Cauldron

Chapter 8

Had he been able, Rudy would have kept the media away from the test run. But there was no way to do that. Interest was high, and journalists crowded into the launch area and spilled out into the passageway. The networks, always hungry for news and ready to expand any sort of event into a major story, had begun broadcasting live two hours before Rudy arrived on the scene.

Also present were a few politicians who had championed the cause, and who had been actively trying for years to get the government to support an interstellar program. And, of course, Rudy had saved room for the Foundation’s five board members. Hutch and a few other supporters were also on hand.

The first question had come when reporters had spotted him in the main concourse. “Dr. Golombeck, why did you remove Doris?” Doris was the test vehicle’s AI. He’d known that issue would surface. The action had already turned him into a cartoon figure, depicted rescuing toasters and reading lamps from trash collectors.

He was tempted to point out that several religious groups had raised the possibility that AIs had souls. But hardheaded scientific types were supposed to be tougher than that. Reasonable. The Voice of Truth had commented that the next thing anybody knew, “These weak-kneed do-gooders would be representing us in the greater galaxy, and giving whatever might be out there the impression we’re ripe for plucking.” So he simply explained that they’d made test modifications on Doris, that they did not want to have to repeat the process, and that she was not necessary to run the test. So he’d pulled her clear. Just in case. It didn’t satisfy everyone, but it would do.

The Happy Times waited serenely in its bay.

When they were a few minutes from launch time, Rudy asked for quiet, thanked everyone for their support, called Jon to his side, and introduced him as “the man everybody here already knows.” He gazed contentedly out across his audience. He loved moments like this. Whatever concerns about failure he’d entertained had drifted away. What the hell. If you tried to climb Everest, there was no disgrace in not making the top. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he continued, “we’ll be operating the Happy Times from here. Since Dr. Silvestri’s drive has never been tested, there’ll be no one on board the ship when it goes into transit.

“It will launch from Bay 4”—he checked his watch, tapped his earpiece for effect—“in approximately eleven minutes. Forty-two minutes later, after the system has charged, we’ll trigger the Locarno, and the Happy Times will enter a set of dimensions we haven’t previously penetrated.” His smile grew larger. “We think.” Jon, still beside him, grinned and said he hoped so. It got a round of laughter.

“If all goes well, it will reappear 3.7 billion miles from here before you can count to six. A standard vehicle, using the Hazeltine, would complete the jump in just under a minute.”

Somebody wanted to know how far 3.7 billion miles was? Saturn? Uranus?

“Think Pluto,” he said.

“Rudy.” George Eifen, of Science News, stood near the door. He’d grown a beard since the last time Rudy had seen him. “Is that really correct? Six seconds?”

Rudy smiled contentedly. “George, we’ve been doing one minute to Pluto for the better part of a century. Nobody notices because nobody ever goes to Pluto. We make these runs out to Rigel or wherever, and it takes a few hours, or a few days, so the rate of passage is lost. People don’t see what Ginny Hazeltine accomplished. Well, with the Locarno, we hope to do even better.”

He smiled again, but he tried to appear uncertain. Hopeful. Don’t want to look smug. Make sure the thing works first. “When it arrives, it’ll send a radio signal back here. It’s now”—he checked the time—“almost noon.” Greenwich Mean Time, of course. “If all goes well, it’ll be on the edge of the solar system at about 12:45. The radio signal will need six hours to get back here.” He glanced around the room. “By seven or so this evening, we’ll know whether it’s been a success.”

A small man off to one side waved a hand. “There’s no chance it would hit Pluto, is there?”

Rudy chuckled. “Pluto isn’t there at the moment,” he said. “So there’s no danger of a collision. In any case, there’s a matter detector on board. It would prevent the Happy Times from trying to materialize in the same space as a solid object.”

They directed a few questions at Jon. How did he feel? How confident was he? In an era when the urge to travel in deep space seemed to have gone away, did he foresee a practical use for this kind of drive?

Jon explained that he didn’t believe the current malaise was permanent. When he finished, Rudy pointed at the clock. They were down to four minutes. “Dr. Silvestri,” he said, “will launch for us.”

Jon took his seat at the controls. Someone handed him a cup of coffee, and the room quieted. Rudy moved back out of the way. The displays activated, and they had views of the Bay 4 launch doors from several angles. Orbiting telescopes had also been included in the mix. If everything went as planned, they’d have visual coverage until the moment the Happy Times made its jump. That part had been easier to arrange than he’d expected. The Locarno experiment commanded a fair amount of interest.

The station director wandered in, saw Rudy, came over, and shook his hand. “Good luck,” she said.

Across the room, Hutch caught his eyes. Here we go.

The media people were speaking into their microphones, watching the countdown, trying to convey the tension of the moment. A few technicians stood out in the passageway. Margo Dee, who looked gorgeous, gave him a thumbs-up. Big moment for the Foundation.

Two minutes.

The room fell silent, save for a few whispers.

Once Jon hit the button, everything would be automatic.

Rudy couldn’t remember the last time he’d tried prayer. His parents had been staunch Presbyterians, but it had never really taken with him. Nevertheless, he found himself speaking to Someone, delivering one of those if-you-are-there pleas. If he’d ever wanted anything in his life to succeed, this was it.

Fifty seconds.

The Happy Times was considerably larger than the Preston, and much bulkier. Designed to accommodate lots of cargo. It wasn’t the vehicle he would have chosen for something like this. Its main engines were outsize, the hull still carried the faded logo of Orbital Transport (which they hadn’t gotten around to removing), and external latches provided additional hauling capability.

He’d have liked something a bit more photogenic.

The final moments went to zero. Jon leaned forward and pushed the button.

Nothing happened.

The Happy Times stayed firmly attached to its dock. Rudy glanced over at Hutch. She smiled. Be patient.

He turned back to the ship. Still nothing.

The launch doors began to open, and the umbilicals floated away. The ship edged away from the dock. Its maneuvering thrusters activated, and it started to turn on its axis. Big lumbering thing that it was, it moved with surprising grace. He watched with a sense of pride.

The picture on the displays changed. They were looking down on Union from God knew where. The ship moved deliberately out through the launch doors. Its tubes lit up, and it began to accelerate. A few people applauded. Premature. Way too early.

It dwindled quickly to a star. Then it was gone.

“Okay, folks,” said Rudy. “Nothing more will happen for the next forty minutes or so. Break time.”

Journalists closed in on him and on Jon. Mostly they wanted him to speculate, to talk about the implications of a ship that could travel to Pluto in six seconds. He tried to explain that wasn’t really what happened, that the device folded space, that the ship passed through the folds. But, of course, nobody could visualize that, so the reporters made faces and asked whether he couldn’t explain it in plain English, and he had to say he couldn’t because the words don’t exist, and anyhow he couldn’t really visualize it himself. Nobody could.

“If it works, will we be going to the Cauldron?”

It was the popular term for the Mordecai Zone, the cloud cluster RVP66119.

Thought to be the source of the omegas.

If there had ever been a question whether the lethal clouds were a natural phenomenon, it had surely been answered, at least in Rudy’s mind, when the courses of hundreds of the objects had been traced back to that single narrow place near the galactic core. The Cauldron. The Devil’s Cookpot. The site from which countless omegas were dispatched to attack civilizations wherever found.

Well, that wasn’t exactly right. They attacked geometric structures, artificial designs that incorporated right angles. But the effect was the same. There were some who thought civilizations were not deliberately targeted. That they just happened to get in the way. Hutch was among those who subscribed to that notion. But if indeed it was sheer indifference, that somehow suggested even a deeper level of evil at work.

The Cauldron was symbolic of an ultimate malice, a demonic manufacturing plant, a factory that poured forth unimaginable destruction down the ages. And across the light-years. Those who maintained it was a conscious diabolical force, and they were many, seemed even to Rudy to have at least half of the truth.

The project had been led by Edmund Mordecai, and the area had been named for him. The Mordecai Zone. But most people knew it only as the Cauldron.

We knew precisely where it was, fifty-seven light-years out from the core, a pinpoint in orbit around the massive black hole at the center of the galaxy. But it was shrouded by vast clouds of dust and hydrogen, so no one had ever seen it.

Rudy had known the question was coming. “We’re taking this one step at a time,” he said. “Let’s confirm that the system works first. Then we can talk about mission profiles.” He liked the sound of that. Mission profiles.

Hutch was surrounded, too. She’d been out of the business a long time now, a former pilot herself during the glory days, but they hadn’t forgotten her.

“Rudy.” Jani Kloefmann from Norway at Night. “Tell us about the AI. Are you really worried about hurting the hardware?”

“Just a precaution,” he said. “In case the test goes wrong, it would be one less thing we’d lose.”

“AIs aren’t expensive,” Jani said.

“This one is. She’s had special training.” The question was inevitable, and he’d come prepared. He opened a briefcase and removed a black box. “We asked Doris what she wanted, and she said she’d prefer to stay here and talk with the people from the media.” He raised his voice a notch. “Say hello, Doris.”

“Good morning, Jani.” She had a cool, professional voice. “And be assured, I’m quite happy to stay here and keep my feet on the ground.”

“‘Your feet?’” said Jani.

“Sorry about that, Jani. But people tend to get the point when I use metaphors.”

Rudy wasn’t worried about the Voice of Truth and its allies. He was enough of a politician to know that virtually the entire planet agreed that AIs were people.

A half dozen telescopes, four in orbit and two mounted on the station, had picked up the big cargo ship and were tracking it. Rudy wandered through the room, talking with reporters, shaking hands with the politicians, thanking the board members for their support. Through it all, it was impossible not to watch the clock.

He was surprised at how effectively Jon handled the media. He moved easily among them, telling jokes on himself, obviously enjoying being the center of attention. There was none of the exaggeration or self-importance or condescension that was so common with inexperienced people thrust into the spotlight.

He relaxed, and watched the Happy Times, barely visible now, a dull star off to one side of the moon. The minutes slipped easily away. A countdown clock ticked off the time remaining as the Locarno charged. Then, precisely on schedule, the ready lamp lit up. All systems were go.

Moments later, the star blinked out, the ship vanished from the screens. Rudy walked over and shook Jon’s hand.

If you watched a vessel making its jump with the Hazeltine system, you saw it gradually turn transparent and fade from view. The process took only a few seconds, but the transition was visible. It had not been like that on this occasion. The Happy Times had simply disappeared from sight.

Rudy inhaled twice, held his left wrist out so he could see his watch, and counted off six seconds. Then he allowed himself to look hopeful. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “if everything has gone as intended, the test vehicle has just jumped back into normal space, but it is out in Pluto’s neighborhood. It should now be starting a transmission to us. That transmission doesn’t have the benefit of Jon’s drive, so it will need about six hours to get here. It should arrive this evening at approximately 7:04. That could go a few minutes either way. There’s some imprecision in our ability to gauge exactly how far a jump will take a Locarno-equipped vessel. In any case, we’ll be back here tonight listening to the radio. I hope you’ll all join us.”

And, on cue, Doris delivered her line: “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. Refreshments will be served in the dining area.”

Some of the politicians and Foundation people retired to a meeting room that Rudy had arranged. Others, who wanted something more substantial than finger sandwiches and oatmeal cookies, fanned out among bars and restaurants to wait out the interval. Jon appeared confident. “It’ll be okay,” he told Rudy. “We’re through the most dangerous part of the process. The one I was worried about.”

“Which one was that?”

“Entry. It’s where the math was most uncertain.”

“I see.”

“If we were going to have a problem, that’s where it would have occurred.”

“You’re sure it didn’t?”

“I’m sure.” They were sitting in armchairs with a potted palm between them. “It would have exploded.”

“At the moment of transition?”

“Yes, indeed,” he said. “Right there in River City. For everybody to see.” He was drinking something. Looked like brandy. “Have no fear, Rudy. It’s over. We’re in business.”

Hutch, who wasn’t personally invested quite the way Rudy was, had taken a wait-and-see attitude. She had a vague sense of how far Pluto was, at least much more so than anyone else present, and her instincts warned her that nobody could get out there in six seconds. Of course, her instincts also told her that getting there inside a minute was just as absurd. It was odd that she’d never thought of it in those terms. All those years, she’d sat down on the bridge, activated the system, and they’d drifted through an interdimensional haze for a few days, or a few weeks, and she would arrive in another star system.

She stopped to think how far Alpha Centauri was. A mere four light-years down the road. It didn’t sound far. Yet, had we been limited to the velocity of the first moon flights, a mission to that dull neighbor would have required more than fifty thousand years. One way.

When asked in Rudy’s presence about her reaction to the experiment, she said she was confident. Everything was going to be fine. It might have been the moment that brought her doubts to the forefront. “I’m never going to get used to this,” she told one reporter. “An armload of dimensions, space-bending drives. Sometimes I think I’d rather have been around when they flew the first planes.”

“I don’t know,” Rudy said. “They weren’t big about women in cockpits in those days.”

At about five o’clock, GMT, when they were starting to talk about a late meal, Paul showed up. “My treat,” he said. Nobody gave him an argument.

They knew they’d get no peace in one of Union’s restaurants, so they gathered in Rudy’s room and had pizza sent up. The dinner was a quiet one, everybody watching the clock, lots of talk about how good the food was, people looking out the window and making philosophical remarks about the planet below. They were over one of the oceans, but Rudy had no idea which one.

He hated having to wait for the results. Had it been a Hazeltine flight, they could have used its associated FTL comm system, the hyperlink, and everyone would have known the result within a few minutes. The Locarno had not yet been adapted for a hyperlink. There was no point spending the time and effort until they knew whether the transport system worked. Consequently, they had to wait it out. And radio signals, which crawled along at the speed of light, took forever.

That should be the next project, he decided. If everything turned out all right today. Rudy had already asked Jon whether it could be done. “It’ll be expensive,” he said. “And it’ll take time. But yes. I can’t see any reason why not.”

They watched some of the reports, watched their own interviews, laughed at the things they’d said. “The entire galaxy will be within reach,” Rudy had told New York Online.

“Right.” Paul shook his head. “If you don’t mind three-year missions.”

“That’s still pretty decent,” said Hutch. “The other side of the galaxy and back. In a few years.”

One of the board members, Charles McGonigle, who also headed the Arlington National Bank, chuckled and looked around. “Any volunteers?”

“I’d go,” said Rudy, turning serious.

Paul looked pensive. “Not me.”

Rudy was surprised. “Really?” he said. “You wouldn’t go on a flight to the other side of the galaxy?”

“Are you serious? That’s the problem with the Locarno. It puts all this stuff within range. But what’s really going to be there that we haven’t already seen? If we’ve learned anything at all these last few decades, it’s that the galaxy looks pretty much the same everywhere. Dust clouds, empty worlds, a few ruins. The stars are all the same. What’s the big deal?”

Rudy took a moment to chew down a piece of pizza. “It’s someplace we’ve never been before, Paul. The other side of the forest.”

At a quarter to seven they trooped back down to the control center. Jon was escorted by reporters, who never seemed to tire of asking the same questions. Margo Dee took him aside to wish him luck. “Let’s hope,” she said, “this is a day we’ll always remember.”

By seven the room had settled down, they were up live on the networks, and Jon was back at the panel. The clock activated with three minutes to go. When the signal arrived, it would come in the form of a voice message, the words Greetings from Pluto. Jon had argued for a simple series of beeps, especially with the world watching. “It has a little more class.” But Rudy was part showman, had to be, or the Foundation would never have survived. So Greetings from Pluto it became. They were using the voice of a well-known character actor, Victor Caldwell. Caldwell, a major force in promoting the Foundation, had died the year before. But his baritone was known around the world.

Hutch stood in a corner calmly drinking coffee. She could be a cold number when she wanted to.

The room went dead silent as the last seconds drained off. Rudy told himself to relax. The counter hit zero, and everybody strained forward. He could hear himself breathing.

Somebody coughed.

Somewhere a door closed. Distant voices.

Jon pushed back in his chair.

Plus one minute.

Rudy shoved his fists into his pockets. Come on, Victor. Where are you?

Reporters began to look at one another. Jani Kloefmann leaned in his direction. “When do we reach a point where it becomes a problem?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“Don’t know, Jani,” he said. “We’re in unknown territory here.”

Two minutes.

When six minutes had passed, Jon stood up and faced the cameras. His face told it all. “No way it could have taken this long,” he said. “Something’s wrong.”

It was as if the air went out of the room. Everything deflated. There was another barrage of questions, a few laughs, and lots of people talking on commlinks.

Rudy took time to commiserate with Jon, who managed to maintain a brave demeanor. “I don’t understand it,” he said. “The numbers were right. It should have worked. It had to work.”

They waited a half hour. People came over to shake their hands, tell them they were sorry. Then the crowd drifted away. Rudy decided he’d waited long enough. He corralled Jon and Hutch, was unable to find Paul, and went up to the main concourse. While they walked, Jon speculated that maybe there’d been a problem with the Happy Times. “Maybe the main engines were defective,” he said. “Maybe they screwed up the wiring. That’s all it would have taken. With no AI on board, nobody would have known.”

They ended in the Orbital Bar & Grill, where they could watch the sun rise. It was soaring into the sky as the station rushed toward the horizon. Not like on the ground, where movement wasn’t quite visible.

Jon couldn’t stop talking about where things might have gone wrong. He mentioned several possibilities, other than the ship. “There are areas,” he confessed, “where the theory becomes elastic. Where the parameters are not entirely clear. Where you have to test. Find out.” They needed to learn from this, he continued. Make some corrections. He thought all it might take would be an adjustment in fueling correspondences.

And, of course, another ship.

Rudy wondered why he hadn’t brought these details up before.

“We need to find a tech,” Jon said. “One of the people who helped with the launch.”

