The guide station should have been a blue light above a black tooth of rock.
It was a black tooth of rock.
Drake watched it through the glass until Felix began to suspect he was trying to shame the light into returning.
“We could go a little nearer,” Felix said.
“We could find out why it went dark.”
The captain lowered the glass.
“Tomorrow. In daylight.”
They waited a day for a grain carrier which had passed the approach that morning. Its navigator came over with wet cuffs, a useful account of the southern current and no opinion about why the station had failed. Drake paid for the observation. Ruth used the wait to open a worn contact at the folding bench.
