A/N: Don't worry, Hossfan - Jim's not into collaboration. With the people he's dealing with being members of the community rather than invaders this time around, he's got to be careful how he deals with things for the time being. Boylan's come up with a novel means of communication, however, so I hope it raises a chuckle or two!

Thanks for your comments, Leona - Parker is one of those people who are very keen to have power, but don't know what to do with it once they've got it - and particularly don't appreciate just how much work is involved. He's made a lot of promises to a lot of people to get where he is, and sooner or later he's going to have to accept that he's got to keep 'em!

I think Malcolm has become a lot more self aware than he used to be - thanks to his relationships with his colleagues and with Max. That said, he's still perfectly capable of making things worse with a single badly chosen word.

I appreciate your reviews - thanks!

And on we go...now to find out whether that flower-power thing works!

Chapter Sixteen

Graveyard

The atmosphere in the marketplace is still very subdued this morning, as Yseult carries Erin to nursery. She was very fractious again last night, clearly missing her daddy, and it was a struggle to get her to sleep. She has no doubt that her daughter's afternoon nap today will be quite a long one. At least she has the play and constructive activities of nursery to help her pass the time - for her mother, on the other hand, the worry is far deeper. The last time Malcolm went out into the Badlands, it had not been willingly, and he had come close to losing his life.

God, she misses him. Even the more annoying traits that are part and parcel of being with another human being. How long have they been out there now? She's lost track…

"Hello darling."

Startled, she looks up to see one of Bob Parker's closer cronies - though she's forgotten his name. Instinctively, her response is to back off - unwanted attention from men brings back bad memories she would rather not dredge up.

"I'm free this evening if you want to go to Boylan's." He drawls, lazily, "Keep you company while the other half's away." He makes no attempt to conceal his blatant staring at her bust, or the casual assumption that she would hook up with someone else while her husband is OTG. Or is he doing it because she's one of their so-called 'elite'? God knows - but all she wants to do is get away, and she hurries off, ignoring him, and his rather unpleasant laughter as it fades behind her.

Shaken, she collects her bicycle and rides as quickly as she can down to her compound. All sorts of nasty memories are stirring, and the sooner she's surrounded by her friends, and able to confide in Pete, the better. For all his cheerful campery, Pete is solidly built and muscular - if nothing else, she can look to him as an intimidating presence should that man really intend to continue bothering her. God - it makes her sound such a limp flower…

Don't even try to keep teasing me, that just makes you a whore!

That horrible moment as Mike held her on the ground, trying to force himself upon her…to have someone else now threatening to do likewise is so frightening that she struggles for a moment to hold back the tears. If only Malcolm were here - someone to turn to, to confide in. He was there, and came to her rescue - and between them they fought back - but he's miles away, and now that she's safely down in her own compound, the thought of having to go back up to the residential complex is frightening - what if the man is waiting for her?

Pete is in the office when she enters, and his expression is immediately worried, "What is it, Max?"

For a moment, she can't speak, but then she makes herself, "One of Parker's associates - I don't know who - he was making suggestions at me. Inviting me to Boylan's while Malcolm's away."

"Seriously? He didn't do anything else did he? Are you alright?" he knows about Mike's attack on her in more detail than most - though only Malcolm knows all of it - and immediately he is protective.

"Just rattled." She admits, "He didn't approach me - but he was staring at me like he was undressing me with his eyes."

Now, Pete is angry, "We report him to Jim - and I'll make sure that you don't go anywhere without someone from the team until Malcolm gets back. Even if that's as far as he goes, it's unacceptable."

"Don't threaten him back, Pete - he's one of Parker's closest cronies. Based on what Jim thinks, if we try to challenge him, it could reflect badly for us. Parker's already using his friends as a kind of Secret Police. No one's been arrested yet, but Jim reckons it's only a matter of time. We've gone from presumed martial law to a police state - it's just no-one's noticed yet."

"Has anyone seen Parker since he got howled in?" Pete opts not to use the words 'voted' or 'swept'.

"Only Jim. Apparently he's treating Commander Taylor's office like a throne room - he's done absolutely nothing but issue orders from the moment he got in there, and he's not asking for any advice or guidance on the operation of the colony. People are going through the motions - but the only thing he seems to be really interested in is giving preferential treatment to his friends - and anyone who's prepared to fawn over him. Chris is frantic - the fields are half empty because everyone wants a bit of the action, so the people who aren't involved are trying to do it all, and there aren't enough of them. It's only been a couple of days - but if this goes on for too long, we could have a major problem."