“Why?” asked Hutch.

But he was already signaling for his bill and pushing himself away from the table.

Rudy and Hutch followed him back to the operations section, where they prowled the passageways until they found a technician who seemed to have time on her hands. Jon identified himself. “I was part of the Happy Times experiment earlier today,” he added.

She nodded. “I’m sorry about the way it turned out, Dr. Silvestri.”

“I’d like to look at the last few seconds again. The ship’s transit. Can you arrange that?”

She gave him a sympathetic smile and took them into a room with several cubicles, all empty. “Pick one,” she said.

He sat down in front of a display, and she brought up the Happy Times, adjusted the clock, and froze the picture. Twelve fifty-eight P.M. One minute to jump. “Thanks,” he said.

“Sure.” She explained the controls. “This starts it again. This freeezes it. And this slows it down or speeds it up. Okay?”

“Fine.”

“When you’re finished, just leave it. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He started it forward, and played it in real time. The ship filled the screen, moving quietly against the field of stars. The clock counted down, and it vanished.

He backed it up and ran it again. At a slower pace.

Watched as it blinked out.

Something was there.

He ran it again, still more slowly this time, and slower still as it approached the critical moment.

The ship began to fade out of the three-dimensional universe. The transition started in the Happy Times’s after section, where the Locarno Drive was installed, and moved forward.

Something else was happening: The ship was bending, folding up, as if it were cardboard, as if an invisible hand had taken hold of it, had begun squeezing it. Or maybe pulling it apart. Metal bent in extraordinary ways, and in those last moments, as it faded to oblivion it no longer resembled a ship. Rather it might have been a clay model that had simultaneously exploded and crumpled.

He threw his head back in the chair. “It didn’t survive entry.”

“No,” Rudy said. “I guess not.”

Chapter 9

Hutch had taken care to see that she and Rudy sat together on the shuttle flight back to Reagan. However things went, she wanted to be with him. Either to celebrate the moment. Or to limit the damage. Jon was staggering a bit, but he was young, and seemed strong enough to rebound. In fact, he was already talking about where he thought the problem lay. Rudy was another matter.

As the vehicle fell away from the station and began its descent, she saw that, beneath the brave front he’d put on for the media, the guy was stricken. “Rudy,” she told him, “we knew all along the odds were against us.” She almost said long shot. In fact, she was the only one of the inner circle who’d believed that.

He was staring listlessly out the window. “I know.”

Rudy was an optimist, the kind of guy who thought you could do anything if you put your mind to it. The immediate problem was less that the test had failed than that they’d lost the Happy Times. “Listen,” she said, “why don’t you take the day off tomorrow? Come over to the house? I’ll make dinner.”

Rudy managed a smile. “Do I look that desperate?”

“Hey,” she said. “I’m a decent cook.”

He squeezed her hand. “I know. I mean, that’s not what I meant.”

Whatever. “You need to get away from it for a bit. You and Jon both. We’ll make a party out of it.”

He still avoided looking at her. “You know that business up there today all but destroyed the Foundation.”

She knew. “What’s our situation?”

“It leaves us with payments to make on a ship we no longer have.”

“It wasn’t insured?”

“Insurance was out of sight. Everybody knew what we were trying to do.” The eyes finally found her. “It’s a pity. Imagine what a working drive would have meant.”

“We’ll need to find new donors.”

“In this atmosphere…” His voice trailed off.

“They’ll be there,” she said. “This isn’t the first time the Foundation’s been a little short.”

“A little?” He laughed. It was a harsh, ugly sound, not at all characteristic of the Rudy she knew.

“There is one possibility,” she said.

They punched in drink orders, and she thought he hadn’t heard her. “What’s that?” he asked finally.

“If Jon can figure out what went wrong, we still have the Preston.”

“What? Let him lose our other ship?” He squeezed his forehead. “No, Hutch. We aren’t going to do that.”

She was quiet, for a time. “Look,” she said at last, “it’s a gamble, sure, but it could pay off.”

“No. I’m not giving him another ship to play with.”

“It’s there,” Jon insisted. They were standing on the roof of the terminal, watching Hutch climb into her taxi. She waved as it lifted off, and her eyes brushed his. He caught a faint smile. She knew he’d been waiting for a chance to speak to Rudy alone, and she knew why. “We just have to make some adjustments. Run the tests until we get it right.”

But Rudy looked beaten. His eyes were bleary, and he had adopted a manner that was simultaneously apologetic and resentful. “I don’t think you understand the position the Foundation is now in, Jon,” he said. “We invested a lot in the Locarno. We were counting on your getting it right.”

That hurt. “Some of these things,” he said quietly, “don’t lend themselves to exact calculations. We have to try them. See what works.”

“That isn’t what you’ve been saying.”

“Sure it is. You just haven’t been listening.”

Rudy’s eyes were closed. He was trying not to sound bitter. “I know, Jon,” he said finally. “It’s not your fault. Not anyone’s fault, really. You’re human, and humans screw things up. It happens. It’s as much my doing as anybody’s.”

“Rudy, I didn’t screw things up.”

“Okay, Jon. You didn’t. Let’s let things go at that.”

“You don’t want to try again?”

“What? Risk losing the Preston? No, I don’t think so.” He jammed his fists into his pockets. “No. Not a chance.”

The air was heavy. “It will work, Rudy.”

He grunted. “Everything I’ve read, everybody I’ve talked to, they all say it can’t be done. They can’t all be wrong.” His cab drifted in and opened up. Rudy tossed his bag in back and climbed in.

“Paul thought it would work.”

“Paul was wrong.”

Jon held the door so Rudy couldn’t close it. “There was a time,” he said, “when everybody agreed that heavier-than-air flight would never work. And another time that we’d never get to the Moon. Sometimes you just have to do it.”

Rudy gave the driver his address. “I’m sorry, Jon. I really am. But let’s just let it go, okay?”

Jon routinely traveled with his commlink turned off. He didn’t like being subject to calls when he was out of his apartment or away from the lab. That was his own time. Consequently, when he walked into his apartment after returning from Union, his AI informed him the circuit had been busy. “You have 114 calls,” it said.

“From whom, Herman?”

“Four from family, eleven from friends, colleagues, and acquaintances, fifty-two from persons identifying themselves as the media, eleven from assorted well-wishers, thirty-four I can only identify as cranks, and two from charities seeking donations.”

He sank into a chair and sighed. “Nothing corporate?”

“No, sir.”

“Delete the media.”

“Done.”

“What kind of cranks?”

“Some threatening your life because they think you are going to arouse whatever’s producing the omega clouds. Or similar concerns. I referred them for analysis. So far none looks dangerous, but you will wish to show some caution. Just in case.”

“What else?”

“Thirteen claiming they already have an ultra star drive. Seven claim to have devised it themselves, but say they can get no one to listen. Five say it was a gift from extraterrestrials.”

“That’s twelve.”

“One says he found a design in a vault inside a pyramid.”

“Valley of the Kings?”

“He didn’t specify.”

He’d hoped Orion or Lukacs or somebody would have tried to get in touch to offer him testing facilities. Don’t these nitwits understand how valuable a decent drive would be? He mixed a bourbon and soda and responded to the personal calls. His mother. His uncle Aaron. Two cousins. Everybody offered sympathy. Assured him they knew that the Locarno would work next time. Ditto with his friends.

“Let’s see the well-wishers, Herman.”

A list scrolled onto the screen. He scanned the names. Nothing rang a bell. He sampled a few of the messages. Hang in there, Jon, they said. Man was designed for something greater than the Earth. (You could always tell the crazy ones. They talked about ‘Man’ rather than ‘people.’ They couldn’t go two sentences without citing ‘destiny.’)

The world was full of lunatics. Herman had trouble sorting them out. If they didn’t rave and threaten, the AI didn’t see them for what they were. And Jon was reluctant to provide a list of key words and phrases. Sometimes perfectly sane people also said those things. His father was fond of saying that his destiny was to be overwhelmed by unintelligible kids. Dad wasn’t big on physics, and Jon’s sister was a lawyer.

“Get rid of them,” he said finally.

Chapter 10

Matt Darwin was also disappointed by the failure. “I’m not surprised you’d feel that way,” said Reyna. “But I really can’t see what difference it makes.”

He shrugged. How could he explain it if she did not understand already? She was practical and down-to-earth. Thought real estate mattered. She was a political junkie, and she was intrigued by technology that could be put to practical use. But a star drive that made the entire Milky Way accessible? What was there on the other side of the galaxy that anybody really cared about?

They sat at the Riverside Club, with its lush, moody view of the Potomac, surrounded by well-heeled types who thought exactly as she did. If it didn’t produce a practical benefit, it wasn’t worth doing. But he’d been looking forward to the Locarno Drive, to being able to watch the first real deep-space missions go out.

There were a hundred commentators already, speculating about the fatal flaw. Some were citing Jacobsen, the towering genius of the first half of the twenty-third century, who’d predicted the Hazeltine would prove to be the last word. “Lucky to have that,” he’d been fond of saying. “We used to think it would take centuries to get to Alpha Centauri. Be grateful. The structure of the universe simply won’t allow an alternate drive. It can’t be done.”

He’d died trying to prove himself wrong. But there’d been numerous claims for a new system over the past two decades. Government had funded some, private industry others. Nothing had worked. Nothing came close. By the time news began leaking out of Barber’s camp, that he was closing in on a workable system, nobody believed it.

“I’d just like to know what’s out there,” Matt told her.

She looked out at the river. A cabin cruiser, its lights casting a glow on the water, was moving slowly past, leaving laughter and music in its wake. “Dust and hydrogen, Matt. And empty space. We’ll never do better than where we are right now.” Her eyes were gorgeous, and they promised all kinds of rewards if he just got himself together.

“This place has too many lights,” he said.

She glanced around them, thinking he was talking about something else.

He slept at her place that night. Usually, he avoided bedroom encounters with Reyna. One-night stands with people he barely knew were better. Reyna was attractive enough, beautiful really, and usually willing. But she was a friend as well as an occasional date, and he could not jettison the feeling he was taking advantage of her. She was an adult, knew what she was doing, knew there was no future for them. So it should have been okay. But somehow it wasn’t. She was good company, a guarantee against spending weekends alone, but eventually he was going to walk. Or she would. So he tried to keep everything at arm’s length. It wasn’t easy to do if they were tangled up in a bedsheet.

That night, when the signal hadn’t come back, and the networks had shown the pictures of the shattered Happy Times, he’d known the Locarno was dead. Jon Silvestri and the rest of the Foundation crowd had tried to put the best face on things, saying they’d take a look at the situation in the morning, that maybe they could find the problem. But he knew they wouldn’t, and it weighed on him, as if he were personally involved. Defeat was in their voices, in their eyes. “They’re not going to try again,” he told Reyna.

“How do you know, Matt?”

They’d looked beaten. Maybe they had figured out why the Locarno hadn’t worked; maybe they’d known all along it wasn’t going anywhere. It might have been nothing more from the start than a gamble. A toss of the dice. And they’d lost.

He’d been in no mood to go back to his lonely apartment. So when she’d invited him up, he’d gone, and they sat on her sofa drinking dark wine and watching the aftermath, watching the commentators tell each other it was just as well. “The Interstellar Age,” said one of the guest experts, “is over. It’s time we accepted that.”

Later, while Reyna lay asleep beside him, his mind wandered. Where had the Golden Age gone? Twenty-five years ago, when he was just coming to adolescence, people had predicted that everyone who wanted to move off-world would, by the middle of the century, be able to do so. There was talk of establishing colonies at Quraqua and Masterman’s and Didion III. But there’d been complications, objections to killing off the local biology, long-range health issues, the question of who would pay for a massive transfer of people and supporting equipment. The world was crowded, but moving people elsewhere would never be an answer. People reproduced far more quickly than they could be moved around in ships.

One day, maybe, a human presence would extend through the Orion Arm. Maybe people would even fill the galaxy. But it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

He listened to the sounds of passing traffic. Somewhere in the building, there were voices. An argument.

“It’s the Gorley’s, Matt.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

Her legs touched his. But she held him at a distance. “They’re always fighting.”

“Sounds ugly.”

“He’s told me not to get married.”

“Really?”

“Ever.”

The argument was getting louder.

“You don’t have to say anything, Matt.” She pressed her lips close to his ear. “I know this isn’t going anywhere. But I want you to know it has been a special time for me.”

“I’m sorry, Reyna,” he said.

“I know. You wish you loved me.” She looked glorious in the light from the streetlamps filtering through the windows. “It’s just as well. Nobody gets hurt this way.”

They didn’t stop what they were doing. She didn’t get up and walk off. Didn’t go into a sulk. But the passion had gone out of the evening, and everything was mechanical after that. She told him it was okay, she understood. He waited for her to say she had to move on. But she didn’t. She simply clung to him.

He’d never understand women.

Matt spent the morning showing clients around. They were looking at commercial properties, land that could be rezoned for malls and bars if the right buttons were pushed. He took one of them to lunch and did more escort work in the afternoon. When he finally got back to the office, everyone had left except Emma and the financial tech.

She poked her head in, asked how things had gone, and expressed herself satisfied with the results. In fact it had been a good day. No sales had been confirmed, but two big ones were on the cusp. And one they’d thought would back out was hanging in. But he still had a cloud over his head and wasn’t sure whether it was Reyna or the Happy Times debacle. Moreover, he couldn’t understand why the Happy Times problem really mattered to him.

He kept telling himself it had been a good day. But he felt no sense of exhilaration. In fact, he rarely did. He was capable of feeling good. But exhilarated? That was a thing of the past. That was a woman who took his breath away. Or maybe gliding through a system of moons and rings and spectral lighting. Over the years, after a successful day, he’d gone out with Emma and the others to celebrate. They’d headed out for Christy’s and toasted each other the way the researchers had when they discovered living cells on a remote world. But he’d just never felt very much.

“Headed home,” she said. “We have tickets tonight for Group Sex.” The show, of course. It was a live musical at the Carpathian. “By the way, you been near the news today? They’ve apparently given up on the new star drive.”

“Why?” he asked. “Did they say?”

“I guess because everybody says it won’t work.” She said good night and, minutes later, was gone. Matt put on the news, directed the AI to find the Locarno stories, and poured himself a coffee.

SILVESTRI INSISTS LOCARNO IS VALID, said the Capital Express.

The Post headlined: LOCARNO CRASHES.

The London Times said: STAR DRIVE FIASCO.

Commentary was similar: DEEP-SPACE SYSTEM SHOULD BE DUMPED.

WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?

He found an interview with a Prometheus spokesman. The guy was small and washed-out and tired-looking. But he claimed the Foundation hadn’t made up its mind yet. “We’re still looking at our options.”

Would the Foundation risk its remaining ship in another test? “Anything’s possible.”

The spokesman could say what he wanted, but it was easy enough to read the signals. Unless someone intervened, the Locarno was dead.

Two people, one of each sex, discussed the drive itself on The Agenda. They were both identified as physicists, and they claimed to have gone over the theory. Both found it defective. It looks good on the surface, the woman said, but it doesn’t take into account the Magruder Effect. She was unable to explain the Magruder Effect in terms lucid enough for Matt. Her colleague agreed, adding that Silvestri had also not allowed sufficient flexibility for the required level of interdimensional connectivity. “You’d be able to get a vehicle out to Pluto,” he said, “but you wouldn’t recognize it once it arrived.”

“How do you mean?” asked the interviewer.

“It would be bent out of shape by hypertronic forces. That’s what happened to the Happy Times.”

“Jenny.” Matt was speaking to the AI. “Get me what you can on Jonathan Silvestri. On his scientific reputation.”

“One moment,” she said. Then: “Where would you like to start?”

The only working physicist Matt knew was Troy Sully, to whom he’d sold a villa outside Alexandria two years earlier. Sully worked for Prescott Industries, which manufactured a wide range of electronic equipment. He’d come to the NAU from northern France, expecting to remain only a year, but had instead found his soul mate—his expression, not Matt’s—and elected to stay.

“There’s no way to know, Matt,” Troy told him over the circuit. “Let me advise you first it’s not my field.”

“Okay.”

“You get into some of this highly theoretical stuff, and you have to do as Silvestri says: Run the tests. Until you do that, you just don’t know.”

“But if almost every physicist on the planet says it can’t happen, which appears to be the case, doesn’t that carry some weight?”

“Sure.” Troy was a big, rangy guy. He looked more like a cowboy than a researcher. Except for the French accent. “But you have to keep in mind that what people say for the record isn’t necessarily what they really think. When physicists are asked to comment, officially, they tend to be very conservative. Nothing new will work. That is the safe position. One does not wish to be branded an unskeptical dreamer. If it should turn out that this Silvestri’s notions were in fact to prove correct, you would hear every physicist within range of a microphone explaining that he thought there was a chance it would happen because of so-and-so. You understand?”

“I assume if you were to bet—”

“I’d say the odds against it are substantial. But the truth is, with something like this, there’s no way to know until you try it.”

Jon had dinner at Brinkley’s Restaurant across the park and came back to another flurry of messages. “There’s one that might be of interest,” Herman said. “Do you know a Mr. Matthew Darwin?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He wants to know if you need a new test vehicle.”

Jon was planning on spending the evening watching Not on Your Life, a Broadway comedy. He needed something to laugh at. “What have you got on Darwin, Herman? Who is he?”

“A real estate agent, sir.”

He snickered. “You sure? Have we got the right guy?”

“That’s him.”

“A real estate agent.”

“There’s something else of interest.” There was a sly pause. “He used to pilot superluminals, mostly for the Academy.”

“Really? You think he knows where we can lay our hands on a starship?”

“I don’t know, sir. It might be worth your time to ask him.”

“Did he indicate whether he was representing someone?”

