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                                                INTO THE

                                                 SEA OF

                                                  STARS



                                           William R. Forstchen




                                             A Del Rey Book

                                BALLANTINE BOOKS • NEW YORK




For:

Greg in thanks for your friendship and a cer-tain introduction...



Frank and the advice that was so often needed,
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And Rus, the finest historian of them all!




                                               PROLOGUE




 It was a time of high adventure; an age when men andwomen could seize destiny and shape it to their
will. Canour generation again breed such heroes? I think not, for a golden age of exploration comes but
rarely to a race,and ours is now lost forever. They were of the same moldas Alexander at the Asian Gate
and Caesar at the Rubicon.

 Look to the choices that lay before them, a thousandyears ago in the darkness of the twenty-first
century. The world beneath them was poised for the madness of ther-monuclear night; a madness that
threatened to reach outto the Earth's thousand colonies. And with that madnesscame the calling—the
calling from Old America, and Eu-rope, and the vast reaches of the Asian giants. A calling for the
children to return, to arm themselves, and to joinin the war of the parent states. A war that would engulf
mankind and create another dark age, from which we have so recently emerged.

 But the colonies were no longer of Earth. They werethe new children, those who beheld a new horizon
and could look beyond the parochial squabblings below.

 And one day they were gone. Pointing their colonies into the unknown, they abandoned Earth forever.
Usingplasma drives, ion thrusters, matter/antimatter engines,thermonuclear pulse propulsion, and even
solar sails, thecolonies broke the bonds and headed off into the un-known—looking for freedom and an
escape. Led by suchlegendary men as Ikawa Kurosawa, Vasiliy Renikoff, andFranklin Smith, the
colonies abandoned the parent worldto its madness. And then the War came.
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 Where are they now? What great wonders have thesevisionaries of the past created, unhindered by the
Holo-caust War of the twenty-first century and the chaos that followed? Will we ever know the fate of
the coloniesmissing for a thousand years?



From a rejected manuscript by Dr. Ian Lacklin,Missing Coloniesand the Heroic Figure in History.




                                                CHAPTER 1




"Mr. Hansin, are you with us, or are you again pondering the earthly delights awaiting you in the
women'sdormitory?" In disgust Ian Lacklin collapsed into his chairand awaited the response.

"Ah, oh yes, I fully agree with you, Dr. Lacklin. Ofcourse, you're absolutely right."

An undercurrent of snickers ran through the stuffy,overcrowded room. Ian stared them down and was
greetedwith forced looks of attentiveness.

Idiots. Graduate students, indeed. Every semester hewas lectured by the dean that this year's was the
bestcrop yet, survivors of a lengthy winnowing process. Thedean made Kutzburg sound like Nouveau
Harvard insteadof the Provincial University's worst campus, one that ca-tered to ozone-head athletes and
near-morons who had failed entry in every other system and, therefore, would become educators.

"Then, Mr. Hansin, perhaps you could enlighten us allas to the ramifications of the Geosync Positions
Com-munications Treaty of 2031 and how it was later cited byBeaulieu as the underlying cause of the
Second SouthAmerican Crisis of 2038."

"Say, Dr. Lacklin, was that in our readings?"

 "By God, man, yes!" In exasperation Ian rose up tohis full five-and-a-half-foot height and pointed a
stubbyfinger at Hansin.

 "Can't you see how important this was? With thecrowding of the geosync points in the early part of the
twenty-first century came the increasing agitation bythe equatorial countries for control not only of the
atmos-phere above them but of the geosync positions, as well.Out of that came the abortive attempt to
take Powersat23 from the Sino-Japanese Energy Consortium, which in turn placed in jeopardy the
Skyhook construction project in Malaysia. Can't you see how important that is to your life today?"

Blank stares greeted him. An ocean of blank stares.
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"This room is a vacuum!" Ian shouted, waving hisshort, pudgy arms. "I know this course is required, I
knowyou were all dragged in here kicking and screaming, but,by God, it's required for a reason.

 "But, of course, you cretins already know that whenyou are history teachers yourselves, instructions in
throwing a ball through a hoop will be far more importantthan this." Ian realized that his sarcasm was lost
on thatcrowd, but with a note of pleading in his voice he valiantlytried to push ahead. "Don't you realize
that you shouldalso be able to teach your students about history, as well?Can't you see that?"

"Sure, Doc. We see that, but it's Friday, and the shuttletram's leaving for Bostem in half an hour."

"Ah, a visit to the fleshpots of Bostem is more impor-tant to you than this, is that it, Mr. Hansin? And
you,too, Mr. Roy?"

Silence.

"Well, Mr. Roy, don't sit there slack-jawed and drool-ing, answer me."

"Doc, that's an interesting point, and most difficult to answer."

lan's cherubic face turned crimson. "Idiots, get out, just get out of here." His voice cracked on a high
note, as it always did when he got excited. "Just get out!"

The mindless herd of thirty-odd students exploded intoaction and stampeded past him for the doorway.

