Free Beowulf's Children by Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle, Steven Barnes Page B

went. He was down overnight." Justin searched his memory. "And three years ago. Got caught in a bad storm. Put down overnight."
    "The rotor should be on the maintenance records." Edgar muttered to Cassandra. Thermal maps of the glacier flashed by, held for the dates that Cadmann Weyland was known to be on one of his jaunts, and then rolled on. Justin watched in fascination as Edgar searched until two map images came into focus. They looked as if they had been taken from about two miles up, and on each of them, tiny heat pulses flared.
    "Campfires." Edgar was utterly smug. "The dates probably match. Your dad put down overnight. First one matches the maintenance record. Second . ...h. It was one of those nasty little solar-flare storms. Must have gotten hairy up on Isenstine."
    "And?"
    "Your dad took a hard left turn here. Tricky. Then... Skeeter range is five hundred miles. Your father carries at least one spare, and doesn't like to space his fuel dumps further than eight hundred miles apart. That probably puts him about here-"
    "Give me a vegetation map," Justin said.
    Cassandra displayed some of the vegetation to be found in the area. "He brought back some Avalon succulents last time. Does that narrow things?"
    Cassandra searched, and came up with a twenty-square-mile sprawl that met all of the conditions.
    "Not bad," Justin said. "Look for heat sources." Four little pulses of red appeared. "Volcanic, on a cycle?"
    "I've got a better idea," Edgar replied. "Cassandra-when was the last routine scan?"
    Her familiar voice was warm and cool. "Eighteen hours ago, at the present level of magnification."
    "Nighttime. Give me a thermal scan. Compare it to the chart we just made... and compare it again to... say, anything before three days ago, back to a month."
    Edgar turned to Justin. "Does that about cover it? When was the last time your dad was out?"
    "About two months."
    "Good enough. So all we should have out there are some geysers, and maybe another hunter. Not likely in that little area, but maybe. Exclude all of that, and we'll have his campfire... "
    "He likes wood-burning stoves," Justin said suddenly. "He's got a cabin, but it'll have a chimney."
    "And... bingo."
    They were looking directly down at a mass of trees near the eastern edge of Isenstine glacier. "Camouflaged," Edgar mused. "You could skeeter right over and never see it. That fire is stone dead now."
    "Dad would put the fire out. He's very serious about that kind of thing."
    "So. Time for the stove to cool. Figure he left five hours ago... "
    Edgar rolled his eyes up, and thought. "With refueling... the skeeters make about a hundred and eighty kilometers tops... he should be right about..." He poked his finger at the map. "Here. Give or take fifty kilometers or so."
    He grinned up at Justin. "Betcha," he said, and went for magnification. Geographic wasn't in position, but he diverted one of the weather satellites to optical mode. Cassandra kept cleaning up the image, searching for something moving against a white background...
    They went in through the mountains, and past the savage crevasses of Isenstine Glacier. Justin could almost feel the cold.
    And there it was, a flickering shadow. A red circle enclosed it and Cassandra zoomed in to show something that looked like a brine shrimp larva skittering across a pond. It was there one moment, gone the next. But Cassandra was on its track, now, locked on, and Cadmann was caught.
    It was Skeeter II, its silver-blue length magnified by satellite optics. The view was from not quite overhead. It was a tiny bit of metal and plastic, a thing of Man flying across an impersonal wasteland. It carried plant samples and three of the human beings Justin Faulkner loved most in all the world.
    "He'll need to make one more fuel stop," Edgar said. He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his seat. His round face wore a smile of enormous self-satisfaction. "But that won't take fifteen minutes. This close to home he'll