“No, Jon.”

“All right, let’s get him on the circuit and hear what he has to say for himself.”

Matt Darwin was seated by a window. He looked too young to be a guy who’d been piloting for years, then built another career in real estate. It was hard to tell a person’s age this side of about eighty if he took care of himself and got the treatment. These days, of course, everybody got the treatment. Darwin could have been in his twenties.

He looked efficient rather than thoughtful. A bit harried rather than at ease. He had black hair, brown eyes, and there was something in his manner that suggested he had no doubts about himself. “I appreciate your calling, Dr. Silvestri,” he said. “I’m sure this has been a hectic time for you.”

Jon was in no mood for idle chitchat. “What can I do for you, Mr. Darwin?”

“I might be able to do something for you, Doctor. I’ve been watching the reports about the Locarno. I’m sorry things went wrong yesterday.”

“Thank you.”

“It sounds as if the Foundation won’t try again. Is that true?”

“It looks unlikely.”

“Okay. Clear something up for me, if you will. This propulsion method, the Locarno: Its power source, I take it, is different from the Hazeltine.”

“I’m sorry, Darwin. I’m really worn-out. This has been a long few days.”

“Doctor, I can imagine how difficult it must be to come by another starship to test your system. If you’d be kind enough to answer my question, I might be able to make a suggestion.”

He was tempted simply to say good night, but something in Darwin’s manner implied it might be a good idea to continue. “The Hazeltine is powered by the main engines,” he said. “You know that, I’m sure. The Locarno carries its own power pack. It has to, because the power flow has to be carefully modulated. You need a rhythm. Trying to control the power flow from a starship’s engines simply isn’t practical.”

“So you really don’t need a set of engines?”

“Only to charge the power pack.”

“Can’t that be done in advance?”

“Sure. But it goes flat with each jump.”

“All right. But you don’t need a starship’s engines, right?”

From the mouths of real estate dealers. “No,” he said. “Actually, we don’t.”

“Okay.” Darwin allowed himself a smile. “Why did you use a starship in your test? Why didn’t you try a shuttle? Or a lander? Something a little cheaper?”

Jon had no answer. Using a different kind of vehicle had never occurred to him. Jumps were always made by starships. Not by landers. But he saw no reason they couldn’t have done it that way. “You’re right,” he said. “That probably would have been a better idea.”

“Okay,” said Darwin. “So all you need for the next test is a lander.”

Or for that matter, a taxicab. Well, maybe not. They’d need something that could navigate a little bit. “Thank you, Mr. Darwin. You may be on to something.” Even a lander, though, would not come cheap.

“I might be able to supply one, Doctor.”

“A lander? You could do that? Really?”

“Maybe. Are you interested?”

“How much would you want for it?”

Darwin’s face clouded with disapproval. “You have an ultimate drive, and you can’t spring for a lander?”

Jon laughed. “Probably not at the moment.”

“Let me look into it. I’ll get back to you.”

“Matt,” said Julie, “that’s goofy.” They were sitting in Cleary’s, over lunch, while a soft rain pattered against the windows. “They won’t do it.”

“How do you know?”

“Look, it’s a great idea. But they’re a school board. They aren’t usually tuned to great ideas.”

“What can we lose by asking them?”

“Oh,” she said, “by all means, ask them. I’m not suggesting you shouldn’t. But I’d hate to see this guy blow up our lander. And the board is going to feel the same way.”

“Maybe I can give them a reason to take the chance.”

“I hope you can. But I can tell you they won’t be happy.” She was eating roast beef on rye, with a side of potato salad. She took another bite and chewed it down. “Six thousand physicists can’t be wrong,” she said. “That’ll be their position.”

“Julie, you know most of the people on the school board.”

“Yes, but I don’t have any influence over them. They don’t take teachers very seriously.”

“You don’t think there’s a chance they’d go along?”

She lifted her iced tea and jiggled the cubes. “What you’d have to do is persuade them they’d get something out of it. They’re politicians, Matt. Maybe you could tell them what it would mean to their careers if they took a chance with the lander, and it worked. Next step—”

“The governor’s house. Beautiful. I like that.”

She grinned and took another bite out of the sandwich. “I’ll be there to watch the show.”

“Julie,” he said, “how long has the school system had the lander?”

“Six years. No, wait, I think it’s more like five. It was my second year here when they got it.”

“All right,” he said. “Thanks. You have any idea what kind of shape it’s in?”

“Not very good, I wouldn’t think. I mean, there’s no maintenance program. It’s just been sitting on the lawn, getting rained on.” Her eyes sparkled, and he read the message: You’d just love to get back out there, wouldn’t you?

“Can you arrange to open it up for me? Let me take a look at it?”

PENGUINS MAKING COMEBACK

Off Endangered Species List After Half Century

CAN MACHINES HAVE SOULS?

AI at St. Luke’s Requests Baptism Congregation Splits Down the Middle

INTELLIGENCE A LEARNED TRAIT?

New Study: Anybody Can Be a Genius

WINFIELD TELESCOPE TO BECOME OPERATIONAL TOMORROW

Expected to Provide First Glimpses of Extragalactic Planets

KENNEDY SPACE CENTER TO BE NATIONAL MONUMENT

Eight-Year Reclamation Effort Planned Shuttles, Capsules, Rockets to Be on Display

TURMOIL CONTINUES IN MIDDLE EAST

World Council to Promote Liberal Education

Mullahs Denounce Plan

EARTHQUAKE KILLS SEVEN IN JAPAN

ANTIGRAV BELTS TO HIT MARKET FOR CHRISTMAS

Several States Push for Ban

Drunks at 2000 Feet?

HUMANS RETAIN BRIDGE TITLE

AIs Own Chess, But Weak at Nonverbals

Roman AutoMates Last in Berlin Tournament

HANLEY WINS NATIONAL BOOK AWARD FOR LIGHTS OUT

BABES AT MOONBASE ENDS 29-YEAR RUN

Succeeds The Twilight Diaries As Longest-Running Broadway Show

TORNADOES HAMMER DAKOTAS

Seven Dead in Grand Forks

Chapter 11

The head of the school board was Myra Castle, a staff assistant at a pharmaceutical company. Myra had political ambitions, was perpetually annoyed, and had, he suspected, never held any kind of authority position until she was elected to oversee the county educational system. If Julie could be believed, she was a petty tyrant. Myra had once introduced Matt to her husband as “the space guy” who went over to MacElroy occasionally to talk to the kids. When he called and asked if he could meet her for lunch, red flags must have gone up. “Why?” she asked.

“I have an idea for the school system. Something you might be interested in using.”

She was a small, pinched woman. One of the few, apparently, on whom the rejuv treatments had minimal effect. She was only in her fifties, but was visibly aging. “What’s the idea, Mr. Darwin?”

“I’d rather talk to you in person. If you can find the time. I know you’re busy.”

“Yes, I am, as a matter of fact. It would help if I knew at least generally what this is about.”

So much for Matt’s charm. “I wanted to talk to you about the lander.”

She had dark skin, narrow features, and wore a perpetual frown. She struck Matt as one of those occasional school board types who was in the business because she was still angry at her own teachers from years before and saw it as an opportunity to get even. The frown deepened. “The lander?” She had no idea what he was talking about.

“The one out front of MacElroy.”

“Oh.”

“I think there’s a way the school system could get some serious benefit from it.”

She brightened a bit. “I can’t imagine what we might do with it that we aren’t doing already, Mr. Darwin. We allow the children to go into it periodically, and we even open it up sometimes to the parents. What more is there?”

“Could you manage Delmar’s tomorrow? My treat?”

Delmar’s was a pricey restaurant off the Greens in Crystal City. It got crowded around lunchtime, and they didn’t do reservations, so Matt got there early and had already commandeered a table when Myra walked in. He waved to her, and she nodded in his direction, flashed a peremptory smile, stopped to speak to a group of women seated by the window, and came over. “Hello, Mr. Darwin,” she said. “It’s good to see you.”

She seemed more at ease in person than she had over the circuit. They exchanged niceties for a few minutes, ordered their drinks and entrées, and Matt said some favorable things about the school system, and how well it was doing. Some of the credit for that belonged to the board.

It was transparent enough, but she appeared to buy it. She tried her drink, a cordial, and explained how being on the board wasn’t the picnic everybody seemed to think it was. She went on in that vein until her food came, a chef’s salad and a turkey sandwich. Matt had a plate of fried chicken. She tried the salad and bit into the sandwich. “If you’d care to explain what this is about, Mr. Darwin, I’d be interested in knowing what you want to do with my lander.”

He told her. Jon Silvestri was probably on the verge of one of the major discoveries in history. Nobody knew for sure. If it worked, it would, finally, open up the stars. But Silvestri needed a test vehicle. The lander, if it was still in reasonable working condition, would be perfect for that purpose. “It would cost the school system nothing,” he explained. “The only thing put at risk would be the vehicle itself. At worst, you could replace it with a cannon or something. Even if the effort failed, the school board would get credit for assisting scientific progress. But if it works, and there’s a decent chance that it will, anyone associated with it is going to look pretty good. Global coverage. Think about that. Worldwide and the Black Cat.”

She pushed her tongue against the side of her mouth. “This is the same guy who ran the experiment the other day, right?”

“Yes, it is. But he’s been making some adjustments—”

“Didn’t they lose the test vehicle?”

“He thinks he’s corrected the problem.”

“I see.” She took another bite from the salad and let her eyes drift away. “He’s fixed everything.”

“Yes, he has.”

“Then why has he—are you—coming to us? Surely if he’s got this star drive put together, there’d be a lot of people out there who’d be interested. And willing to let him have a lander.”

“If a corporation gets involved,” Matt said, “things get complicated. They want guarantees. Control.”

“I see.” She studied the sandwich as if it were prey. “And the lander is all he needs? Not a ship?”

“No. The lander would be sufficient.”

“Why didn’t they use a lander the first time? Seems as if it would have been less expensive.”

Matt grinned. “It never occurred to them.”

“And these are the people you want us to trust?”

His grin widened. “They’re physicists, Myra. They don’t think the way the rest of us do.”

“I see.”

Time to press the attack. “Look, the reality is that it’s an unforgiving world. You have one failure, and everybody counts you out. I’ve looked into Jon Silvestri’s background. The guy who developed the system. He’s good. It’s probably going to work. And we can be part of it. I mean, what have we got to lose? The lander’s not a big deal to the school system.”

She was nodding, probably without realizing it. “Matt—It is okay if I call you Matt?”

“Sure.”

“Matt, first of all, the lander has been out there for years. What makes you think it would still fly?”

“I’ve looked at it. It would need some work, but it should be okay.”

“And I take it you want to use the lander to run the next test.”

“Yes.”

Tongue in cheek again. “What’s your connection with this?”

That was a good question. Maybe it was just that he wanted to see it happen. Maybe. “I’m not sure,” he told her. “We could use a breakthrough like that. And it seemed to me to be a golden opportunity for the county. To help out and get some good PR.”

“That’s it? You’re not being paid?”

“No, ma’am. After the test is over, if all goes well, you get the lander back, it will have achieved historic value, the school board gets noticed around the world, and the lady who made it happen gives interviews on the Black Cat.”

“I’m sure.” She was trying to look unimpressed. As if she had conversations like this every day. “Can you guarantee we’d get it back in the same condition it’s in now? Can you guarantee we’ll get it back at all?”

“Myra, I wish I could.”

She finished the turkey. Cleaned up the last of the salad. A waitress showed up. Would they like some dessert?

The people at the next table were beginning to get a little loud. They were going on about politics.

“Matt,” she said, “why don’t they just buy one?”

“I suspect they would if they had the money. That’s what makes it an opportunity for us.”

“The lander at the school isn’t new. But it already has historic value. If you were to take it and lose it, or damage it, it would be a severe embarrassment.”

“I think people would understand. I think you’d get credit for trying.”

She fell silent. Withdrew within herself. Then: “We’d want them to sign a waiver of liability. If something happens, we can’t be held in any way responsible.”

“I’m sure there wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Okay. Matt, I won’t give it to you. But I will offer a trade.”

“A trade.”

“Yes. I’ll be running for the state senate next year. I’d like your support.”

“Why would anybody care what I thought?”

“Former star pilot. That carries some weight.”

“Okay,” he said. It would be simple enough. Painful, but easy. He was sure he could find something nice to say about her without bending the truth too far. “Of course,” he said. “Whatever I can do to help.”

“Good. It’ll mean some speaking engagements. And I’ll want you to appear with me occasionally at other public events.”

“Of course. Easily done.”

“I’m sure.” She finished her drink. “Also—”

“There’s more?”

“MacElroy needs a decent science lab. Update subscriptions aren’t all that expensive, but the equipment is. And the AI should be replaced. The school system is broke. We’re always broke.” She smiled. “It’s a good cause.”

“Wait a minute. You want me to do something to update the science program?”

“Yes. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just—”

“Maybe I’m not who you think I am, Mr. Darwin.”

“How much?” he said.

She thought about it. “We’ve been looking at the Eastman High Complex. In Arlington.”

“How much?”

“One-fifty should cover it. If it doesn’t, we’ll make up the rest.”

“Myra, you’re talking a lot of money.”

“I’m sure it’s far less than a lander would cost. But if you can’t manage it—”

“No. Let me see what I can do.”

“Excellent. Get it done, and we’ll name the lab for you.” She glanced at the time and got to her feet. “That was excellent. Have to go, Matt.” She thanked him for the lunch, for the company, and swept away.

“You have the lander, Matt?” asked Silvestri.

“Not yet, Jon. I’m working on it.”

“It would be nice. If you get it, where will it be coming from?” He looked as if he’d just returned from a workout. Shorts, drenched T-shirt, towel around his neck.

“Let me worry about that. I have one question for you, and I need an honest answer.”

“Sure.” A woman appeared in the background. Young, slim, redheaded, good-looking. Also in a sweat suit.

“Will it work this time?”

“Matt, I can’t promise anything. But yes, there’s a good chance. I’ve figured out where it went wrong.”

Matt wondered if he’d allowed himself to get carried away. “How much will it cost to install the Locarno? In the lander?”

“It won’t be cheap. But I think I can talk Rudy into underwriting it.”

“Rudy Golombeck?”

“Yes.”

“What if he says no?”

“Then I’ll just cut a deal with one of the corporates. I don’t want to do that, but I will if I have to.” The woman had ducked out of sight. Silvestri glanced after her, and Matt wondered if he was more interested in getting to her than he was in the drive. “Anything else?” he asked.

“I guess that’s all.”

“Good. Talk to you later. Let me know how it goes.”

Silvestri broke the link, and Matt stared at the space where the physicist had been.

He called Crandall Dickinson, who coordinated speakers at the Liberty Club. “Crandall,” he said, “who’s the next scheduled speaker?”

Dickinson was in his office. Matt could hear a basketball game, the volume turned down. The display was obviously off to one side. Dickinson kept glancing at it while they talked. “Next speaker?” He passed the question to the AI, glanced at the game, looked down at the response. “Harley Willington. Why?”

Harley was a local banker. They brought him in every couple of years, and he talked about the national debt and global fiscal trends. It was never practical stuff that anybody could use. Harley had a degree in economics from Harvard and liked to show it off. “Could we move him to another time, do you think? If I came up with a celebrity speaker?”

There was a roar and Crandall sucked air between clenched teeth. The other side had scored a big one. He stared at it for a few seconds, then turned back to Matt. “I don’t know, Matt. That always creates a problem. You have any idea what kind of message a last-minute cancellation sends?”

“Crandall, I know. And I wouldn’t ask, but it’s important.”

“Why? Who’s the celebrity?”

“Priscilla Hutchins.”

“Who?”

“The star pilot. The woman connected with rescuing the Goompahs.”

He shook his head. “Who the hell are the Goompahs?”

“Okay, look. She’s a good speaker. If you plugged her in, she’d give you a serious performance.”

“Matt, I don’t mind adding her to the speaker list. But why don’t we let her wait her turn? We could put her on”—he turned aside, checked something, came back—“in September. That be okay?”

“Crandall, this is important. We need it to happen this month.”

The guy was really suffering. “Who is she again?”

“Priscilla Hutchins.”

He wrote it down. “You owe me,” he said.

“One more thing.”

“There’s more?”

“I just wanted you not to cancel Harley until I get back to you.”

That brought eye-rolling and a loud sigh. “You haven’t set it up with her yet, right?”

“I’m working on it now.”

“What’s the big hurry, Matt?”

“It’s important. I’ll explain it to you when I have a minute.”

The other team apparently scored again. Crandall looked again to the side, groaned, and disconnected. Matt’s AI congratulated him. “I thought you were very good,” he said. “I didn’t think he was going to go for it.”

“Everything’s politics. I’ve done him a few favors. Now, see if you can connect me with Priscilla Hutchins.”

“Ah, yes. Good luck.”

Hutchins was off somewhere, out of touch, and he needed two days to locate her. In the meantime, Crandall called and insisted on a decision. Matt told him to cancel the banker.

“What happens if we don’t get What’s-her-name?”

“We’ll get her. Don’t worry.” If not, he’d dig up a history teacher over at the school to come in and talk about the five worst presidents, or some such thing. It would still be a considerable improvement.

When he finally caught up with Hutchins and explained what he was trying to do, she didn’t take it well. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “You’ve committed me to do a fund-raiser to equip a high school lab so they’ll let you have a lander that’s been sitting out on the grass for the last few years. Do I have that right, Mr. Darwin?”

“Yes, ma’am. As far as it goes.”

“And you’ve talked to Dr. Silvestri about using the lander to run the next Locarno test?”

“Yes.”

“And he thinks that’s a good idea?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tell me again who you are.”