"Wait, wait a minute, your reading assignment for nextweek..." But they were already gone, the corridor
ech-oing with the sounds of their cattlelike trampling and mutedcomments about Lacklin's heritage and
physiologicalshortcomings.

 Another brilliant lecture wasted. Mumbling obscureOld American obscenities, he returned to his desk
and started to shuffle a pile of notes into his briefcase. Eigh-teen years! Eighteen years of trying to give to
an uncaringmob a brief glimpse of the joys to be found in history.There was an occasional pearl to be
found, but for most of them, he was "Lackless Lacklin," master of "Enrich-ment Requirement Number 3:
Sputnik to Armageddon—a History of the First Space Era."

"Excuse me, Dr. Lacklin."

"Yes, yes, what is it?" He looked up from his desk."What is it, Shelley, why weren't you sucked into the
vortex of that mob?"

"You were about to give an assignment?"

 He looked at her appraisingly, the pearl of the semester,a gangly six-foot, twenty-one-year old; suffering
from a bad case of acne and allegedly responsible to him as aresearch assistant—assigned by the dean,
no doubt, as a practical joke. As a graduate student she was adequate, but she constantly hung around
his office looking forsophomoric debates on the real meaning of Lock's the-ories of space sociology or
other such foolishness.

"Do we have an assignment in Beaulieu's book?" she asked eagerly.

"No doubt, you've already finished it?"
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"Of course, but I wanted to be ready for Monday'sclass. I can review it over the weekend."

"Don't worry about it now, why don't you just go alongwith the others."

"Here, let me help you back to the office with that."Before he could object, Shelley picked up the model
ofthe Schuder space colony and started for the door.

"Damn it, look out!"

But it was too late. She brushed against the doorway,knocking the antennae structure off.

"Oh, Dr. Lacklin, I'm sorry, I—"

"Never mind, Miss Walker, just take it down to theoffice."

 With a sigh of despair he picked up the broken plasticand followed after her. It had taken him the better
partof a weekend to construct the three-foot-long model of acolony that had once been home to fifty
thousand people.

 As they made their way down the dimly lit corridorsto lan's subterranean office, Shelley chattered on
abouta paper she was writing for The Journal of Space Antiq-uities, and Dr. Lacklin occasionally grunted
noncommittally, but his thoughts were already light-years away.

 A new copy of the journal had just come that morning, with a lengthy article by Beaulieu concerning the
recentlydiscovered ruins of the colony on Mars. The site was oneof the biggest finds of the decade and
was revealing awealth of artifacts on early twenty-first-century technol ogy. The article would provide an
excellent weekend'sentertainment away from students, the school, the world— in fact, an escape from all
reality.

 Ian was so wrapped in happy thoughts of escape thathe didn't notice Shelley had stopped, and Ian
crashed right into her. The Schuder model tumbled to the floorand fractured into fragments that went
spinning out in every direction.

"Uh-oh," Shelley whispered.

"Damn it, Shelley, why can't you... ?" Ian looked pasther and saw the towering figure standing by the
doorwayto his office.

"It's Chancellor Cushman," Shelley whispered fear-fully.

 The figure started to move toward them. "Dr. Lacklin,my good man," the Chancellor's voice boomed
like a can-non report, "just the person I was looking for."

Striding forward, hand outstretched, he stepped onbroken fragments of the model, grinding them to
powder.Grabbing Ian's shoulder, the Chancellor smiled his sin-ister toothy grin, which more often than
not was the open-ing signal for a budget cut or an increase in one's teachingload.

 He turned to Shelley with that same grin, but therewas a barely concealed disdain about him as he was
forcedto address a student. "My charming young miss, wouldyou be so kind as to excuse the good
doctor and me."
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Before the Chancellor had finished speaking, Shelleywas backing away, mumbling something about
having towash her hair; she was gone, leaving Ian to his fate.

 Ian followed the Chancellor down the corridor into thedusty, cluttered closet that was lan's office. There
theChancellor released his numbing grip on lan's shoulder. He ran his finger along a bookcase and
snorted with dis-dain when the digit came up black with two decades'worth of dust. Walking around to
lan's desk, the Chan-cellor first carefully examined the chair as if expecting it to be booby-trapped, and
then, barely satisfied, he low-ered his towering form while pointing Ian to the visitor'schair on the other
side of the desk.

"You know, Ian," his voice boomed, filling the tinyroom, "I never could see the purpose of keeping your
history program alive. Such things are a waste, in my mind." He smiled.

It's termination! Ian thought. My God, what will I do?

 "But the Provincial Government of New America," theChancellor continued, "decreed in the educational
charterto this institution that we are to, quote, 'train functioning citizens who shall fit into the framework of
our society and appreciate the traditions of our new Federated Republic,' unquote. In other words, my
man, we are to traineffective cogs for the wheels of the administration. And one of the teeth in that cog
must be an understanding of history. Do you agree?"

Maybe it's not termination! "Of course, your Excel-lency, of course." His voice cracked.

"I knew you would agree, my good man. Of course, I've always felt that such courses as File
Management orInteroffice Communications were far more valuable thanyour digging up the ancient past,
but this is an instituteof higher learning so we must be tolerant of minor ec-centricities, mustn't we?"