"No one to tend the crops, and no one to bring in the harvest." Pete agrees, "Then we're seriously in the poo. That's the real sign of a bad leader - and I imagine it won't be long before he demonstrates that in lavish proportions." He slips an arm round Yseult's shoulders, "All we can do is keep our heads down and look for an opportunity to fight back once one presents itself. The last thing we need when Taylor gets back is a civil war in progress. If he's as crap a leader as his activities so far suggest, then he's going to end up being thrown out of the office by disgruntled field workers - probably armed with cliché farm implements - so we just wait for that and then remind people who really knows how to run this place."

Yseult thinks it over, "Well, once that happens, I'll find that crony of his and forcefully introduce his dangly bits to my knee."

Mira has spent nearly an hour working carefully with the slowly wilting white flowers that Malcolm brought back from their foray out into the desert. The result is a very simple, but pretty, wreath that she hands to Bram, "Here. I know it's not much, but I think she'd appreciate that we're thinking of her."

He takes it, "That's lovely. Thank you."

They're standing at the far end of the cleft, where the debris has piled up against the small outlet into the gorge beyond. Rather than hit Bram with a nasty surprise, Dunham and Reynolds searched through the mess while he was busy with the analysis of the flower extract to ensure that Charlie's body had not been trapped in it - and found nothing. She had been washed through before the build-up got to the point that it blocked the gap to anything but the raging water. In some ways, it's a relief - there's no way to get her back to the colony so she can be laid to rest in Memorial Field, and it would have been painfully hard to have to leave her grave behind.

So they gather beside the tangled disaster of branches, stones and clods of vegetation, while Malcolm mumbles a few words that he hopes are suitable and appropriate, before Bram lays the small wreath over the blockage, his eyes tearful. So much for 'better to have loved and lost' - Malcolm recalls again how the thought that Yseult had drowned left him utterly devastated. He was lucky - she was rescued. Bram, and Charlie, however, were not.

With little else to do, they drift back to their respective camp duties. Malcolm goes back to analysing his radiation signatures, while Dunham organises a small party to see if they can find any water sources nearby that can supplement their condensers. Being sheltered, and well maintained, they're not likely to fail in the near future, but it's worth looking - after all, people do want to wash as well as drink.

The stock of purple flowers are drying very nicely on the large outcrop of rock that stretches over their camp and keeps the worst of the sun at bay, and Bram is again keeping himself busy by checking them regularly to ensure they reach the optimum degree of dehydration to get a really decent extraction. So far, the Commander hasn't come round, so everyone continues to wait and see if the distillate from yesterday is going to have any effect.

Being a lousy navigator, once Malcolm's happy with an estimated distance to the source, he needs Mira's help to triangulate it. With her assistance, however, it's a simple matter, and he looks at the plan that they retrieved from Hooper's records, "There." He says, pointing, "That looks more than promising - according to the topography, there's a deep depression here, and it looks like it covers a pretty enormous area. I'd say we're definitely looking at a superbolide impact site - and a pretty old one too. The depression's too shallow in comparison to the overall diameter of the crater rim, which means it must've filled in since, so we'll never find the remains of the bolide that formed it. Given the number of other depressions nearby, I think it was probably an air-burst detonation, but this is the primary crater left when the remains impacted."

Mira makes some more calculations, "I'd say we're looking at about a half day's drive to get there. I'm assuming that setting up camp isn't an option?"

Malcolm shakes his head, "No - we'll need to be in hazmat suits for this; the radiation will be deadly. I'm presuming that the crater's thick with baldanite, and that's been emitting theta particles since the last discharge, so it's been gathering in the depression. If we get too close and we're not protected, then it'll make us very poorly, very fast. We have to suit up, so camping isn't an option. For one thing, I don't have lead-lined tents in the stores."

She nods, "Fair enough. We go before first light, and come back after sundown. I'll make sure we set a sequence of beacons to keep us true: I can navigate using the stars, but that's not much help if we take a slightly wrong line coming back and smash a wheel on an outcrop of rock we didn't see in the dark."

The pair look up as Dunham approaches, "Doctor, Paula sent me - the Commander's awake."

The light in the tent is dimmed, as Taylor is squinting painfully, and prodding at his head as though he has a headache, "God, my head's splitting. What the hell happened?"

