The Domination

Epilogue II

CONTROL DECK

ALLIANCE SHIP NEW AMERICA

PAST THE ORBIT OF PLUTO

OCTOBER 1, 2000

“That’s it,” Captain Anderson said with a sigh. “If we needed any more confirmation.” He eased the earphones from his wiry black hair; a stocky pug-faced Minnesotan of Danish descent, and a physicist of note as well as a Space Forcer. “Over to you, JB,” he continued formally.

The Second Officer nodded and touched a control. Anderson turned to the gaunt man who stood behind him, watching the receding light of Sol in the main tank-screen in the center of the control deck. It was set to show what an unaided eye would see from this distance: no more than an unusually bright star.

“So they’re keeping their word, for once,” Lefarge said softly. “Not that we left them any choice, the way we had it set up.” It was surprising enough that von Shrakenberg had trusted him to broadcast the final specs on the comp-plague . . . He pushed the complexities out of his mind. It was difficult; that was something he was going to have to learn all over again, to live for the future. Cindy would help, and they would both offer what they could to Marya.

“They couldn’t touch us at this range, anyway,” Anderson said meditatively.

“That’s true,” Lefarge agreed. His voice had an empty tone, to match his eyes. “They’ll probably follow, one day. If not to Alpha Centauri, to other places.”

“We’ll be ready,” Anderson said, coming up beside him. There was no other sound besides the ventilators, and the subliminal tremor of the drive. That would continue for months yet . . . “Or we . . . our descendants could go back, first.”

“No. No, not if they have any sense. There’ll be nothing here worth coming back for; we’re taking all the valuables with us. All that’s left.”

The ship’s commander cleared his throat. His authority was theoretically absolute, until they reached the New America’s destination, and he knew Lefarge would obey as readily as any crewman. But there was something in that lined face that made him reluctant to order; it would be an intrusion, somehow.

“Brigadier—” he began.

Lefarge looked up and smiled; it even seemed to touch his eyes, somehow. “Fred,” he said. “While we’re off duty, Captain.”

“Fred. Look, man, there’s no real need for you to stand watches; yes, you’re qualified, and it’ll be only five years total.” The bulk of the colonists would be in Low-Met all the way; there were five active-duty crews, who would work in rotation. “But it’s at the other end we’re really going to need you. Hell, why waste your lifespan? You’re going to have a life’s work there, and barring catastrophe the crew’s doing routine. For that matter, I’m going to have time to finish that novel at last.”

“I think I am going to have a life job, when we get there,” Lefarge said, nodding. “And to do it properly, I’m going to have to be looking forward.” He met the captain’s eyes again, and his were like raw wounds. The other man had seen more than enough of grief these last few months, but it was still shocking. “So I need time for . . . thinking. And to get the saddest words in the English language out of my system.” He laughed bleakly at Anderson’s silent question. “If only. If only.”