. “The only thing I know is that I want to get the hell off this slagheap and return to HQ. I know. We’re not done. Before we leave, perhaps we can scout farther north, where things actually grow. We could score points with Coscom if we at least brought a few plants back.”

“You said you found a plant.”

“One, Eric. And it’s the most puny, pathetic thing you’ve ever seen. I’ll show it to you if you like.”

“That reminds me.” He reached into his breast pocket for the cube, and then saw Maro trudge into camp looking as if he had walked halfway across the world. Both he and Sonya had decided to re-search the surrounding area while Gouyen examined Steele’s body.

“Enjoy your stroll?” Latimore asked.

The navigator ducked under the lawn umbrella to grab a bottle of ice water from the chest. He drained half of it without putting it down, his black skin glistening in the sun. Latimore watched the man’s muscular throat swallow.

At last he lowered the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Latimore tried again. “Find anything?”

“Not a friggin’ thing,” Maro said. “Just rock and sun and heat. Far as I’m concerned, Cap, this place is a total shithole.”

“We still have our mission, Tom.”

Maro spat. “You wanna know what happened to Steele’s crew?” He waved at the landscape. “Their bones are out there somewhere, bleachin’ in the sun.”

He started to remove his backpack, then changed his mind and went into the med module. Latimore and Gouyen followed.

“Learn anything?” Maro asked.

Gouyen shrugged. “If Eric hadn’t shot him, heat exposure, starvation, and loneliness would have killed him soon anyway.”

Maro snorted. “Shit, we knew that. WHY was he exposed to heat? WHY did he starve when his ship’s still well-stocked? As for loneliness, WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS CREW?”

Latimore sniffed in irritation. Maro was a big man with a temper to match. Usually his geologist wife kept him calm but Sonya, all five feet two of her, was still off searching.

Maro leaned closer to Steele’s body. “He looks drained, like something sucked the life right out of him.”

Latimore touched the cube in his breast pocket, wondering why he hadn’t mentioned it yet, and why it soothed him just to carry the artifact close to his skin. “Steele said some strange things before he died.”

Maro turned. “I know, you said so. Ever going to tell us what they were?”

“Let’s wait till Sonya gets back so I don’t have to repeat it all over again.”

Maro grunted and returned his attention to Steele. “Six crewmen on the first mission. What happened to the other five? And why did Coscom only authorize four of us to investigate?”

“The mission was low priority to start with,” Latimore replied. “There were only six men in the first crew because most of Lagos is barely habitable.”

“C’mon, this planet has a broad temperate zone at its middle. It should make a great tourist attraction.”

Latimore sighed. They’d been all over this in the mission briefing at HQ. He started to reply, but Gouyen beat him to it.

“Tom, if you’ll remember, there are several planets with milder temperatures than Lagos.

Plus, they have more water, prettier sites, and valuable minerals. Coscom is only interested in profits. There was considerable opposition to exploring this planet in the first place.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I’m back!”

As they left the module, Sonya entered camp and stopped before them. Latimore saw at once that she was agitated. She stood puffing and blowing, her backpack tilted awry and her knuckles clamped to her sides. Bright ringlets of strawberry blonde hair drooped down her steamy cheeks.

“I found the Venture’s crew!” she announced.

“Where?” they all answered.

She removed her pack. “Follow me. There’s still time before nightfall.”

“What’s this about, Sonya?” her husband asked. “Where are you taking us? What—”

“Shut up and shuck your pack,” Sonya snapped. Despite his excitement, Latimore smiled at Maro’s obedient “Yes, hon” and quick compliance. The man might be a bear, but he was one that his tiny fireplug of a wife had thoroughly tamed—at least when she was around.

Gouyen touched Latimore’s hand. “This could be our break.”

He nodded. “If it clears things up, the champagne’s on me. Lord knows, we need something to celebrate.”

They passed Steele’s scout ship, a small, crescent-shaped craft much like their own and continued on. Five minutes later they descended a rocky slope, their boots slipping. Latimore caught hold of a brown, spindly growth to steady himself.

“That’s the type of plant I told you about,” Gouyen said.

“This way!” Sonya ordered. Her eyes flashed at Maro. “Watch your feet, Tom boy.”

They worked their way along a narrow ledge and under an overhang, finding themselves on a shaded lip of stone. “You have to be right in front to see it,” Sonya said, pointing. “That’s why we missed it before.”

They turned toward the slope. Latimore saw a horizontal, slot-shaped hole in the rock.

“I’d describe what’s in there,” Sonya said, “but it might be better if you formed your own impressions.” She looked at Latimore. “Okay, Captain?”

He nodded. “After you, Sonya.”

She went to the opening, knelt, and squirmed in backwards. “It’s only a meter drop, but be careful.”

They watched her enter, retreat into darkness.

Gouyen and Maro were practically hopping with excitement. Latimore sighed. “After you,” he said.

Gouyen dropped to her knees at once and slipped in like a ferret, followed by Maro who almost got wedged in because of his huge shoulders.

Latimore lingered outside, torn by ambivalence. At last, the mystery of what happened to the previous crew might be solved, but at what price? His brother’s voice stirred again, a teasing whisper. If only he could hear it and pin down what was troubling him.

“Captain,” Sonya called, “are ya coming?”

He knelt and backed in, lowering his shoulders so they would slip through the entrance. Feeling ground beneath him, he stood and found himself in a small cave.

As with the crew, his implants augmented the poor light. Gouyen, Tom, and Sonya stood nearby, gazing down at something. He joined them.

On the cave floor, five bodies lay in various positions. Latimore made out ravaged faces and torn uniforms. But there was something else, too.

To be sure, he pulled out his light and illuminated the scene. Yes, he’d been right. The neatly aligned bodies—two male, three female—bore evidence of wounds. He spotted laser burns on three of them. Another had a crushed skull. Some of the faces were contorted as if possessed of dangerous visions at the moment of death.

“What in the Goddamned hell happened here?” Maro said.

Gouyen waved her hand. “Looks like someone attacked them or some of them attacked each other.”

Latimore thought of Steele. “My guess is their captain placed them here after they died.”

“What caused this?” Maro asked, and then answered his own question. “Maybe they went crazy or had a fight.”

“If it was a fight,” Sonya said, “what was it about?” She pointed at the corpses. “This was a well-trained, disciplined crew. We all reviewed their files.”

“Maybe something in the air,” Maro said. “Or this world’s equivalent of peyote.”

“SOP: the air was thoroughly tested before we even set foot here,” Gouyen reminded him. “As for plants, I’ve only seen two—of the same kind.”

Latimore edged closer and bent down. A man’s cheek bore deep grooves—fingernail marks perhaps?

“They’re well preserved,” Gouyen said. “That’s partly the arid climate but the soil may be a factor too. It could be alkaline.” She clicked her tongue at the bodies. “Bloody nasty. I’ll have a clearer picture of what happened when we get them back to camp. If there is some pathogen or hallucinogen, it should turn up at the lab.”

It might be something else, Latimore thought. He reached into his breast pocket, but Sonya suddenly spoke up. “Hey, I almost forgot. I found something on the ground here.”

“Found something?” Maro said.

“Yes.” She reached into her own pocket and held out her hand. In it were three blue-black cubes.