2. Protocol

There was a protocol for this. There was a protocol for everything at Thera, laminated and zip-tied to the bulkheads, written by people on Earth who had never been colder than a ski lodge.

FIRST CONTACT (BIOLOGICAL OR TECHNOLOGICAL): 1. Do not respond. 2. Record all data. 3. Notify Mission Control. 4. Await instruction.

The signal delay to Earth was forty-three minutes. The round trip was an hour and a half, if somebody on the other end was awake and not in a meeting.

"Thirteen," said Pickles.

"Notify Control," Ana said. "Flag it priority one."

Okonkwo came in from reactor still pulling on his jacket. He listened to two more numbers, then sat down on the floor right where he was standing.

"It's counting," he said. "It's counting at us."

"We don't know it's at us."

"Seventeen," said Pickles. And then, after a pause that went on long enough that all four of them leaned toward the speaker: "It has stopped."

The ice groaned overhead. Down in the dark, ten kilometers below their boots, something was waiting to see what they would do.

Ana looked at the laminated protocol. Step one. Do not respond.

She looked at the drill controls.

"Pickles," she said. "How long until Control answers?"

"Eighty-seven minutes, minimum."

"That's a long time to leave someone hanging," Ana said.