"Er…" Dunham struggles for an explanation, "You hit your head, Sir." He says, avoiding the confession until he has a better idea of how it'll go down.

"And how." Slowly, he sits up, "Must've been one hell of a concussion. Where are we?"

Paula hands him another water bottle, surreptitiously dosed with distillate, "We're out in the desert proper, Commander. We're currently on a large rock platform overlooking a gully."

"Why so high? Were we being followed?" He turns, "Mira?"

His tone is not hostile, which sounds hopeful.

"We were being tracked by six bambiraptors." She explains, "We came across this a couple of days ago - there was a storm somewhere out of earshot, so I wanted us up high. It's kind of become our base camp."

"And the raptors?" Again, he is no longer doubting her word.

"Washed away in the flash flood that the storm generated." She finishes.

"Sounds like a good outcome." He approves, "Malcolm, any further on the figurehead?"

He sits on a camp stool nearby, "Yes, Commander - we found the spot where it was located and we also found the ship's logbook. There were twenty survivors - but they all died in the desert, picked off by raptors, or dead of thirst."

"Jesus - that's hard." Taylor agrees, "Any casualties while I was out?"

Dunham looks uncomfortable again, "We lost Wicks to a bambi." He admits, "The perimeter fence shorted, and he was taken before anyone could do anything. We also lost Charlie two days ago - she lost her balance and went off the platform while the flood was coming through. She was washed away with the bambis."

Gradually, as he sips at the water and begins to feel more hydrated, Taylor takes in their expressions. Something's wrong - the way that they're looking at him. As though they expect him to explode like a bomb…

"Okay - it wasn't concussion, was it? What really happened?"

Now everyone's really nervous. Hesitantly, Malcolm broaches the subject, "Well, yes - you were struck on the head, so it was concussion. It was what you were doing when you were struck. You were trying to throttle me."

Taylor stares at him, "What the hell would I be doing that for?"

Now he's looking much more relieved, "What do you recall of the last few weeks? I mean right back to when we were still at the Colony - particularly about Lieutenant Washington?"

Taylor's eyes widen, "What do you mean? I haven't really thought about her for a long time - other than when I go to visit her headstone. Why - what's she got to do with all of this?"

Malcolm looks a little awkward, "We think that you have leptospirosis, Commander. There's evidence of parasitic activity in your blood, which means it's quite advanced - it's likely to have been a tick-bite a few months or so back."

Now he remembers - that red lump on his leg, the one he'd thought was just an insect…the tick must've fallen off. That'll teach him to wear shorts in long grass. Getting careless in his old age, it seems, "What's the problem with that? I haven't had any noticeable symptoms - I haven't felt like I've got flu or anything. Are you sure it's definitely Lyme's?"

Ah, it's worse. He can see it in the increase in tension that Malcolm's displaying, "Er, I'm afraid so." He says, a little hesitantly, "Paula did a test and picked it up. The thing is," God, he's wringing his hands now, "one of the symptoms of advanced Leptospirosis can be a form of dementia - it's curable, but only if it's caught in time. We think that's what was affecting you."

"And now it's not?" Taylor asks, "It can't've been that easy to cure me."

"We haven't. Mira knows of a plant that gives an extract that suppresses the symptoms and slows the deterioration. We're hoping to use that to keep you with us until we get back to the colony where Elisabeth can cure you."

Taylor sighs, "Okay - what was I doing?"

"You were convinced that Lieutenant Washington was still alive. To the point that you were delegating security matters to her over Dunham's head."

There's a pause, as Taylor takes in the news. He doesn't remember that - all he has in his head are vague pictures of travelling in the rover behind Malcolm and Mira, camping…sitting and looking out…

And then it dawns on him.

"It was because of me that Wicks died, wasn't it?"

Everyone exchanges uncomfortable glances, but Malcolm eventually confirms it, "It wasn't your fault entirely, Commander. You told Dunham to leave the roster with you, which he did."

"And I delegated it to Lieutenant Washington. Who wasn't there to assign it." Taylor finishes. Dear God - he's completely compromised. The only thing keeping him from leading them all to their ghastly deaths in the desert is being unconscious - or, it seems, drinking this plant extract. Shaken by the discovery, he looks very worried, "Malcolm - in case I go ga-ga again, I'm stepping down as expedition commander with immediate effect. I reckon you're already doing it - but you're in charge. Mira, I expect you to keep us alive. Dunham, I'm putting you in sole charge of the security team. Under no circumstances are any of you to let me give another order that isn't trivial until Doctor Shannon has fixed me. And that's my final order before I hand over."