Matt explained. Former star pilot. A number of years with the Academy. Worked for you briefly when you were director of operations. Want to see the Locarno program work.

“Why me?”

He thought, Because we’re kindred souls. But he said, “I’ve seen you speak. And I thought you’d be willing to help.”

Hutchins was an attractive woman. She’d been around a long time, but you had to look hard to see it. Black hair, dark eyes, fine cheekbones. She might have been thirty. But her manner suggested she was not someone to be jollied along. “Mr. Darwin, don’t you think it might have been a good idea to check with me first?” She was at home, seated on a sofa behind a coffee table. Behind her, a painting of an old-style starship dominated the wall.

“I wasn’t sure I could get you plugged in. I didn’t want to have you accept, then have to go back to you and explain that the club wouldn’t make the change.”

“What makes you think the Locarno will perform any better this time?”

“I’ve spoken with Jon.” The use of the first name was too familiar, and he regretted using it but couldn’t get it back.

“As have I. What’s your background in physics?”

“Limited,” he said.

“So you base your conviction on what? Silvestri’s sincerity? His optimism?”

“Ms. Hutchins, I’ve talked to a physicist who says it’s possible.”

“That’s a step forward. I suppose we could have a power failure at any moment, too.”

He was beginning to get annoyed. “I was hoping to find you a bit more open-minded.”

“Open-minded to what? An outside chance that maybe, just maybe, Silvestri has it right? You want me to invest an evening to go down there and try to persuade people to kick in money on an outside chance?”

“If you do it, the high school will get a new science lab. Isn’t that worth an evening of your time?”

“Don’t even try it, Matthew. I won’t be hustled into this thing. If I participate, I become part of the project. It blows up again, and my reputation takes a beating.”

“You’re already part of the project, Priscilla. You were standing with the others in the control room on Union, weren’t you, when they lost the Happy Times?”

She smiled at him, but there was something menacing in that look. “There’s a difference between participating in a failed experiment and participating in the same failure a second time.”

“I’m sorry to have bothered you, Priscilla. I’ll try to get somebody else.”

“I’m waiting to be persuaded. Why should I do this?”

“Because,” he said, “it might work. Do you really need another reason?”

Somewhere, down the street, he heard kids laughing and shouting.

“When and where?” she asked.

Chapter 12

One thing could be said about Priscilla Hutchins: She didn’t do anything halfway. She let Matt know that when she came for the fund-raiser, she’d be bringing guests. Eight of them. Could he arrange to seat them up front? They would be, she said, part of the show.

With no idea who was coming, or what she was planning, Matt and the Liberty Club accommodated her. So on the second Wednesday of June she arrived with a small contingent, consisting of six men and two women. Matt recognized two of them, the British actress and singer, Alyx Ballinger; and the gadfly editor, Gregory MacAllister.

Hutch shook his hand, introduced him to everyone—several of the names rang bells—and told him she was looking forward to the evening.

They had a choice of roast beef or chicken dumpling, with broccoli and mashed potatoes. It was a detail that, for whatever reason, he would always remember.

They had drawn a substantial crowd, bigger than they’d had in a long time. When the dinner was finished, the club president went to the lectern. There was some business to take care of, a treasurer’s report and announcements about one thing and another. Then she paused and looked down at Hutch’s table. “As you’re aware,” she said, “we made a late change in our guest speaker for the evening. We have with us tonight the former director of operations for the Academy of Science and Technology, a woman who has been about as far from home as it’s possible to go. Please welcome to the Liberty Club, Priscilla Hutchins.”

Hutchins rose to polite applause, exchanged a brief word and a hand clasp with the president, and took her place at the lectern. She nodded to someone in the audience, thanked the club for inviting her, and paused. “It’s a pleasure to be here tonight,” she said in a clear, casual voice. She had no notes. “Ladies and gentlemen, we all know the interstellar program has gone into eclipse. That hasn’t happened because of a conscious decision by anyone. It’s simply the result of a reallocation of resources. Which is to say, we don’t consider it important anymore. We know, however, that eventually we’ll be going back. The question before us now is whether we will do it, or whether we plan to leave it to our grandkids.”

She looked around the room. Her gaze touched Matt, lingered, and moved on. “Matt Darwin tells me you’re community leaders. Businesspeople, lawyers, planners, teachers, doctors. I see my old friend Ed Palmer over there.” Palmer was the Alexandria chief of police. Darwin was surprised she knew him. “And Jane Coppel.” Jane ran an electronics business in Arlington. She greeted a few other people. Then: “I know, as long as organizations like the Liberty Club exist, the future’s in good hands.”

That brought applause, and from that point she had them.

“You may have noticed I brought some friends. I’d like you to meet them. Kellie, would you stand, please?”

An African-American woman in a striking silver gown rose. “The lander from the Bill Jenkins is on display at the high school. The Jenkins is a famous ship. It led the rescue effort at Lookout when an omega cloud arrived and threatened to engulf the nascent civilization there. Kellie Collier”—she nodded toward the woman in the gown—“was its captain.”

It was as far as she got. The audience rose as one and applauded. She let them go, then collected another round of applause: “An entire civilization lives today because of her courage and ingenuity.”

During those years, everybody’d loved the Goompahs, pretechnological creatures who had gotten their name from their resemblance to popular children’s characters. Most speakers at this point would have asked the audience to hold their applause. But Hutchins was too canny for that. She wanted everybody revved up.

Eventually the noise subsided, and Kellie started to sit down, but Hutch asked her to stay on her feet. “Her partner at Lookout,” said Hutchins, “was Digby Dunn. Digger to his friends. It was Digger who discovered that Goompahs believed in devils, and that the devils looked a lot like us.” The place rocked with laughter, then, as Digger stood, broke into more cheering.

“The gentleman on Digger’s right is Jon Silvestri. Jon has been working on an interstellar drive that, we hope, will give us access to the entire galaxy.”

Silvestri was reluctant to stand. Digger pulled on him, and the crowd laughed and gave him an enthusiastic hand. They were on a roll and would have cheered anyone at that point.

“Eric Samuels,” said Hutchins. “Eric was a major part of the rescue at the Origins Project.” Eric stood, waved, smiled. He was moderately overweight, and he looked not at all heroic. More like somebody who’d want to stay out of harm’s way.

“The gentleman to Eric’s left is Gregory MacAllister. Mac was one of the people who got stranded on Maleiva III a week before it got sucked into a gas giant.” MacAllister, a global celebrity on his own, rose to a fresh wave of enthusiasm. “Mac was there because he’s never stopped being a good reporter. There were moments, though, when I suspect he wished he’d stayed on the Evening Star. I should point out by the way, that the Evening Star was stripped a few years back and set in orbit around Procyon. There is no Evening Star anymore. Nor any ship remotely like it.

“Across from Mac is Randall Nightingale, who was also with us on Maleiva III. I owe Randall a special debt. If it weren’t for him, I would not have survived the experience. Ask him about it, and I’m sure he’ll tell you anybody would have done what he did. All I’m going to say is that he knows how to hold on to his women.”

That brought some wisecracks, and Nightingale waved and grinned. “Somebody that gorgeous,” he said, “only an idiot would let go.”

“Alyx Ballinger,” continued Hutch, “came all the way from London to be with us tonight. She is one of the first people ever to set foot in an alien starship. She’ll be appearing in the fall in Virgin Territory, which, I understand, will have a run on Broadway before opening at home. Am I right, Alyx?”

Alyx flashed the smile that had won the hearts of two generations of guys. “That’s right, Hutch. Opening night is September 17.”

“Finally,” Hutch said, “the first guy to understand what the omega clouds were, and to engage with them: Frank Carson.”

All eight were on their feet now, and the audience was having a good time. People who’d been outside in the lobby and in an adjoining meeting room crowded in to see what was going on. Eventually the place quieted, and Hutch made her pitch for donations. When she’d finished, volunteers moved out among the diners and took pledges while she thanked them for their help, explained how the money was going to be used, and warned them it was a gamble. “But everything worthwhile involves a gamble,” she said. “Careers are a gamble. Marriage is a gamble. Think about that first guy to try a parachute. If we wait for certainty, life would be terribly dull.”

She thanked the audience, invited them to stay for the party to follow, and turned it back to the president.

Matt had a hard time getting near her afterward. When finally he got to her side, he thanked her and told her she should have been a politician. “The way you orchestrated that thing in there,” he said, “you’d have gone to the Senate. Easily.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Matt, I didn’t say anything in there I didn’t mean.”

“I know that. That’s not what I was trying to say.”

“Good,” she said. “You probably need a drink.”

“Bringing your friends was a stroke of genius.”

“Thanks. It was Eric’s idea.” She glanced over at Samuels, who was waving his arms as he described the attack at the Origins Project. “He’s a PR guy. He worked for the Academy at the time. Now he helps politicians get elected.”

“Oh.”

She shrugged.

People had clustered around each of the guests, and he found him-self wandering from one group to another. Digger Dunn was entertaining Julie and a few others with a description of unearthing what had appeared to be a television broadcasting station on Quraqua. “We actually had the tapes, but we couldn’t lift anything off them.”

“How old were they?” asked the superintendent of the Arlington school district.

“Thirteen hundred terrestrial years. Give or take. When I think what might have been on them.” He laughed. “An alien sitcom, maybe. Or the late news.”

“Maybe a late-night comic,” said Julie.

“Listen.” Digger became suddenly serious. “We’d have loved to know whether their sense of humor matches ours. Whether they even had a sense of humor.”

“Is there any reason,” Matt asked, “to think they might not?”

“The Noks don’t have one,” he said. “Other than laughing at creatures in distress.” He grinned. “You’d love the Noks.”

“It probably explains,” said a communications technician, “why they’re always fighting with each other.”

Alyx Ballinger was talking about Glitter and Gold, which she’d produced. Somebody changed the subject by asking her how it had felt to go on board the chindi. “Spooky,” she said. “But good spooky. I loved every minute of it.”

Adrian Sax, the teenage son of a restaurant entrepreneur, asked what was the most alien thing she’d seen.

“The Retreat,” she replied.

“I’ve been there,” said Adrian. “It didn’t seem all that alien to me. Oversize rooms, maybe. The proportions are a little strange. But otherwise—”

She nodded. “Well, yes. You’re right. But it’s overlooking the Potomac now. It used to be on a crag on one of the moons circling the Twins. Two big gas giants orbiting each other. In close. You’ve seen them, right? Three systems of rings. A gazillion moons. You go out and sit in that living room there, and you’d feel differently.

“Remote doesn’t quite do it, you know what I mean? They were a hundred light-years from anywhere. People walk around talking about what it means to be alien, and they start describing the physical appearance of the Monument-Makers or how the Goompahs stayed in one part of their world and never spread out. You know what alien means to me? Living in a place like the Retreat and not going crazy.”

Somebody asked Randall Nightingale about the sea lights on Maleiva III. “According to what I read,” he said, “you guys were doing mathematical stuff with something out in the ocean that kept blinking back. Was it a boat?”

“I don’t think so,” Nightingale said. “It was night, but we still could see pretty well. Neither of us saw anything that looked like a boat.” He was referring to MacAllister, who’d been with him that evening.

“So what were you looking at? A squid that could count?”

Nightingale sighed. He was discouraged, not by the question, Matt thought, but by not having an answer. Matt wondered whether people asked him all the time about the lights in the sea.

“We’re not ever going to know,” he said. “Something more valuable than we’d been aware of was lost when Maleiva III went down.”

Matt talked with Frank Carson about that first encounter with the omega clouds. “Hutch figured out it was trying to destroy the lander,” Carson said. “That it didn’t have anything to do with us personally.”

“So what did you do?”

“We landed, got out of it, and ran for the woods.” His face shone as he thought about it. “She’s also the one who put things together about the omegas,” he said. “She’s always more or less given me credit for it, but she was the one who discovered the math patterns.” He hadn’t been young at the time, and a half century had passed. His hair was white now, and he’d gained a little weight, and added some lines around his eyes. But he seemed to grow younger as he thought about those earlier years. “It was a good time to be alive,” he said.

When the evening finally ended, and the guests had gone, and the first tallies came in, the Liberty Club was pleased to discover they’d exceeded their objective by a considerable amount. Matt was now in a position to trade a laboratory for the Jenkins lander.

“What’s wrong, Matt?” asked one of the volunteers. “We couldn’t have done much better.”

“Just tired,” he said. Just a real estate agent.

Chapter 13

Matt brought in technicians to inspect the MacElroy High School lander and get it ready for flight. They spent several days working on it, seated an AI and a new antigrav unit, replaced the attitude thrusters, installed a pair of what Jon called Locarno scramblers on the hull, and upgraded life support. When they’d finished, Myra arranged a brief Saturday ceremony. It rained, and they had to move the proceedings indoors. A lot of kids came anyhow. Some media arrived, and that was what Myra cared about. She took advantage of the occasion to comment formally on the proposed state sales tax, which she opposed. She hoped to ride that opposition to the senate. When she’d finished, she summoned Matt to the lectern and formally handed over the keycard. “Bring it back to us, Matt,” she said. And everyone laughed and applauded.

The vehicle was scheduled to be delivered to Vosco Labs to be fitted with the Locarno Drive unit. Vosco was in North Carolina, and would have provided a pilot, but Matt couldn’t resist delivering it himself. In preparation for the event, he’d renewed his license. He strode out under stormy skies with Jon Silvestri trailing behind. “Got to get my luggage,” Silvestri said, peeling off and heading for the parking lot. The attendees came out and gathered under a canopy.

Matt unlocked the vehicle and opened the hatch. He turned, waved to the spectators, and climbed inside. It was like coming home. He slid into the pilot’s seat, pushed it back a notch, and started the engine. He did it manually rather than instructing the AI to take care of it. He ran through the checklist. Fuel. Antigravs. Thrusters. Navigation. Everything seemed in order.

Silvestri came back, carrying a bag, and got in. Matt closed her up and locked down the harnesses. “All set?”

“You sure you can fly this thing, Matt?”

He answered by easing her off the ground. The people under the canopy waved, and he cut in the engine and swung around in a long arc toward the south. He didn’t have to do that. The lander could have turned on a dime. But he did it anyhow.

He felt fifteen years younger as they soared over southern Virginia. “You okay?” Silvestri asked.

“Sure. Why?”

“You look funny.”

“Second childhood, Jon.”

They delivered it and returned home the next morning. Hutch asked how the test was to be conducted.

“Same as last time,” said Jon. “We’ll send it out and have it tell us when it gets there.”

“Okay,” Hutch said. “But if it works—”

“Yes?” said Jon.

“If it works, you’ll need a way to retrieve it. The school’s going to want it back, right? How are you going to handle that?”

“We’ll bring it back the same way it went out,” he said. “That’s why we have the Locarno.”

They were at Cleary’s, in the back, with Matt. A piano tinkled show tunes from the previous decade. “Can I make a suggestion?” she said.

“Sure.”

“When it comes back, it’ll be too far out to return to Union on its own. Unless you’re willing to wait a few years. Somebody will have to go get it.”

“There’ll be plenty of volunteers,” said Matt.

“I know. But I suggest you invite Rudy to do it. He’ll have the Preston available. And I think he’d like to be part of this.”

“Hutch, I thought he wanted to keep his distance from us.”

“Not really. He was just acting out of frustration. He doesn’t want to see the Foundation go under. It’s because he’s a believer, Matt.”

“Okay, I’ll ask him.”

“Good. He’ll be grateful for the opportunity.”

Vosco, working under Silvestri’s direction, needed three weeks to complete the job. Silvestri looked irritated when he called Matt to say they were ready to go. “The techs are all retros,” he added. “They swear by the great god Hazeltine. They kept telling me I’d kill myself.”

Matt was in his office, after having spent a futile day showing medical buildings to people who, he now realized, had never been serious. “Maybe you can go back and say hello after we ride the lander to glory.”

“Yeah. Let them read about it.”

“So we can pick it up tomorrow?”

“They want another day or two to complete certification. Say the end of the week to be safe.”

“Okay, Jon. I’ll set up a launch date. You have any preferences?”

“Sooner the better.”

“All right. Meantime, we’ll leave it where it is until we’re ready to take it up to the station. We can do that, right?”

“Yes. That’s no problem. There’ll be a charge.”

“That’s fine. We can cover it.” He called Union Ops, got the watch supervisor, and explained what he wanted.

“Okay,” the supervisor said. “I hope it goes better this time.”

“Thanks.”

“I assume you’re speaking for the Foundation?”

“It’s not involved anymore.”

“All right.” He was studying a monitor. “Things are slow. We can do the launch tomorrow if you want.”

“We won’t be ready that quickly. We’ll need three or four days. Make it four.”

“How about Monday? Around 0900 hours?”

“Okay. That’s good. Can I arrange to have one of the scopes track the lander until it makes its jump? Like we did last time?”

“There’ll be a nominal charge.”

“Do it.”

The contrast between the launch of the Happy Times two months earlier and the send-off given to the MacElroy High School lander could hardly have been more stark. The observation area had a decent crowd, but the tension was different. You might have said expectations were low. There was a comedy hour aspect to the proceedings.

Matt invited Hutchins, and she showed up with Rudy, but there were no other VIPs on the scene, no politicians, only one or two scientific observers. There were a few people from the Liberty Club and a delegation from the high school.

The media was represented, but they were primarily there for the sideshow aspects of the event. They were interviewing the kids and their teacher-escorts, and each other. Also on the scene were a few members of the fringe press. These were the guys who specialized in hauntings, scandal, prophecies, and celebrity marriages and breakups. One of them wanted to know whether they’d removed the AI, as Rudy Golombeck had for the earlier attempt. “After all,” he said, with a nod to his colleagues, “we wouldn’t want to hurt anybody.”

