LeCleur was tired from work and looking forward to a good night’s sleep. It had been a busy day. “I don’t believe it would’ve mattered. I think they would have gone anyway. Besides, such an offer would have constituted unsupported interference with native ritual. Expressly forbidden by Church protocols.”

Bowman nodded. “You check the systems?”

His friend smiled. “Everything’s working normally. Wake-up alarm the same time tomorrow?”

Bowman shrugged. “Works for me.” He spared a final glance for the heaving, rippling sea of brown. “They’ll still be here. How long you estimate it will take them to move on through?”

LeCleur considered. “Depends how widespread the migration is.” Raising a hand, he pointed. “Check that out.”

So dense had the swarm become that a number of the muffins at its edge were being jostled off into the ravine. The protective excavation that ringed the station was ten meters deep, with walls that had been heat-sealed to an unclimbable slickness. A spider would have had trouble ascending those artificial precipices. The agents retired, grateful for the outpost soundproofing that shut out all but the faintest trace of mass peeping.

The station AI’s pleasant, synthesized female voice woke Bowman slightly before his partner.

“Wha…?” he mumbled. “What’s going on?”

“Perimeter violation,” the outpost AI replied, in the same tone of voice it used to announce when a tridee recording was winding up or when mechanical food pre-prep had been completed. “You are advised to observe and respond.”

“Observe and respond, hell!” Bowman bawled as he struggled into an upright position. Save for the dim light provided by widely spaced night illuminators, it was dark in his room. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Four AM, corrected Hedris time.” The outpost voice was not abashed by this pronouncement.