He looks at the relieved expressions. They've probably been doing this on the quiet for ages - but now he's given them official sanction to do it, "One last thing." He adds, "All of you carry a sidearm set to stun. If I start refusing to cooperate, you have my permission to shoot me."

They look shocked now. Good.

"If you want to get up, Commander, there's nothing stopping you." Paula advises, "I think you just need some breakfast inside you, and as long as you keep taking the distillate, we should all be fine."

"Sounds good to me." He looks up at Malcolm, "Sorry I tried to kill you, Doctor."

Sitting quietly in the bar, nursing yet another coffee, Jim looks around for the man after whom the bar is named. The news of the falling out between Tom Boylan and Josh has gone around the colony at great speed, and - fortunately - no one seems to be surprised.

As he has formally signed the management of the bar over to Josh, choosing to concentrate entirely upon brewing, Boylan has effectively abandoned the place, so no one seems to notice when Josh sits down with his father, presuming that he's just going to complain about the fact that the doughty Australian has abandoned his post - and now only comes in to deliver consignments of booze. And that he's now charging for it.

"He's going to pop up to see Parker this morning." Josh advises his father, quietly, "He's known for not liking the Commander, so it's probably inevitable that he'd want to start getting in on the action with the people who've replaced him."

"How's he going to report in?" Jim asks.

"He's already modified his beer kegs to hide notes in them. When he's in with Parker, he'll make a note of everything and deliver the notes to me with the beer. Then we don't get spotted talking together. Apparently Parker's got all his mates wandering around watching everyone."

"He has. I've seen them." Jim agrees, "They're making sure that no one starts to get loud about the fact that they're not getting the elections that they were promised."

"I don't think anyone's getting what they were promised, Dad." Josh admits, "I've seen a few of Parker's pals in here, and they don't look happy."

Jim looks interested, "Really?"

"Boylan told me he's got Casey on watch as well. He's reported that they're seriously pissed that they're not getting all the privileges he was promising them - short hours, more pay, you name it, he offered it. And now he's up in the Command Centre doing a Napoleon."

"Huh?" Jim looks confused, "Why compare Parker with a dead French Dictator?"

"Sorry. I meant Napoleon the pig."

"That doesn't help, Josh."

"You've never read Animal Farm?" Josh looks surprised, "We read it in school. I think it was supposed to be some sort of comment on Russia - but I didn't really notice that the time: I was only ten. But it's about how farm animals have a revolution and throw the farmer out. Then the pigs take charge, but end up behaving like humans themselves. Napoleon is the one who takes charge and behaves like a dictator - at the end, the pigs start dealing with humans again, and the animals realise that they can't tell which is which anymore."

"That sounds cheerful."

"Yeah - but that's what Casey thinks is happening. Parker's got what he wants, so he doesn't care about the people who got him there anymore."

Jim thinks it over. That, of all things, doesn't bode at all well. Having made so many promises, Parker needs to start delivering, or it'll all go to hell pretty hard, and pretty fast. If his own cronies are thinking that they're being hard done by, then they're going to hit back - and the last thing he needs is to try and keep a lid on an impending civil war.

"I can get a note back to Boylan when he comes to get the empty kegs." Josh adds, quietly, "If there's anything you want him to do."

"At the moment, I just need to know what's happening, Josh." Jim advises, "I can't do anything until I know what we're up against."

"I'll get on it."

Elisabeth is waiting for him when he gets home to see if he can find some lunch in the fridge, "It's getting worse, Jim." Her expression is worried, "I've had people coming in with minor injuries insisting that they get treated ahead of urgent cases - just because they're one of Parker's entourage. We nearly lost a construction worker this morning because Zack Drummond demanded that we use derma-spray on a graze he'd picked up on his arm, and wouldn't let us do anything else until we did. I only use it for burns now because it's in such short supply; but he threatened one of my Nurses with the rest of the day in the brig if she didn't use it."

"That's crazy - why would he do that?" Jim asks - mostly rhetorically.

"He was throwing his weight around, I suppose." Elisabeth sighs, "Because he could."