They all had a good laugh at Rudy’s expense. Pulling the AI had never occurred to Matt. It was after all just talking hardware. But he did feel a bit uncomfortable, now that he thought of it. Well, it was too late.

The questions, this time, were a bit off center. “Even if the lander makes it out to Pluto, do you anticipate the jump would have any negative medical effects on a pilot?”

“If it doesn’t work this time, do you plan to try again?”

“Did you know that some people who traveled with the Hazeltine system had a history of bad dreams on their return? Do you think that might happen with this new system?”

“Dr. Somebody had suggested the possibility that the Locarno, after it crumpled the Happy Times, took it into another reality. Did Dr. Silvestri want to comment on that possibility?”

When Matt replied that the questions were becoming strange, one reporter, from Scope, laughed and said sure they were, but all they wanted was an entertaining answer. We know nobody takes this stuff seriously.

“We’ll use the same general plan as last time,” Jon explained to the crowd. “This time the AI will be running things. It’ll take the vehicle out about forty minutes and make the jump. It’ll travel 3.7 billion miles, to the orbit of Pluto. And, if all goes well, it’ll send a radio signal back.”

He sat down in front of one of the viewports. Matt wished him luck.

“It’ll be okay,” Jon said. “I corrected the problem. This one’s going to Pluto.”

They got the call from Union Ops at 8:23 A.M. “Okay, Matt,” said the watch officer, “we’re ready to go.”

Jon sat back, nothing to worry about, and folded his arms. On-screen, the restraining lines let go and began to withdraw. Attitude thrusters fired. The vehicle moved away from the dock and redirected itself toward the exit. Launch doors opened. The MacElroy High School lander eased out of the station. When it was well away, its engine ignited, and the lander began to accelerate.

Jon took a deep breath. Somebody said, “Here we go.”

The onboard AI had been named in honor of Henry Barber. “All systems in good order,” Henry said. “Estimate thirty-seven minutes to transit.”

Matt got fresh coffee for them both. Hutch came over and gave him a calming smile. However things go, it won’t be the end of the world. Rudy huddled a few minutes with Jon. A news team from Worldwide moved in and set up.

The display gave them a crisp picture of the lander, as well as the rim of the Moon.

Matt drank his coffee, talked with reporters, talked with people who’d just wandered in to watch, talked with Rudy. Rudy congratulated him for coming up with the idea to use the lander. “Wish we’d thought of it earlier,” he said.

Exactly on time, Henry informed them the ship was about to make its jump. “I will be in touch with you this afternoon,” he said. “At seventeen minutes after three. Give or take a few minutes.”

Then it wasn’t there anymore. The last thing Matt saw was the MacElroy fourmaster emblazoned on its hull.

Jon pulled the recordings up, and they studied the images during the seconds before transit. The lander remained clear and bright as the time ran down to tenths of a second. They went through it methodically, moment to moment. The lander looked okay. No twisting or collapsing this time. No indication of any problem.

They looked at one another, and Jon ran it again. Slower. Hundredths of a second. And again it simply winked off. Between 76/100’s and 77/100’s of a second. No bending. No crumpling.

Jon rested his chin on his folded hands. “I think we’ve got it this time, Matt.”

They found Hutchins seated in the Quarter Moon, talking with a reporter. She introduced him, George Somebody from the Savannah Morning News. “I know you needed a vehicle,” George was saying, “but whichever one of you folks came up with the idea of using the one at the high school was pure genius. And it’s a great way to get students interested in science.”

“Here’s the guy,” said Hutchins, nodding at Matt. “He’s been contributing his time to the school off and on for years.”

Matt tried not to look too pleased. George asked a few questions, mostly about how the school became involved. “Creative teachers,” he said. “And Myra Castle.”

“Who?”

“A school board member who cares.” He had a hard time delivering that one with a straight face, but he did his best.

“Okay,” said George. “Good.”

“Something else,” said Jon. “We got some kids interested in what we’ve been doing these last few weeks. If some of them go on to careers in the sciences, maybe that will have been enough.”

George turned off his recorder. He looked at Jon and smiled. “You don’t really mean that, but I like the sentiment.” He thanked them, saw someone else, and hurried away.

Matt turned back to Jon. “That will have been enough? Are you serious?”

“Am I serious?” said Jon. “Listen, Matthew, I want to hear that signal come in at three o’clock. It’s all I really care about.”

Matt sighed and looked at the overhead. “Whatever happened to simple honesty?”

“It’s all PR,” said Hutchins. “If we ever produced a person who was unrelentingly honest, everybody would want him dead.”

At the far end of the dining room, a bank of clocks showed the time in Tokyo, Paris, Berlin, London, New York, and Rome. Union was officially on GMT, but visitors were free to maintain whatever time zone they wanted. All services operated on a twenty-four-hour schedule. Restaurants could always provide breakfast or dinner or a nightcap.

The Locarno experiment was running on Washington time, where it was just after noon.

They collected more reporters and some MacElroy students, but Jon and Hutchins were both good at dealing with them, so Matt relaxed and enjoyed the show. Hutchins pointed out to several of the kids that “Jon’s device” might one day take them to the far side of the galaxy.

One of the kids wondered if we’d ever be able to go to Andromeda.

“Who knows?” she said. “Maybe.”

Everyone they met wanted to know whether the Locarno would work this time.

Jon inevitably shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

The original plan had been to retreat to Matt’s room after lunch, but things went so well in the restaurant that, with the encouragement of management, they stayed. People began coming in from the concourse to shake their hands and wish them well. Rudy wandered in and bought a round of drinks.

Janet Allegri called Hutchins to wish her luck. The name struck a chord with Matt, but he couldn’t place her until Hutchins explained. She was part of the original mission that had uncovered the omegas. She’d written a best-selling account of those events.

Strangers asked for autographs, took pictures, introduced their kids.

Matt knew he should have been enjoying himself. But he’d have preferred the good times after he was assured of success. This was premature. “Better to do it now,” said Hutch, in a moment of cold honesty. “Might not be able to later.”

When it got close to three, they broke away and, trailing kids and reporters, went down to the lower deck and made for the observation area. This time there was no plan for an actor’s voice announcing good news from Pluto, or whatever the message was to have been. When the transmission arrived, a white auxiliary lamp mounted on the panel would switch on. That would be it.

A small crowd waited. And if the tension had been missing earlier, it was present now. People shook their hands and made way as they entered. One of the kids, seated in Jon’s chair, hurriedly evacuated. Others made room for Matt and Hutchins.

The room became quiet, except for whispered comments. They sure the radio beam has enough energy to get here?

I don’t think I realized Pluto was that far.

Matt’s eyes drifted shut. He was tired. Not sleepy. Too rattled to be sleepy, but he had no energy left. He wanted it to be over.

It was 3:03. Fourteen minutes to go. Matt thought how it would be to return the lander to the school after a successful test. He’d circle the school a couple of times and, while a cheering crowd watched, set it down in its accustomed place. Get out and shake everyone’s hand.

He held the picture in his head, replaying it, and finally opened his eyes. It was 3:04.

The launch bay was nearly empty. Only two ships were visible. While he stared through the viewport, not even aware he was doing so, somebody took his picture. One of the MacElroy science teachers. “Hope you don’t mind,” she said. And whispered good luck. A few people hurried through the doors, fearful they were late.

He looked around to see Hutchins watching him. She smiled as their eyes connected. Mouthed the words Almost there.

Jon was holding on to his coffee cup, not drinking any of it, just hanging on while his gaze wandered around the room. It swept across Matt, not pausing, not reacting. Whatever facade he’d been using, it was gone now. Only one thing mattered.

Somebody put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Julie. She hadn’t been there earlier. “Hi, Matt,” she said. “Big day, huh?”

There was a fudge factor. No way to be sure precisely how far the lander might have traveled. The signal could be as much as a minute early. Or a minute late. Probably no more than that.

Could be anytime now.

Everybody was watching the signal lamp.

He became aware of a barely audible heartbeat in the deck and bulkheads, rhythms set off by the systems that supplied power to the station.

One of the kids giggled.

A chair scraped.

Jon seemed not to be breathing.

A girl whispered, “Stop.”

Then it was 3:17.

Matt looked at the lamp. It was one of several status lights set in a vertical row. Six of them altogether. The one he was watching was four from the top.

Then it was plus thirteen seconds.

Fourteen.

Fifty-two.

He closed his eyes. When he opened them, about a minute later, the lamp was still unlit.

PSYCHIC SAYS INFERNAL FORCES BLOCKED STAR DRIVE TEST

Josh Coburn, the celebrated psychic from Havertown, PA., said today that dark forces are at work to ensure that humans do not succeed in making long-range penetration into the greater galaxy.

OMEGA CLOUDS MAY BE A HOAX

EDEN FOUND

Former Paradise Now Desert in West Saud

Bones May Have Been Adam’s

Scientists to Try DNA Analysis

GHOST OF AI HAUNTS MISSISSIPPI TOWNHOUSE

END OF DAYS NEAR

“All Signs Point to November,” Says Harry Colmer

HEAVEN LOCATED

Astronomers Reveal Shocking Photos

Giant Star Cloud on Other Side of Galaxy

JESUS’ FACE SEEN ON EPSILON AURIGAE MOON

WOMAN HAS CHILD BY NOK

First Human-Alien Hybrid

Experts Said It Couldn’t Happen

Named Kor After Father

HURRICANE MELINDA SENT BY GOD?

Billy Pat Thomas Says Evidence Points to Divine Anger

Church-Going Back Up in Mississippi

ATLANTIS FOUND

VAMPIRE LOOSE IN ALBANY?

Six Victims Drained of Blood

Bite Marks on Throat

Police Baffled

PSYCHIC TREES ON QURAQUA

Branch Patterns Reveal Future, Experts Say

SHOCKING TRUTH BEHIND MURDER OF PREACHER’S WIFE

Chapter 14

Matt had reserved his room at Union, expecting, hoping, to party through the night. Instead he canceled out, said good-bye to Hutchins and Jon, and caught the earliest available shuttle back to Reagan. Some of the students were on board. They wished him better luck next time.

Reyna called him en route. “Sorry,” she said.

He looked out the window. The skies over eastern North America and the western Atlantic were clear. “I guess we lost the school’s lander,” he told her.

“I guess. But they knew there was a chance that would happen.”

“I know. Maybe next time we should just send a missile.”

“Is that practical?”

“I don’t know. Probably not.”

She didn’t say anything for a minute. Then: “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”

“What will you do now?”

“Back to my desk at Stern and Hopkins.”

“No, I mean, are you going to give up on the drive?”

Two kids across the aisle were laughing hysterically at something. “It’s not really my call. But unless somebody is willing to donate another lander, yeah, I’d say my part in this drill is finished.”

Another pause. “What time are you getting in?”

“A bit after eight.”

“Can I treat for a drink tonight? Meet you at World’s End?”

“I appreciate it, Reyna, but it’s been a horribly long day. Let’s do it tomorrow, okay?”

Matt rarely ate at home. He didn’t like eating alone, so he usually went to Cleary’s or one of the other local restaurants. But not tonight. He picked up a roast beef sandwich at Reagan and took it with him in the taxi. It was a fifteen-minute flight below threatening clouds. As the vehicle descended onto his ramp, rain began to fall. He paid, went inside, said hello to the AI, kicked off his shoes, and turned on the news. There was nothing on the Locarno. Religious warfare was heating up in Africa and the Middle East, and a squabble was developing between the NAU and Bolivia over trade agreements.

He switched to Loose Change, one of the season’s dumber comedies, but it played just about at the level he needed. He poured a cup of coffee and nibbled his way through the sandwich. Not much appetite.

Jon had been hiding his feelings when they’d said good-bye. He’d thanked Matt and pretended not to be discouraged. There’ll be somebody out there, he’d said, who’ll be willing to take a chance.

And the truth was, he had less reason to be discouraged than Matt did. Jon could go back to tinkering with the theory. The corporations would come forward, and he’d get to try again. But Matt was done. He could expect to spend the rest of his life in northern Virginia, moving town houses, and wondering how things had come to this.

Well, he told himself, at least you have your health.

He could not sleep, so he stayed up, and was watching Last Train to Bougainville, a more or less incomprehensible mystery, when the AI’s voice broke in: “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. But you’ve a call.” The room was dark except for the blue ring of light emanating from the clock. It was a few minutes short of midnight. “It’s from Union. From Dr. Silvestri.”

No. He was done with it. Didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Just tell him to go away, Basil.”

“Are you sure, sir?”

He tried to straighten himself. One of the cushions fell on the floor. “Yes. No. Okay, put him through. Audio only.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hello, Jon.” Matt rolled over onto his back. His eyes were closed. “What’s going on?”

“Matt.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve got it. It came in.”

“What came in?” A new pledge of support? An offer of another lander?

“The transmission.”

That brought him awake. “The one we were waiting for?

“You know any others?”

“What happened? Why the delay? Did the equipment break down?”

“It must have. We don’t know.”

“When? When did you hear it?” He was already annoyed that Jon had been so slow to let him know.

“A few minutes ago.”

“You’re kidding.”

He flicked on the visual. Jon was sitting in an alcove off one of the concourses. He looked tired, relieved, and puzzled. “Do I look as if I’m kidding?” he said.

“Good. Great. So the Locarno worked, right? It’s out where it’s supposed to be?”

“Matt. We don’t know that either.”

“When will we know?”

“It’ll take a while. The only thing I can figure is that the onboard system didn’t trigger the radio when it was supposed to.”

“Yeah,” said Matt. “That sounds like what happened.”

“There’s another possibility.”

“What’s that?”

“You remember we talked about uncertainties in the theory? It’s why we had the fudge factor in the timing. We weren’t sure precisely how far it would go.”

“Sure.”

“It might have gone a lot farther than we thought.”

“You mean it might have traveled longer than the six seconds it was supposed to?”

“Maybe. Or it might have stayed with the original program. And covered a lot more ground than we expected it to.”

Hutchins had spent the evening with friends and gotten in at about eleven. Her AI commiserated with her, and the house that night felt emptier than usual.

She’d never really put much confidence in the Locarno. It had been a shot in the dark. She’d spent her career with the Hazeltine, and it was hard to accept the idea that there might be a more efficient system. Getting old, she told herself. She’d become resistant to change. But still, going to Pluto in a few seconds was just too much. Nevertheless, she was glad to see someone trying. Even if she doubted the motivation. Jon seemed less interested in providing impetus to the interstellar effort than he did in garnishing his own reputation. She’d heard his claims about doing it all for Henry Barber, and maybe there was some truth to them. But she wondered whether, in his eyes, Henry Barber’s significance didn’t lie in the fact that he’d provided an opportunity for Jon to make a splash.

Well, however that might be, Jon was a decent enough guy, and maybe even a world-class physicist. There was no way she could judge that. Unless he managed to put something out on the edge of the solar system in about the same time that it took her to get to the kitchen.

She had too much adrenaline flowing to try to sleep, so she grabbed a snack and sat down with a murder mystery. George provided the appropriate musical score, and she was thoroughly caught up in it when Jon called with the news.

Chapter 15

It was the supreme moment of Jon’s life. Even the news that Henry Barber found him acceptable, thought he could help the Locarno research effort, paled into insignificance. But there was, of course, no time to celebrate.

Why was the radio signal almost eight hours late? “The lander’s pretty old,” the watch officer told him, in a tone that suggested it was a sufficient explanation.

“All right,” Jon said. “Can I send it a message now?”

The watch officer pushed a press pad and a light went on. “Go ahead, sir.”

Where are you, Henry? Jon folded his arms and took a deep breath. “Henry,” he said. “Come home. Signal when you get here.”

The chief of the watch had been standing off to one side. He was a thin guy with sharp eyes and a pointed brown beard. He’d betrayed no previous reaction, but now he came over and looked down at Jon. He didn’t know what to think. “Did it work?” he asked.

“Maybe,” said Jon. “We’ll see.”

Only one of the five stations in the ops center was manned. It had obviously been designed in a more optimistic time.

He called Rudy, woke him out of a sound sleep. He was still in his hotel room. “So what’s going on?” Rudy asked. “Why didn’t we get the reply this afternoon?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Probably a problem with the wiring. Doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out after the lander gets back here. It’ll be in when? About five?”

“If it’s out near Pluto, yes. Maybe a little closer to six. It would have to recharge before starting back.”

“Okay. I’ll be down in the ops center.”

“I’ve a suggestion, Rudy.”

“Okay?”

“Don’t set any alarms. I’ll call you if anything happens.”

As Hutch had suggested, Rudy had been delighted to offer the use of the Preston to retrieve the lander. Jon had arranged to hire a pilot. But when no signal had been returned, he’d canceled. Now he rescheduled, listened to some grumbling about it being the middle of the night, and how they couldn’t make any guarantees about 6 A.M. “Not going to be easy to find anybody on this kind of short notice.” He said he’d do what he could, but warned Jon there’d be a substantial service fee.

Jon thought about it. He didn’t think anything was going to happen at six anyhow. “Let it go,” he said. “Can you set it up for tomorrow afternoon?”

The exhilaration that had come with the signal had drained off. He wasn’t sure why, but he just wanted the whole business to be over. Wanted to be sure everything was okay. To go out and bring in the lander.

He went back to his hotel room but was unable to sleep. At three thirty he called Union Ops. “The Preston’s ready to go,” they told him. “Whenever you are.”

At four, he went down to the Quarter Moon and had breakfast. Coffee, bacon, scrambled eggs, and home fries. He was getting ready to leave when Rudy came in. “Couldn’t sleep,” Rudy said.

“Me neither.”

Rudy settled for coffee. On the far side of the room, a Chinese group was celebrating something. There were speeches and periodic applause.

