As the search team spreads out to taking up guarding positions, all seems quiet in the cavernous cargo bay.<br/><br/>It is not so quiet in the mind of Cross:<br/><br/>His telepathy brushes his immediate environs, and floats through the string-instrument consciousness of his companions around him.  Then it catches on another intellect.  A different kind.  It is not conscious thought so much as it is crackling - a psyche inchoate and alien, sounding like stereo feedback to Cross' experience.  It is brief and it is close, but it is moving away:  Away and up, to the flight deck's hibernation chambers.<br/><br/>Then his awareness touches on the darkness beyond the open airlock.  Inside it, whispers of half-formed thoughts teem like a feast of worms.  It is not like one mind in there, but like millions upon millions of fragments of a mind.  The whole darkness swarms.<br/><br/>But for the others, inside the cavernous cargo bay, and in the darkness beyond, silence continues to settle.