He nods: that sounds about right - a demonstration of power; not authority - full on power. He's one of Parker's immediate cronies, and he expects to be as important. What better way to show it off than to force an entire medical staff to bend to his will - even to the point that someone else might die? Hell, these men really don't care about anything but having everything for themselves while everyone else does all the work. The only thing that he can be grateful for is the fact that most of the rest of the Agriculture department will soon begin to see it, and perhaps they can then take the colony back without bloodshed. There was far too much of that the last time they had to do it.

"The worst of it is that I can't do anything about it, Jim." Elisabeth snuggles against him, and he wraps her in his arms, "They won't listen to reason. If anyone says 'no' to them then they just dig their heels in even more. Even Weaver wasn't that bad: almost, but not quite."

They look up as the door opens, and Josh comes in. He has a place of his own these days, but his visits to his parents are regular enough for no one to comment if he pops in.

"Wow, am I interrupting a moment? I hope so." He grins, as he shuts the door. No sooner has he done so than his expression changes to one of concern, and the volume of his voice drops considerably, "Sorry. There's someone outside - you're being watched, Dad."

"Now why am I not surprised by that?" Jim sighs, "Anything from Boylan?"

Josh doesn't answer, but hands over a note on remarkably flimsy looking paper.

Shannon. I'm in. Tell me what you want to know. B

PS. Eat this.

"Eat it?" Jim stares at Josh in bemusement.

"It's rice paper." Josh explains, one of the Bakers had a load imported to use for macaroons. It's edible - so there's no risk of it being found."

"He thinks of everything, doesn't he?" Elisabeth smiles.

Taylor has taken another dose of the newest batch of distillate, and it's proving to be even more effective, just as promised. Mira's mood is particularly improved, as he has regained his trust of her, and she seems much less prickly again.

The Commander's mood, on the other hand, is subdued, as he knows that two people in the party are dead: and certainly one of those losses was at least partly his fault. That the Badlands are dangerous is hardly news - but the point of the exercise was to keep people safe through good leadership, and he completely failed to do it. That he was unwittingly compromised by illness doesn't do much to help. From what Malcolm's told him, they knew something was wrong - but they couldn't prove it. Had he been himself, he might well have accepted their arguments and submitted himself for further testing to be sure - but he wasn't, and so their hands had been completely tied.

Breakfast this morning is another dubious feast of rehydrated egg, crackers and cereal bars. They have no chickens, so the entire colony has become used to the taste and consistency of dried egg, though they are now beginning to run out of the stuff, and the consignment that's come with the expedition is the last of it, as their supplies of protein are rather limited out in the desert. Most of the camp is still sleeping, as it's not even close to dawn yet, but Malcolm and Mira intend to start their search, and the distances involved mean that it's an early start if they want to get there and back in a day.

"So, what's today's plan?" Taylor asks, taking a swig of coffee substitute with a grimace.

"Mira and I are going out to see if we can locate the trigger point for the portal." Malcolm answers, "We have an idea of the direction, and the distances involved, based on the readings from my rad-meter."

He is keen to go with them, but after all that has happened previously, Taylor knows that it would be madness to risk it. The distillate seems to be working well, but that doesn't mean that it'll continue to do so, and he doesn't want to go off again while out in the middle of nowhere. Malcolm and Mira will have enough on their plates as it is.

"I've packed hazmat suits for us both - as there's no other protection from the radiation. If it becomes clear that we can't get there and back in a day, we'll come back first and gather something to use for shelter."

Taylor nods, approvingly, "That sounds like a good idea." He looks about, "Is the only source of water the condensers?"

"So far." Mira says, sounding a little worried, "Dunham organised a team, but things got in the way, so we haven't had the chance to check the rocks for any gathered pools."

At last - something he can do, "I'll get the security boys back on it. If we find something, I'll have Bram and Paula work on putting a purification protocol in place."

She nods, pleased, "Can you keep an eye on Bram? He got close to Charlie, and he was the one who failed to save her, so he's taken her loss pretty hard. It wasn't his fault - but when has that meant anything when you're the one who couldn't save someone? I think Dunham's on it as well, but the last thing we want is to find that we thought he was okay when he wasn't."

In spite of the deaths of the bambiraptors that were stalking them, Mira is careful to shine a strong light into the gully before they set down the ladder. Deserts are always far more dangerous at night, when predators are out and about, and the last thing they want is to find themselves fighting for their lives before they've even got to the rover.