Rudy started talking about the future of the Foundation. How the Locarno Drive would change everything. Fire up everybody’s imagination. Jon said he hoped so. And eventually it was five thirty, and they finished up and went down to the operations center. The same watch officer was on duty. He looked up when they came in. “Nothing yet, Dr. Silvestri,” he said.

Of course not. It was still early.

Fifteen minutes later the chief of the watch showed up. He knew Rudy, told him he was glad to see him, and wished Jon good luck.

Jon was glad the place was empty this time. It had been horribly uncomfortable standing in front of all those people, waiting for a transmission that never came. Most embarrassing moment he could remember.

The clock ticked down to 5:58. Zero hour.

And crept past it.

To 5:59.

And five after six.

Rudy glanced at him. His mouth twisted. “It’s lost again.”

“No,” said Jon. “I think we’re getting good news.”

“How,” asked Rudy, “could this possibly be good?”

Jon considered the question. “Were you planning on going back down today?”

“Yes,” he said. “No point staying here.”

“Why don’t you hang on a bit?”

“Tell me why.”

“Change your reservation and stay for lunch,” he said. “On me.”

“What are you not telling me, Jon?”

“I think you’ll want to be here this afternoon.”

“Oh,” said Rudy. Jon could see his expression change. “It’s going to be late again?”

“I think so.”

Rudy brightened. “Oh.” The lander had made its transit to Pluto, or wherever, at 9:03 A.M. yesterday. Its transmission should have arrived at 3:17 P.M. But it had been almost eight hours late. “The vehicle went farther than we expected.”

“I think so.”

“A lot farther.” Jon sat quietly while Rudy looked around for a piece of paper, found a notepad, and started scribbling on it. “The signal came in at, what? Eleven o’clock?”

“11:07.”

“So it took a little more than fourteen hours to get here.”

“Either that, or the circuitry broke down.”

“Fourteen hours. My God. If that’s the case, this thing is about thirty times faster than the Hazeltine. Jon, that’s incredible.”

“We don’t know the details. It might simply have taken more time to make the jump. But if it did it in six seconds—”

They were in the ops center when the transmission came in. Mac-Elroy lander reports arrival. It was 1:33. Time for transmission: fourteen hours and a minute.

Almost on the dime.

Chapter 16

A second test went off without a hitch, confirming Jon’s conclusions: The Locarno was far more effective than the original calculations had suggested. A Locarno-powered vessel could cross three hundred light-years in a single day. He was, to be conservative about it, happy. Ecstatic. Almost deranged.

He stood beside Rudy in the Foundation’s press area, while the director told a group of reporters how everything was now within reach. “The Dragon Cluster and the Omicron and the Yakamura Group.” The entire galaxy, filled with hundreds of millions of ancient class-G suns, eight, nine, ten billion years old. Who knew what lay waiting out there?

Speaking invitations came in from around the globe. Overnight Jon had become one of the most recognizable personalities on the planet. Wherever he went, people asked for autographs, took pictures, sighed in his presence. One young woman collapsed in front of him; another wanted him to autograph her breast. He was riding the top of the world.

Corporate entities called. Maracaibo offered its services and support, as did Orion and Thor Transport and Monogram and a dozen others. Their representatives showed up daily, tried to get through his AI. All were interested in helping, as they put it; all came armed with proposals for subsequent testing, licensing agreements, and “long-range mutual-benefit packages.” The latter phrasing was from Orion. The agents, who were sometimes executive officers, invariably produced offers that, by Jon’s standards, were generous. They wouldn’t be on the table forever, they cautioned, and several suggested, supposedly on a basis of I’m not supposed to tell you this, that people in their own development sections were working on technologies that, if successful, would render the Locarno obsolete. “Take it while you can get it, Jon.”

He filed the proposals, secured his patent, and informed everyone he’d get back to them shortly.

They sent the lander out a third time, forty-five billion miles, a thirty-second ride, into the Oort Cloud with a chimp on board. The chimp did fine. Henry took him on a cometary tour, took pictures, and returned him to the inner system, where the lander was retrieved by the Preston.

And finally it was time to make a run with somebody in the pilot’s seat. Hutch maybe. “You think she’d be willing to do it?” he asked Matt. “Does she keep her license current?”

“I have no idea,” said Matt. He was in a taxi.

“Okay. I’ll give her a call and find out. Keep your fingers crossed.”

“There’s another option.”

“What’s that, Matt?”

“I’m current.”

“Well, yes, I know that. But I thought you might be a little reluctant about deep-space flight. That’s not like bouncing around North Carolina. I mean, with real estate and all, it’s been a long time.”

Matt looked offended. “I’d be happy to do it. If you want to take your chances with a guy who specializes in professional buildings and three-story walk-ups.”

Dumb. “You know what I mean, Matt.” The taxi was passing through cloud banks.

“Sure.” He grinned, and they both laughed.

“Pay’s not much,” Jon added.

It was, for Matt, a magnificent moment. A month or so later, on Tuesday, August 21, 2255, he and Jon, aboard the MacElroy High School lander, which was now world-famous, rode out toward Neptune. The passage took only a few seconds. There was no sign of the planet, which was elsewhere along its orbit. But Henry showed them a dim sun, little more than a bright star at that range, and assured them they’d arrived in the target area. They shook hands and came home. Once again, Rudy and the Preston picked them up.

That night they all celebrated in a small, out-of-the-way Georgetown restaurant.

Matt had made the biggest sale of his career a week earlier. It had transferred a large professional building from a collapsing corporation into the hands of a private buyer, and it brought more than six million dollars into the Stern & Hopkins coffers. In addition the buyer was in a position to refurbish the place and turn it into a decent property again. It was the sort of transaction that used to give him a sense of satisfaction, a feeling he’d done something other than turn a buck. But all he could do was laugh at himself. “I’m moving real estate,” he told Rudy. “But on weekends I help Jon Silvestri move the world.”

The following day, Jon and Matt met for lunch. Jon’s treat. “The money’s rolling in,” he said.

“How?”

“Speaking engagements. Endorsements. Who’d ever have thought anybody would want to pay a physicist to say nice things about sneakers. And a book deal. I don’t even have to write the book.” They were both still in a giddy mood. “I think it’s time to decide what we want to do next.”

“Something spectacular,” said Matt. “But we still don’t have a ship. There’s only so much you can do with a lander.”

Jon grinned. There was nothing he couldn’t control now. “I think it’s time we gave the lander back to the school.” He leaned closer. “Listen, Matt, I don’t think there’s any question Rudy would be more than willing now to reconfigure the Preston.”

“Yeah. I’m sure you’re right, Jon.”

“Of course I’m right.”

“So you’re asking me where I’d like to see the next flight go?”

“Yes, I am. What do you think?”

“Jon, that’s really your call. My part in all this is over. You don’t need me anymore. Unless, of course, you’d want me to pilot the ship.”

“You’d be willing to do that?”

Matt had not been entirely serious when he made the offer. “It’s time to do the heavy lifting, Jon. You might want a professional at this point.”

“You telling me you don’t think you could do the job?”

“I’m telling you I’ve been away from it for a long time.”

“Okay.” Jon shrugged. “Your call. If you want me to get someone else, I will.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Make up your mind, Matt.”

Matt’s eyes grew intense. “Yes,” he said. “I’d like to do it.”

The bot picked that moment to show up and ask if they wanted anything to drink. “Champagne,” said Jon.

The bot bowed. “I’m sorry. We don’t serve alcoholic beverages.”

“I know,” said Jon. “Matt, what’ll you have?”

There were no women in Jon’s life. At least, none to whom he was emotionally attached. He’d left none behind in Locarno, and had been too busy since he’d arrived in the DC area. The last few months had been dominated by his efforts to make Henry’s system work. And by God, it did. He had met his obligation to his mentor, and his only regret was that Henry Barber would never know it.

For the first time since he’d decided that Henry was on the right track, that he had an obligation to finish the research, to make it work, nothing was hanging over his head. He’d never really doubted himself, yet he was finding it hard to believe that it was finally finished. Now there was nothing to do but sit back and enjoy the victory.

He was riding a taxi over the Potomac, knowing life would never be better. He had a speaking engagement almost every day, and this one had been no exception. He’d appeared at the Baltimore Rotary, where everyone was his friend. People asked him how the drive worked and glazed over when he tried to explain. (He’d developed a simple explanation using a house with multiple corridors as an illustration, but it didn’t seem to matter.) They told him he was brilliant. It was a great feeling. Hard to stay humble through all this. But he tried, and he wandered through the crowd at the end of each evening, signing autographs and reveling in the attention. People insisted on buying him drinks. They introduced him to their friends. Told him how they’d always thought star travel was too slow. Not that they’d ever been out there themselves, understand. But it was about time somebody had picked up the pace. Interesting women were everywhere. Too many for him to become attached to any single one. So he seldom went home alone, but he could not get past the feeling that, through it all, something was missing.

The Potomac Islands were lit up, and boats rode the river. The taxi let him off at the Franklin Walkway, and he strolled out onto the pier. Retailers were doing a hefty business, selling souvenirs and sandwiches and balloons.

He found an unoccupied bench, sat down, and put his feet up on the guardrail. He owed it all to Henry. And, to a lesser degree, to Matt and Priscilla. He’d already been able to return the favor to Matt. He should find a way to say thanks to Hutchins, as well.

And Rudy.

He stared out at the Potomac.

Everybody wanted to provide a ship now. He had a fleet at his disposal if he needed it.

In the morning, he called Rudy. “I wanted to run something by you,” he said.

“Sure.” Rudy looked uncomfortable. He would know that Jon had been swamped by offers. He probably thought the Foundation was out of the bidding now. “What can I do for you, Jon?”

“Matt and I were talking about the next step. Does the Foundation want to be included?”

“Yes.” No screwing around here. “Absolutely. What did you have in mind?”

“We’re talking about a long-range flight. Sirius or someplace. So we need a ship.”

Rudy was in his office, soft piano music playing in the background. “You’re welcome to the Preston if you want it.”

“I’d like very much to have it.”

“Seriously? The corporates could do better by you.”

“Are you going to try to talk me into accepting one of their offers, Rudy?”

“No, no,” he said. “Nothing like that. Yes, sure. The Preston is yours. But I think I told you we don’t have a pilot.”

“I’ve got one.”

“Who?”

“Matt.”

“Matt? Jon, Matt’s a real estate agent.”

“Yeah. Should make a little history.”

He let Jon see that he disapproved. Then he sighed. “Sirius? You’re really going to Sirius?”

“We don’t know yet. I’m just talking off the top of my head.”

“Of course.” He didn’t seem to know what to say.

“I’ve another question.”

“Yes?”

“Would you want to come along?”

He obviously hadn’t been expecting that. “Jon, it’s been years, decades since I’ve been outside the solar system.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to go?”

“No. Not at all. I’m just not sure what I could do to help.”

“You don’t have to help, Rudy. Just come along. For the ride.”

Rudy usually hid his emotions. But he broke into a gigantic grin. “Sure. Absolutely.” Then he frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“We’ll have to get more money to overhaul the Preston and make the installation.”

“I don’t think money will be a problem. Let’s get together and work out the details.”

“Okay. Sure.” Rudy’s eyes glowed. “Sirius.” He drew the word out, tasting its flavor. “How long’s it going to take to make the flight? We leave in the morning, get there for lunch?”

Jon, feeling very much the man in charge, called Hutch and told her what they were planning. “We wanted to invite you to come with us. If you’d like.”

She smiled, a little wistfully, he thought. “No, thanks, Jon. You guys go ahead. Have a big time. Make it work.”

Rudy wasted no time getting the word out to the Foundation’s supporters. Contributions poured in. It became a tidal wave.

Meantime, Jon led a team of engineers onto the Preston, and they began replacing the drive unit. Rudy also arranged to upgrade the passenger quarters.

At Stern & Hopkins, Matt informed Emma that he would be piloting the Locarno mission, and arranged to take a leave of absence. She was not happy. “If this drive unit is going to take you out there, wherever that is, so quickly,” she asked, “why do you need a leave of absence? Just take a few vacation days.”

Normally, one did not embrace the boss. On this occasion, Matt made an exception. “Emma,” he said, “we may be gone a bit longer than that.”

“Oh.”

He didn’t put it in words, but she understood. Sirius would be just the beginning. Not much more than another test run.

And, finally, there was Reyna.

“After this is over,” she asked, “what do you plan to do?” They were having dinner at their favorite restaurant, Culbertson’s, on Massachusetts Avenue.

There was no way to soften it for her. “Don’t know,” he said. “But I suspect we’ll be going out again.”

She nodded. Smiled. Didn’t ask how long the follow-up voyage might take. Didn’t ask whether he wanted her to wait. Tried, not entirely successfully, to look like the good soldier. Good luck to you. See you when you get back. Take care of yourself.

Maybe her feelings for him were stronger than he’d realized.

At the end of the evening, when she kissed him, her cheek was wet.

And she let him go.

There were a couple of occasions after that for which he invited her to lunch or dinner, but she explained she was busy. Another time, Matt.

He didn’t see her again until the Preston was ready to go, and she showed up at the Foundation’s farewell luncheon. He didn’t even realize she was there until, when he was leaving with Priscilla Hutchins and one of the board members, she simply appeared standing off to one side. She smiled through the moment and formed the words Good luck with her lips. Then, before he could get to her, she was gone.

Chapter 17

When Jon and his collaborators started talking about a target for the first flight out of the solar system, they’d considered Alpha Centauri and Procyon as well as Sirius. Somewhere close. But as the work on the Preston neared completion, they began to think in terms of spectacle. Why settle for something on the tour routes?

“Let’s go deep.” Later, nobody could remember who’d originally said the words, but it became their mantra. Let’s go deep. Let’s not screw around.

Let’s head outside the bubble.

The deepest penetration to date had been 3,160 light-years by the Patrick Heffernan, three decades earlier. Nobody went out that far anymore. Nobody even went close.

When Rudy mentioned it to Hutch, she shook her head. “Not a good idea.”

“Why not? Why mess around?”

“What happens if you go for a record, and there’s a problem? Nobody would be able to reach you for nine or ten months.”

They were at Rudy’s town house, enjoying the pool with Matt, Jon, and a half dozen other friends. Rudy was always a bit more bombastic at the town house. “We used to make flights like that all the time,” he said.

“That was during an era when we had missions all over the place. If something broke down, there was always somebody reasonably close. That’s not the case anymore.”

Rudy went into his I-wish-you-had-a-little-more-faith-in-us mode. “There won’t be a problem,” he said.

Matt would have liked to sell the guy some property. “She’s right, Rudy. I mean, if she weren’t, why would we need to run a test at all?”

In the end, with everyone either showing or pretending disappointment, they settled for Alioth.

The third star in from the end of the Dipper’s handle, it was eighty-one light-years from Earth. It would make a fair test without putting them at unnecessary risk.

Later that afternoon, Rudy got a call from C. B. Williams, a Worldwide executive. “Rudy,” he said, “we’d like to send someone along on the flight. Give you some decent news coverage.”

Rudy thought about it and decided it seemed like a good idea. “Okay,” he said. “We can make room for him. Or her.”

“Good. We’re talking about Antonio Giannotti. He’ll represent the entire pool.”

Antonio Giannotti. Where had Rudy heard the name before?

“He’s our science reporter,” said Williams.

No. It wasn’t that. Rudy knew the name from somewhere else.

“Thirty years ago, on the Black Cat, he was Dr. Science. Did a show for kids.”

Yes! Dr. Science. Rudy had grown up watching Dr. Science explain how gravity worked, and what climatologists were trying to do to compensate for changing weather patterns. He’d radiated so much enthusiasm about his various topics that Rudy had known by the time he was eight that he would give his life to the sciences. “Yes,” he said. “We’d enjoy having him along.”

They were well past the era during which summer in the nation’s capital provided some cool days in September. Early fall remained hot in Virginia and Maryland, and Matt was happy to be getting away from it.

He took the shuttle from Reagan the day before their scheduled departure. Rudy was on the same flight, and he was like a kid. He kept talking about how he’d been looking forward to this his whole life, and that he still couldn’t believe it was happening. He extracted a promise from Matt that, as soon as they’d gotten checked into their hotel, they’d go down and inspect the Preston.

The flight to Union lasted less than ninety minutes. When they docked, Matt led the way out, walking with studied casualness, as if he did this sort of thing all the time.

An AI informed them of their room numbers, and their baggage showed up a few minutes after they did. Matt would have preferred to shower and change, but Rudy was anxious to go. So they went.

The Preston wasn’t much to look at. It had been in service too long. It was battered by two many chunks of rock and scored by cosmic dust. A pair of devices that resembled scanners had been added to the bow. These were scramblers, which would manipulate the space-time continuum, drive a wedge into it, and allow the ship to slide between dimensions.

The words PROMETHEUS FOUNDATION were emblazoned on the hull, with the organization’s symbol, a lamp and flame. “It’s appropriate,” said Rudy, looking through a twenty-foot-wide portal.

“What is?” asked Matt.

“Prometheus. The fire-bringer.”

Jon appeared at the main hatch, waved, and came up the tube to the concourse. He was all smiles. “Good to see you guys,” he said. “Matt, I think you’re going to like your new ship.”

“Is it ready to go?” Matt asked.

“They’re still tightening a few bolts and whatnot. But yes, it’s all set.”

“Can we take a look?” asked Rudy.

“Sure.” Jon stood aside to let Rudy enter the tube first.

“Beautiful ship.” Rudy’s eyes literally bulged. The tube was transparent, and they could look out at the docking area. The Preston was secured to magnetic clamps.

Only one other ship was in port. The place was designed to service eighteen.

“Time was,” said Matt, “it would have been filled.”

Rudy produced an imager. He took pictures of the Preston, pictures of Matt and Jon, handed the device to Matt and posed with Jon for more pictures. “I’ve been up here a good bit,” he said. “Even been inside the Preston a few times. But this is different.”

Matt clapped him on the shoulder, and they went through the hatch into the ship. Matt had already been on board during the refitting. He’d familiarized himself with the controls, gotten on first-name terms with Phyllis, the AI, and was anxious to launch.

Rudy strode onto the bridge and sat down in the pilot’s chair. “Nice feeling,” he said.

Matt agreed. He felt fifteen years younger.

Rudy pressed his fingertips against the control board. “How long did you say it was going to take to get there?”

“To Alioth?” asked Jon.

“Yes.”

“Five and a half hours.”

“My God, I still can’t believe it. It used to take”—he consulted his notebook—“more than a week.”

Matt had been there once, years ago. “Eight days,” he said, “two hours, eleven minutes in transit.”

Rudy was enjoying himself. “How long would it take us to get to Alpha Centauri?”

“About twenty minutes,” said Matt. “A little less, probably.”

Matt was too excited to sleep that night. He was up at about five, took almost two hours for breakfast, talked to some reporters, had coffee with Rudy in Cappy’s, talked to more reporters, and called Jon, who was with the technicians. “If they aren’t finished yet,” Matt remarked, “it’s not a good sign.”

But Jon was in the best of moods. “It’s not their fault,” he said. “You’re never really finished calibrating something like this.”

Antonio Giannotti wandered into the restaurant. Matt recognized him immediately, would have known him even if Rudy hadn’t alerted him he was coming. He was a muscular guy, average height, with a craggy face and the sort of beard favored by mad scientists. He looked bigger on the HV. Originally from Rome, he’d run the Dr. Science show from there, where he’d played his role wrapped in a white lab coat. He didn’t look much older than he had in those days. Rudy waved him over, introduced him, and Matt felt a bit awed in his presence.

What had happened to Dr. Science? One year, when Matt was about thirteen, he just suddenly wasn’t there anymore.

“It was a job with no future,” Antonio said. “I had nowhere to go from there.”

“I would have thought you could have done anything. You were great.”

“The science was great. I wanted to be a comedian.”

Matt could still recall his disappointment when Dr. Science disappeared. Along with his discovery he couldn’t hit a decent curveball, it had marked what he thought of as his arrival at the beginning of adulthood. Being a teen, he would think later, wasn’t all hormones and good times. There were some losses. Inevitably, there were always losses.

More reporters arrived, from the Post and Nature. He and Antonio were talking with them when Hutch called. “Where are you, Matt?”

“Cappy’s,” he said.

“Save me a seat.”

A few minutes later she walked in. The Post and Nature didn’t recognize her. “My understanding,” said the Post, “is that the drive system is not only much more efficient, but it’s safer than the Hazeltine. Is that true?”

“It’s less complex. Fewer things can go wrong.”

“How close was Barber to solving these issues?” asked Nature. “Does he get the credit? Or is it Jon Silvestri who did the brute work?”

Time was, Matt thought, Hutch would have been the center of attention.

Yesterday’s news.

“One of them, the guy with the muscles,” Matt told her, “is making the flight with us. He’s a pool reporter.”

“Good. Publicity never hurts.” She turned those dark eyes on him. “Matt, I wanted to come by to wish you luck.”

“Jon tells me you don’t want to come.”

“Yeah. I’m a little busy.”

“But not too busy to run up here?” She was silent. He let it play out. Then: “Wish you were coming?”

“Don’t tempt me,” she said.

“We have room.”

“I didn’t bring my gear.”

“What gear? We’ll be back tonight.”

“Matt, I’d love to, but—”

“But what? You have anything pressing to do today or tomorrow?” He could see some sort of internal struggle going on.

“Not really. I just—”

“Yeah?”

“—don’t—”

“—don’t what?”

“I promised myself I wouldn’t do this again.”

“Why?”

She hesitated. “My family, I guess.”

“Aren’t your kids both away at school?”

“Yes.”

“Not that it matters. You’ll be home tonight if you want to make the late run down to Reagan.” Matt paused, then added, “And we make the world’s best return jump.” After they arrived insystem, they’d still have to use the main engines to come the rest of the way in. It could take a while.

“Alioth and back in a few hours.”

“Yes.” Matt couldn’t resist a broad smile. “Welcome to the new world, Priscilla.”

Like Matt, she’d made a flight to Alioth once, years ago, hauling a team of researchers. When they got there, they’d spent three weeks insystem. The three weeks hadn’t been bad, because the researchers were busy taking temperatures and charting orbits, leaving her to read and watch shows. It had been painful nonetheless. That crowd, the Alioth crowd, had been hopelessly dull, and they’d spent much of their time trying to impress her. It hadn’t helped that she herself had been quite young then, just starting her career, and not very bright.

That had been the mission during which an additional star had been discovered in the system. It had been a big event, setting the researchers into a celebration that had gone on, in one form or another, for several days. She’d been dismissive of it, informing one of them that it wasn’t as if there was a shortage of stars. It turned out that the discovery accounted for a series of orbital anomalies. It meant little to her. In those days she was hard to impress. Probably every bit as dull as the researchers.

Hutch had been unable to resist attending the Preston launch. Years ago, after she’d made her last flight, on the Amirault, she’d promised herself that she would not go back into space. She’d never been sure why she’d done that. Maybe the knowledge that her days in the superluminals had ended was too painful, and she’d wanted to pretend it didn’t matter. In any case, she’d kept her vow. Had even resisted a vacation aboard The Evening Star when Tor had wanted to treat her.

If I go out there, I’m not sure I’ll be able to come back.

Well, that was a bit over the top, but there was a modicum of truth to it. Still, she ached to do it again. To cruise past Canopus and touch down on Achernar II and glide through the rings at Deneb V. (Deneb, at approximately twenty-six hundred light-years, had marked the farthest she’d ever been from home. She’d loved that flight.)

And she was sorry she’d declined Jon’s offer. Wouldn’t admit it to herself, but she stood looking into Matt’s eyes, knowing she’d regret it forever if she didn’t go. Why not? Charge off for the day. Be back tonight.

She’d have to buy a change of clothes. Maybe a few other items. But why the hell not?

An hour later, she worked her way through a mob of reporters and cameramen and well-wishers and walked onto the Preston with Matt. Jon laughed at her and said how he knew all along she’d break down and come. She put her gear away and sat down next to Antonio in the common room while Jon and Matt chatted on the bridge. That was where she really wanted to be, but she made up her mind to let them do whatever they had to do and give Matt a clear field. Last thing he’d need would be an ex-pilot hanging around. “So,” she said, looking for a topic, “what makes a good reporter, Antonio? What’s your secret?”

“Unbending intelligence and integrity.” Antonio smiled. “My mother always thought I was a natural.”

He was easy to like. Especially when he asked whether she wasn’t the woman who’d saved everybody’s ass at that Deepsix thing, when that entire world had been swallowed? She really couldn’t take credit for that, and she suspected he knew that, but it was nice to hear him say it anyhow.

Jon took her back to the engine room to look at the Locarno. It was just a pair of black boxes, much smaller than the Hazeltine enabler. He explained how it worked. She’d listened to the explanation before, hadn’t understood it then and didn’t understand it now. But the reality was she’d never figured out how the Hazeltine had worked either. You punched a button, and you slipped between the dimensions. That was about as clear as it got.

When they returned to the common room, she could hear Matt going through his preps with Phyllis, the AI. “You miss being up front?” Antonio asked.

“I’ve been away from it too long,” she said. “You wouldn’t want to ride in this thing if I were at the controls.”

Antonio grinned at her, and at Jon. “These things don’t really need pilots anyhow, do they? I mean, don’t the AI’s handle everything?”

“The AIs handle everything,” she said, “as long as there’s no problem. If something goes wrong, you’ll be glad you have Matt up there.”

“Well, yeah.” He made a face as if she were running an old story past him. “How often does something go wrong?”

He offered her a grape juice. She took it and sat back. “It happens all the time. Research missions, particularly. The physicists like to go in close. Usually as close as they can until something blows up. And there are unexplained bursts of energy in hyperspace that sometimes penetrate the shielding and knock out equipment.”

“But of course”—Jon looked in on them from the bridge—“we won’t be traveling in hyperspace anymore. Not with the Locarno.”

“Ah, yes,” she said. “The dimension we’ll be traveling through. What’s its name?”

“We haven’t given it one yet.”

“You’ll want to do that before we get home, or Antonio here will do it for you. Won’t you, Antonio?”

“I already have a name for it,” he said. “I suggest we call it Giannotti space.”

Matt announced over the allcom they were ready to go. “Priscilla,” he added, “would you like to sit up front?”

She looked at Antonio and Jon. “Anybody else want to do it?”

“Go ahead,” said Jon. “Enjoy yourself.”

She took a long pull from the grape juice and strode onto the bridge, feeling young again, feeling as if she could do anything. She took the right-hand seat, the observer’s seat, and, while Matt talked to Union Ops, she activated the harness. It slid down around her.

Matt finished and looked her way. “Welcome back,” he said.

Yes. At that moment, Hutch was in love with the world.

Matt activated the allcom. “Everybody belt down,” he said. “Phyl, start the engines.” Then to the allcom again: “We are three minutes from departure.”

She felt the familiar vibration as additional power came online. “How does the Locarno work?” she asked him. “We still need a running start, right?”

Matt was a good-looking guy, with red hair and a mischievous smile offset by intense eyes. He reminded her of Tor, but she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the innocence. Matt was a guy who still believed in things. In a decaying society, wracked by too much leisure, corruption in high places, a crippled environment, and God knew what else, there weren’t too many like that. The assumption had always been that if people are well fed, feel secure, and have decent homes, everything will be fine. But they needed something else as well. Call it self-respect or a sense of purpose. Whatever, it was missing now. Maybe spreading out through the galaxy would provide it, maybe not. But she was convinced that if the human race simply settled onto its collective front porch, as it seemed to be doing, it had no future.

She didn’t think it was a coincidence that nobody was producing great holos anymore. The ones that everyone remembered, Barcelona, Bugles at Dusk, Icelandik, and all the rest were from the previous century. The same was true of drama, the novel, architecture, sculpture. Civilization as a whole seemed to be in decline.

She had loved Tor, and missed him every day. He’d made his living as an artist, but she knew his ability was only moderate. Nobody was going to be naming museums and schools after him. That hadn’t mattered: She hadn’t loved him for his talent. But the hard truth was there weren’t any great artists anymore. She didn’t know why, and couldn’t connect it to the general malaise that had settled across the planet. Maybe somebody somewhere knew what was happening. She didn’t. Maybe life had become too easy in too many places, and too pointless in too many others. Maybe it was just that old business that you had to wait a century to sort out who was great and who wasn’t. Whatever it was, her instincts screamed that it was the same process. That humans were designed to do what they’d always done: climb into their canoes and move out across uncharted seas. Whether those seas were philosophical or physical, she thought they had to do it.

“Yes,” Matt said, “we still need a running start. Not as long as we did with the Hazeltine. Maybe twenty minutes or so to build up a charge.”

“It feels good to be back, Matt.”

He looked at her. Nodded and smiled. Union Ops broke in with information about solar activity. It wouldn’t affect them, but they shouldn’t linger insystem.

They were at two minutes. Support lines began disconnecting, withdrawing into the dock. She felt a mild jar as the magnetic locks turned them loose.

Matt eased the ship into its exit lane, adjusted the artificial gravity, took them past the series of docks, and moved out through the launch doors. “Still a nice feeling,” she said.

“Yeah, it is. Beats hustling condominiums.”

Earth, blue and white and endlessly lovely, spread out below them. A sliver of moon floated off to port. Toward the end of her piloting career, she hadn’t much noticed such things. Stars and worlds had become navigational objects, markers in the night and not much more. That was when she’d realized it was time to do something else. But seated on the bridge, as Matt increased thrust and they began to move out, she felt she’d come home at last.

As the Preston accelerated, they traded a few quips. You’re sure the drive works? We’re not going to come out of it with our brains scrambled, are we? “If the monkey could make it,” Matt said, “we should be fine.”

Matt had a taste for music, and he asked whether she objected, then brought up Beethoven. The Pathétique. It was pleasant, and fit the mood.

“What happens during the jump?” she asked.

“Not much. It’s not like hyperspace. The mists are gone. The sensors pick up nothing. It’s just unbroken darkness.”

Hutch looked out through the viewport. No moving lights anywhere. There was a time that something was always coming or going at Union. The station had been the center of traffic to a dozen regular ports of call and literally hundreds of star systems. It had been filled with tourists, some coming simply to see the station itself, others boarding one of the tour liners for the voyage of a lifetime.

People still came to look on Earth from orbit, and to spend a weekend, to give their kids a completely different experience. And maybe they came, most of all, so they could say they’d been there. Gone to the top of the world.

The station fell behind.

They came to the end of the Pathétique and moved on to something else. The music began to run together.

Matt opened the allcom: “Six minutes to insertion, guys,” he said. And to Hutch: “Has Rudy ever done a jump before?”

“He’s been out a couple of times,” she said.

“Okay. Antonio’s pretty well traveled. Says he’s been everywhere.”

“That takes in a fair amount of ground.”

“He’s the science reporter for WorldWide. I’d expect him to have gotten around.”

Hutch asked Phyl to produce a file of Antonio’s work. It matched what she already knew. Antonio did his science straight. No editorializing, though he was capable of getting excited. He’d been with the al Jahadi when it discovered the sun’s brown dwarf companion. He’d gotten to Nok right after Kaminsky had started his war against bureaucratic indifference and taken his stand. She felt guilty about that because she’d been one of the bureaucrats who thought that keeping hands off an alien society was a good idea no matter what they were doing. But Antonio had gotten the public on board, just as they’d gotten on board when the Academy moved to save the Goompahs.

It looked as if they were carrying the right journalist.

“Thirty seconds,” said Matt.

At 11:48 A.M., Washington time, they made their jump. Hutch was looking at the moon when it vanished.

Transition was almost seamless. She was accustomed to a mild queasiness during transits. But this time there was only a momentary pressure in her ears, as if the atmosphere had given her a quick squeeze. Then the sensation was gone, and she was looking out at the utter darkness Matt had described.

“Everybody okay back there?”

“We’re fine,” said Jon. “Transition complete?”

“It’s done. Welcome to”—he made a face—“wherever. Jon, you’re going to have to come up with a name for this place.”

“We’ll name it for Henry.”

“Barber space?” said Matt. “I don’t think it’ll work.”

“Yeah. I suppose not. Well, we’ll figure it out later. Okay to release the belts?”

“Go ahead,” he said. “Anybody hungry?”

It was lunchtime.

Chapter 18

Five and a half hours to Alioth. It was unthinkable.

Antonio couldn’t stop talking about it. Hutch seemed struck by how different the transdimensional flight looked, how the mists were gone, how the navigation lights had simply reached out into the night until they faded whereas now they seemed smothered by the darkness. Jon was going on about what Henry Barber had missed, and what a pity it was he hadn’t lived just a bit longer.

With the success of the first lander flight, the world had assumed that Rudy controlled the Locarno. And that perception had intensified when word got out that the first manned flight would be made by the Foundation’s lone ship, the Phyllis Preston. Rudy had been getting calls for weeks from people who had a special black hole they wanted to see, or a nebula with a peculiar characteristic, or who wanted to go to the center of the galaxy. Several had even wondered about the prospects for an intergalactic flight.

Avril Hopkinson, from Media Labs, had asked about the Locarno’s range, had suggested they start designing ships specifically for the drive system, instead of just tacking it onto existing vessels. Media Labs, he said, would be willing to undertake the expense.

It had been a glorious time for him. He’d played the chief executive, cautioning against extravagant plans, let’s just take this one step at a time, I’ll get back to you if we start thinking about going in that direction.

The people who were calling him now, trying to climb onto the bandwagon, were by and large people who had not noticed the Foundation over the past fifteen years. They’d seen Rudy as a person of no consequence, a guy fighting to hold on to the past. A man with no imagination, no sense of where the real priorities lay. Someone not to be taken seriously.

It had given him a rare sense of pleasure to put the world on hold. I’ll call you if I need you.

It occurred to him he was being small-minded. Even vengeful. But that was okay. Small-minded could be good. Better to think of it as justice.

Rudy had never been successful with women. For some inscrutable reason, he did not arouse their passions. Even his wives had seemed always to regard him as a comic figure. He was a guy a woman could confide in, could exchange stories with. They seemed impressed by his accomplishments, but not by him. He had no trouble getting dates, but nobody ever seemed to connect with him emotionally. Even his most recent wife had, somehow, been a remote figure. They’d parted amicably. Old buddies.

He was a good friend. A nice guy.

It wouldn’t be correct to say he’d been leading a lonely existence, but since he’d become an adult, he’d never shared an intense relationship with another human being. His life had been marked with a desire to distance himself from other people. As a kid he’d dreamed of living one day on an island. Or on a mountaintop. Somewhere inaccessible.

It was ironic that someone with his sensibilities, and his passions, had not traveled widely beyond the Sun’s immediate neighborhood. He allowed people to believe he had. Didn’t outright lie about it, but didn’t deny it either. In a sense, he had done a lot of traveling, but most of it had been virtual. Or with books.

There’d been opportunities. His specialty was stellar life cycles, and he’d gotten invitations from both Jesperson and Hightower when they were setting out, years ago. But he was young then and did not want to spend six or seven months inside a ship, cloistered with the smartest people in their various disciplines. He wouldn’t be able to get away from them, and he knew he lacked depth and didn’t want to be exposed. His mentor at the time told him he needed to believe in himself, but he couldn’t do it, wasn’t going to sit cooped up with MacPherson and Banikawa and the rest, talking about shadow matter and negative energy and neutral spin. He had plenty of time to go out to the stars later. Then, suddenly, it wasn’t there anymore.