As soon as they're out in the open country, Malcolm has the rad-meter out again, and Mira takes some bearings so that she knows their direction. They do, of course, have to find their way back again afterwards.

The sand is no longer purple and white, the lack of rain since their arrival having driven the plants back underground again for another year, but nonetheless, their surroundings remain majestically beautiful: rolling dunes spreading out before them between great outcrops of rock that stretch in an unbroken line ahead of them, offering resting places that seem almost to be the very twins of their own temporary home. They could - if they wanted to - move the camp closer, but Malcolm's expression as he checks the rad-meter suggests that they're best to leave it where it is.

"What?" Mira asks, quietly, as she concentrates on the route ahead, by her reckoning, they've been going for the best part of three hours, and the sun is getting rather high.

"There must be a concentration of other compounds in these rocks." Malcolm muses, "They've been shielding us. I think we should stop, and get suited up. I have a feeling that the levels are going to rocket once we get through this. Is there a pass? This range of hills is an ideal safety barrier - but the levels are starting to rise to a point that I'd rather not breach."

They stop for a water break, while Malcolm fetches out the suits. In the temperatures they're facing, he'd rather not have the bloody things on, but sweltering is better than radiation poisoning, so he's brought extra water to compensate. Wealthier corporations would have supplied suits with integral cooling systems - but their stock is courtesy of the lamented days when Terra Nova was regarded as something of a dumping ground for unwanted equipment, and thus the only distinguishing feature of their suits is their rather fetching shade of red.

"And the worst thing," Mira grunts, as she clambers back behind the wheel, "is that we haven't got enough water to shower when we get back."

Malcolm shudders at the thought - there is, after all, only so much that dry shower foam can do.

It takes a while to find a pass between the enormous ranges of rock, but as soon as they emerge, the rad-meter alarms, and Malcolm stares at the scene before them, "My God…"

The stretch of ground ahead must be at least thirty square miles. Entirely surrounded by mountains, it forms a gently concave bowl that suggests a once enormous crater long-filled. Whatever impacted must've been pretty large - and the volume of material it must've displaced is almost beyond comprehension. But it's not so much the ground itself, as what's there.

Mira squints at the astonishing array of items that lie in the centre of the great expanse of sand and rock. There must be at least fifteen ships of various size and type - from wooden hulled right through to iron - but most shocking of all is the sand-blasted remains of a propeller driven airliner that lies amongst the wrecks. When the hell did that disappear?

"That looks like a Douglas DC 3, Malcolm." She says, as she drives the rover down into the crater, "God alone knows when that came through; they were built in the nineteen thirties, but they were still being used right up until the late twenty first century."

"How the hell do you know that?" He asks, fascinated, and irked, by her apparent superior knowledge.

She shrugs, "My grandfather was a pilot - he had a huge collection of model planes, and he used to talk to me about them all the time." Emerging from the rover, she approaches the aircraft, "There's a registration number here: N407D."

It means nothing to Malcolm, so he makes a note on his plex to research it later, and instead he sets out his equipment to measure the radiation around them.

"There's a hell of a lot of radiation, Mira." He says, worriedly, "Far more than I'm happy to be around for too long. The longest I suggest we stay is about twenty minutes - I'll leave some sensors at the edge of the mountain range to pick up if the levels fluctuate. They won't stay stable when we get to the trigger point - I imagine they'll go a bit wild before the portal fires."

Mira nods, "I'll get some pictures of the ships, too. I can't see any sign of corpses so far."

"If there are, then I doubt they'd be skeletons - it's so dry here that we're likely to find mummified remains - which I'd very much rather not see."

As Malcolm sets a few probes in the centre of the ship graveyard, Mira photographs the remains of the vessels. The earliest she can find looks like it might've sailed in the 17th Century, though anything earlier might well be concealed, as large ocean-going ships wouldn't have been prevalent prior to the age of exploration - most of the people sailing in the area wouldn't have been in anything larger than reed boats or canoes. While they could get large enough to sail phenomenal distances, they wouldn't have lasted here, and thus they have left no evidence of their existence. Either that or the larger vessels landed on them and crushed them.

"I don't like the radiation levels, Mira." Malcolm calls across, "Time to move, I think."

They set two more probes at the edge of the pass, then depart, pausing only to add a relay marker on the way. They know where their target lies, the radiation levels are high, and they're in a position to measure activity. Now, they just have to wait.