When he became director of the Foundation, he’d thought about going with one of the missions. Something to establish his credibility. (They’d had three ships at one time.) But it didn’t look right. People would have thought he was taking advantage of his position. So he’d stayed back while the researchers went.

It wasn’t as if he’d never before been in a ship. He’d gone to a couple of the nearby stars. Had traveled to Iapetus to see Saturn close up. And to see the monument. But it wasn’t the same as going deep, as setting down on a world that was home to a different biosystem. As being so far from home that when you looked through a telescope at the sun, at Earth’s sun, you knew you were seeing it as it had looked before you were born. That was traveling.

Now, of course, if all went well, they’d be able to go the next step. So far away that the sun, if you could see it at all, would appear as it had been before the first pyramids had gone up. Before Baghdad.

Before Gilgamesh.

SAN FRANCISCO EARTHQUAKE 100 YEARS AGO TODAY

Third Major Quake Marked End of Fabled City

Ceremonies Planned at Memorial and White House

CAPABILITY TO PREDICT QUAKES STILL FAR OFF

Some Maintain It Will Never Be Possible

CULVERSON NAMED YEAR’S BEST POLITICAL CARTOONIST

Wins Shackleford Award Second Year Running

NEW YORK LEVEES TO BE REINFORCED

HURRICANE ROMA TURNS NORTH

Hatteras Watches

Season’s 18th Major Storm

LAST SLAUGHTERHOUSE CLOSES

Nanoburgers Too Much for Cattle Industry

AMERICAN SCHOOLS STILL RANK LOW

Test Scores in English, Math Weak “Get Parents Involved,” Says Snyder “Read to Your Kids”

Studies Show Parents Should Start When Kids Are Two

CHURCHES SPLIT OVER CLONING ISSUE

First Human Clones to Appear in Germany

Do They Have Souls?

VIRGIN APPARITION CLAIMED IN DUST CLOUDS

Mary’s Likeness Reported 6000 Light-Years Away Telescopic Images from Ballinger Cloud

MOVEMENT TO BAN ALCOHOL GAINS STRENGTH

Prohibition Again?

POPULATION GAINS CONTINUE FOR CENTRAL AND MOUNTAIN STATES

People Feel Safer Away from Coastlines, Quake Zones

Trend Expected to Continue

Kansas Now Has More People Than Florida

NEW FOREST FIRES IN COLORADO

Long Dry Spell Creates Hazard

Campers Asked to Exercise Caution

TANAKA LANDS IN KENTUCKY AFTER 16 DAYS

Completes Round-the-World Hot-Air Balloon Flight Misses Record by Seven Minutes

Chapter 19

Alioth is a white class-AO sun. Its formal name is Epsilon Ursae Majoris. Eighty-one light-years from Arlington, it didn’t exactly equate to going deep, but it was far enough. And they’d be within striking distance of help should something go wrong.

Alioth is about four times as wide as Sol, and more than a hundred times brighter. It’s large for a class-A, and consequently has been burning hydrogen at an accelerated rate. It is now near the end of that phase of its existence, and will soon enter its helium-burning phase. For that reason it had been visited several times by Academy ships studying the decline of class-A stars.

Seventeen worlds orbit Alioth, one of which, Seabright, is unique in that it’s the only known planet entirely covered by water. It’s perfectly located in the middle of the biozone, but it has produced not so much as a single living cell.

The recently discovered companion star is a dull class-G orbiting at a range of almost a light-year.

As they came out of jump status, Klaxons sounded. Collision alert. Matt barked a goddam and froze while Phyl activated the ship’s defensive systems and fired a series of particle beams at something.

“Rock,” she said.

It exploded directly ahead and to starboard. The detectors should have picked it up and canceled the jump. “They may not be properly correlated with the new system,” said Jon. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Nice reflexes, Phyl,” said Matt. He was embarrassed.

“That’s what you can expect with a top-of-the-line model.”

Antonio had urged that Jon should be first to speak on arrival, and that he think of something historic to say, a timeless remark that would not only play well during the newsbreaks, but that people would always remember as signaling the first shining moments of the real interstellar age. But that moment had also been blown away by Phyl’s particle beams. “I don’t think the profanity works,” he said over the allcom. “Can we just rewrite the moment?”

“Not without breaking the law,” said Matt. “It went into the log.”

“So we’ve got goddam as our giant leap comment?”

“I’m sorry, Antonio.”

He shook his head. “Make your apology to history, compagno.”

A blinding sun dominated the sky. Matt activated the viewport filters. They helped.

“Too close,” said Rudy. “It’s not as precise as a Hazeltine.”

Jon apologized and said he’d figure it out in time. They told him it didn’t really matter, not now. “Time to make it official,” said Rudy. He climbed out of his chair and disappeared in back. He returned a minute later, brandishing glasses and a bottle of French champagne.

They recorded the TOA, 1723 hours ship time. Transit time, five hours, thirty-five minutes, seventeen seconds. Matt printed a copy of the log entry, along with his unfortunate remark, and they all signed it. Jon Silvestri. Priscilla Hutchins. Rudy Golombeck. Antonio Giannotti. Matthew Darwin.

“So now that we’re here,” said Antonio, “what’s next?”

“I take it we’re not very close to Seabright,” Hutch said.

Matt shook his head. “I doubt it.” She smiled back at him, two pilots exchanging an unspoken understanding. It’s big out here. Brand-new propulsion system. Lucky we got close to the star at all.

It was good to be back. Matt gazed out at the stars, thinking how there was no career like it. “Phyl,” he said, “how far are we from Seabright?”

“Two hundred thirty-six million kilometers, Matt. Ten days by standard drive.”

“Can’t we do better than that?” asked Antonio, with a smile.

“I think it might be possible.” Matt grinned.

“I’ve never seen Seabright,” said Antonio.

Despite his claims, Matt doubted Antonio had seen much of anything out of the ordinary. The journalists had usually traveled the standard routes. They were rarely found with the exploration missions.

Jon nodded. “Doesn’t seem as if we should come all the way out here and not see the sights.” He glanced at Matt. “Why don’t we take a look?”

“Sure.” Matt nodded. “Okay by me. We’ll have to kick the pony a bit to recharge. Figure a half hour. I’ll let you know when we’re ready.”

Hutch spent the time thinking what it would mean if the Locarno could be made to work with real precision. Travel across the solar system in seconds. She wondered if there might be a groundside application? Climb onto a train in Boston and step off an eye blink later in Los Angeles. Or Honolulu. Possibly even private vehicles doing the same thing? She wasn’t sure she’d want to live in such a world. She liked riding the glide trains, liked cruising through the skies over DC. The whole point of travel was, after all, the ride and not the destination. Like people’s lives.

She was engaged in a conversation with Antonio about the state of the world, and the tendency of the general public to pay little attention until conditions deteriorated severely, when Matt announced they were ready to make their jump.

Jon had replaced her up front, tinkering with the settings. “I don’t want to go in too close,” he said. “We can’t trust the mass detector.”

That sounded a little too casual for Hutch. She’d have felt more comfortable if she were at the controls.

Matt’s voice came over the allcom. “Buckle in.”

She activated her harness. Antonio’s belt locked him down.

“Ten seconds,” said Matt.

Antonio’s eyes slid shut. He seemed to be somewhere else. “Go, baby,” he said.

She closed her own eyes, felt a momentary tug in her belly, saw the glare of light against her eyelids dim and come up again.

“That’s it,” said Matt. He couldn’t avoid a snicker. They all laughed. “We’ve arrived.”

Hutch shook her head. It just didn’t feel right. A jump that had lasted a fraction of a second.

Antonio was looking up at the display. “Are we done? Is it okay to release this thing?” He didn’t like the restraints.

“One moment,” said Phyl. “Measuring.”

Whatever happened today, it was coming. Near-instantaneous travel would hit in the next generation, or somewhere close down the road. It struck her that the metaphor would itself become obsolete. People living perhaps in the next century would have no concept of road. Or maybe it would survive as a referent to spiritual journeys. It was a sad idea. She wondered whether the fears about a singularity waiting at a given point in scientific research, when too many breakthroughs came together, might not have some validity. Not in the classical sense that here was a rise of the machines or some such wild-eyed notion, but simply that maybe you reached a point where the downside of each technological advance outweighed the advantage. Where the price was too high. Where people fell in love with avatars instead of each other. But no one could stop progress, no matter how much damage it did, because it had become a kind of religion.

Phyl’s voice again: “Range to Seabright is 285 million kilometers.”

“We lost ground,” said Antonio. “How could that happen?”

Hutch released her belt. “Matt?”

Matt came off the bridge, looking chagrined. “I think we’re on the other side,” he said. “We jumped half a billion klicks. Maybe we were a bit too cautious.”

Antonio was making notes. “Best system in the world doesn’t do you much good if you can’t get where you’re going.”

Jon appeared in the hatch behind Matt. “I guess we missed,” he said. “It’ll just be a matter of making some adjustments. We have to feel our way. Can’t have everything overnight.”

Antonio was annoyed that he couldn’t report back. The Locarno couldn’t really be a success, he told Jon, until it included an advanced communication device.

“I haven’t had time to work on it,” said Jon. “Sorry. But it keeps everything we’re doing mysterious. That should be good. People will be wondering what’s going on out here.”

Antonio went back to his notebook. “I forgot about that aspect of things. I’m going to have to rewrite this,” he complained.

“Why?” asked Matt.

“‘As we stand here,’” he read, “‘looking out at this magnificent sun…’”

“It’s a little hyperbolic, isn’t it?” said Matt.

Antonio’s features darkened. “It’s supposed to be. Audiences like hyperbolic.”

“They’re nitwits,” said Matt.

Antonio shook his head. “Not exactly. But they do like over the top. That’s the reality. The Brits have a taste for understatement. But they’re pretty much in it alone.”

“They’re still nitwits.”

“You sound like somebody else I know,” said Hutch.

“Who’s that?”

“Gregory MacAllister.”

Matt nodded. “One of my favorite people.”

She felt alive. She looked out at strange constellations, configurations she hadn’t seen in decades.

Antonio came over and joined her. Gazed through the viewport. “Lovely,” he said.

“What’s the range of the Locarno?” asked Rudy. “Could we cross the galaxy with this thing?”

Jon shook his head. “Not in one jump. I haven’t really worked out the details yet, but it’s not like the Hazeltine, where once you’re in hyperspace, you stay there until the system acts to bring you back. We don’t belong in Locarno space, if we can call it that, and it keeps trying to push us out. Sort of like an air-filled balloon trying to stay underwater. So the system uses energy throughout the transit. When it runs out of energy, the ship will pop back into normal space.”

“But obviously,” Rudy continued, “we can manage fifty or sixty light-years.”

“Oh, yes. And considerably better than that. I’d guess we could jump ten thousand or so. But that’s only a guess. We’re just going to have to try it and see what happens.”

Hutch could hardly believe what she was hearing. “Ten thousand light-years?”

Jon smiled. “Interesting to think about, isn’t it?”

“It sure is. It really does put the entire galaxy within reach.”

“Why stop there?” asked Rudy.

Matt took a deep breath. “You’re talking what? Andromeda?”

“Why not?”

They released a probe to take pictures of the Preston against the backdrop of Alioth. Phyl adjusted the lenses and filters so the probe wasn’t blinded. She also got pictures of the ship approaching Seabright, gliding past a gas giant, and running alongside a comet.

Phyl prepared a special meal, and they sat down to spaghetti and meatballs, not usually the fare you’d expect on a superluminal. “Things change,” said Matt, “when you only have to feed everybody once.”

They opened a fresh bottle of wine. Filled the glasses and did another round of toasts. “To real estate dealers,” said Jon.

Hutch raised her glass. “Realtors conquer the world.”

Jon watched Antonio writing something into his notebook. “Do you actually have a science background?” he asked.

“Me?” Antonio’s smile widened. It was self-deprecating, genuine, warm. “I was a journalism major,” he said.

“But you’re the science guy for Worldwide. How’d that happen?”

Rudy shook his head. “Jon, Antonio used to be Dr. Science.”

Jon frowned. “Who?”

“Dr. Science. You’re not going to tell me you don’t know who Dr. Science is?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No. Not at all.”

Jon stared hard at Antonio. “You know, I thought you looked familiar. More than from the Worldwide shows.”

“Hello, boys and girls,” said Antonio, mimicking the voice he’d used years before. “Today we’re going to be talking about event horizons and why we shouldn’t go near them.”

“But you were a journalism major?” persisted Jon.

“Worldwide gave me the science beat because they think I’m pretty good at explaining things so ordinary people can understand them.”

“But how do you do it if you don’t have the physics yourself?”

“I get somebody like you to lay it out for me, then I just translate it into plain English and relay it.” He finished whatever he’d been writing, closed the machine with a sweep of his right arm, and sat back in his chair. “So,” he said, “what’s next?”

Jon looked puzzled. “Next? This is where I wanted to go. Eighty light-years by dinnertime.”

“That’ll be a good title for your autobiography,” said Rudy.

Antonio agreed. “Absolutely right,” he said. “But where do you go from here? What are you going to do about licensing the Locarno? I think you’ve just become the richest guy on the planet.”

“Maybe. I hope so.”

“Has anybody bid yet for manufacturing rights?”

“Everybody in town. It looks as if tours are going to be big again. For a while anyhow. Luxuriat is talking about picking up where Carmody left off.” Carmody had run the luxury flights during the golden years.

“And you’re going to let them have it?” Rudy’s face had gone pale.

“I haven’t decided which one yet.”

“Depends on who makes the best offer?” said Matt.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Chapter 20

They got the good jump Matt had hoped for. Not good enough to make the late shuttle, but enough to bring them into Union in the morning. A crowd was waiting. Some carried signs reading ON TO ANDROMEDA and MOVIN’ OUT. One attractive young woman carried a banner stenciled MARRY ME, JON.

Other signs reflected different sentiments: LEAVE WELL ENOUGH ALONE and SHUT DOWN THE LOCARNO and DON’T COME BACK. But the dissidents were outnumbered. There was some pushing and shoving, and a fight broke out. But the security people were there.

Someone, in a high-pitched voice, asked whether they’d made Alioth. The crowd held its collective breath while Jon paused for dramatic effect. “Yes,” he said, finally. “We’ve been there and come home.”

The crowd roared.

Eventually they got away into a room reserved by Rudy. Journalists showed up, and Foundation supporters, so the place quickly overflowed.

Matt showed pictures from the flight, shots of Alioth, the five voyagers crowded onto the bridge moments after their arrival, Matt hunched over the instruments, Hutch and Jon gazing out the viewport, Rudy trying to look like Columbus, and Antonio taking notes.

Refreshments arrived.

One of the Orion Tours people came in, and Rudy watched with distaste as she curled up next to Jon. She was all smiles and casual talk, but she’d be offering a contract shortly. Come with us, and we’ll make you a better deal than anyone else can. He wasn’t sure why, but the notion of rich morons running around the galaxy sightseeing, oh, Jerry, look at the black hole, irritated him. He wondered if tourists from somewhere else had ever come to Earth, maybe watched the Roman circuses or sat in the Academy, the real Academy, with Plato and Socrates.

He was tired. It had been a long day, and he couldn’t take all-nighters anymore. He put down the drink he’d been nursing and said good night to Hutch and Matt. He was unable to catch Jon’s eye, gave it up, and left.

He’d just gotten into his room when the hotel AI announced he had a call. “From Dr. Silvestri, sir.”

“Rudy,” Jon said, “I didn’t expect you to leave so early.”

Rudy collapsed into a chair. “I was wiped out, Jon.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I guess it is a bit late.” He was standing, and it looked as if he was still at the party. But his features became suddenly serious. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m grateful for the Foundation’s support. For your support, Rudy. I won’t forget it.”

“You’re welcome, Jon. I’m glad the Foundation was in a position to help.”

“I have a question for you.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Kosmik wants to run a mission to the core.”

“I’ve heard the rumors.”

“Rudy, they’re offering me a lot of money for licensing rights to the Locarno. So they can make the first flight. They want to equip a small fleet and go after the source of the omegas. See what they are. Where they come from.”

“It’s a worthy cause.”

“I know.” For a long moment he was silent. “I understand Epcott’s going to make an offer, too.”

“Congratulations, Jon.”

“Without you and the Foundation, Rudy, it would never have happened.”

Rudy managed a smile.

“I plan to split the money with the Foundation, Rudy. You’re a worthy cause, too.”

“Thank you. That’s very generous, Jon.”

There was another long pause. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“That’s not the message I’m getting.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Jon.” Just let it go.

“Rudy, we can’t attempt a mission like that with one ship.”

“You’re right. That’s absolutely right.”

“If there was any kind of mechanical problem, everybody’d be dead.”

“I know. You’re absolutely right.”

“So then why are you annoyed with me?”

“Because you never asked.”

“Asked what?”

“Whether we could get a second ship.”

“Can you?”

“Of course.”

“You wouldn’t kid me?”

“Never.”

“You really want to go?”

“Jon, I’d kill to make that flight.”

“Good.”

“Thanks.”

“Hell, Rudy, it’s your ship. Your ships.” Someone stopped to talk with him. Then he was back. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“We’ll need two pilots. I want to ask Matt. If that’s okay.”

“Sure. Who else did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you’d suggest someone.”

“How about Hutch?”

He did not look receptive. “I don’t think she still has a license. Anyhow, she resisted making the Alioth flight. You think she’d consider something like this? Going to the core?”

“There’s one way to find out.”