"Of course."

"Tell me, Ian, how many people staff your department now?"

"I'm the only one. Don't you remember you cut the budget last year, eliminating Mr. Lelezi?"

"Ah, yes. Mr. Lelezi. He taught the history of the Holocaust War and the Second Dark Age?"

"Yes, your Excellency."

 "The taped lectures we've made of him are an adequatereplacement, are they not? Save us a significant
sum,don't they?"

It would be termination!

"Tell me, Ian, do we have tapes of your lectures onfile?"

 Ian could only nod. The Chancellor had instituted thatlittle trick five years back. The Board of Regents
lovedit, and the Chancellor was now hailed as a bold new in-novator in education.

 "Good, Dr. Lacklin, very good indeed. Would you beso kind as to write up a study guide for your
course, intriplicate, and be sure to use the proper forms. I want itin my office first thing Monday
morning."
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 The room started to spin. Ian felt as if he were looking -up from the bottom of a deep, deep well, and
the onlything he could see at the end of the shaft was the Chan-cellor's wolfish grin.

 "Does this mean," Ian asked weakly, trying to concealthe wheedling tone in his voice, "that my position is
tobe automated?"

"Well, my good man"—the Chancellor laughed, ob-viously delighting in this little diversion—"don't be so
pale and glum. You don't want to spend the rest of yourlife in a classroom, now do you?"

"But history is my life, it's everything."

The Chancellor's grin suddenly became more sinister.

"We've other plans for you."

"Other plans?"

"Come now, Ian, you now as well as I do that thisnoble institution supports its staff and encourages it to
broaden the field of knowledge through publication. I've been checking on you, my man—in eighteen
years ofteaching, you've never been published."

"There is my book, you know!Missing Colonies andthe Heroic Figure in History."

"How many rejections have you had on that?"

Ian was silent.

"But that's not what I'm talking about. There are otherforms of writing, take grants, for instance."

 He wants me as a grant writer! Endless forms to fillout. I'll go mad, Ian thought. Digging the sands of
Marswould be better. Perhaps Beaulieu would take me on as an assistant. But his stomach turned
somersaults at themere thought of space travel and weightlessness.

 "You have some rather good experience with grants,my man. In fact, that's the reason for this friendly
chat of ours. It's your grant, Ian. I just got a call from theMinister of Education, who has a brother in the
Deep Space Exploration and Surveying Department. I'm talk-ing about your grant proposal."

"My grant proposal?" I've never written a grant pro-posal. Ian was about to say that he had no idea
what theChancellor was talking about, but then thought it mightbe better not to admit such ignorance.

"You do remember your grant proposal?" the Chan-cellor asked suspiciously.

Ian forced a smile and nodded noncommittally.

"Right, then. I just wanted to be the first to congrat-ulate you. Your grant has come through. You know
whatthis means for our school? Isn't this wonderful?"

"It's come through," Ian replied, trying to keep hisconfusion out of his voice. "Why, that's wonderful."
Whatthe hell is he talking about?
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"Well, aren't you excited, my good man? Think of theprestige it will bring to this institution."

And to your plans for being the next Minister of Ed-ucation, Ian thought.

"Don't you have anything to say?"

Ian could only smile weakly.

 "Ah, I understand, of course you're in shock over thiswhole thing. But you'd better get cracking, my
good man.You're to be out of here Tuesday morning. By the way, are your passport and
twenty-three-forty-four medicalform up to date?"

"My twenty-three-forty-four?"

A glint of suspicion appeared in the Chancellor's eyes.He examined Ian as if he were an insect under a
magni-fying glass.

"Wake up, man, wake up. Your twenty-three-forty-four!"

"Sir, what is a twenty-three-forty-four?" Ian bleated.

"Good God, man, don't you understand what I'm talk-ing about?" Exasperated, the Chancellor opened
his at-tache case and pulled out a heavy document, bound in ared jacket. There was a quick flurry of
pages and theChancellor started to read.

 " 'All members of the party must qualify for translighttravel by successfully undergoing a full
twenty-three-forty-four medical review.' Dr. Lacklin, you wrote thatin the grant proposal, or don't you
remember? It's stan-dard medical policy for anyone traveling aboard the newtranslight vessels."

"I'm traveling translight!" Ian shouted in terror.

The Chancellor stood up to his full six-and-a-half-footheight and advanced around the desk. He loomed
overIan as if he were closing in for the kill, and Ian slippedlower into his seat.

"Dr. Lacklin, do you understand anything at all con-cerning what we've been talking about?"

Ian tried to sound self-assured, but only a mousy "no"squeaked out of him.

 A forefinger was suddenly pointed into lan's chest andwith each word spoken the Chancellor stabbed at
Ian withsuch force that Ian feared a rib might be broken.

 "Dr. Lacklin, at the beginning of this semester a grantproposal left the history department under your
signature.Your department, and your signature, Dr. Lacklin. And this document was addressed to the
Department of DeepSpace Survey and Exploration. Last year the DSSE an nounced that an Alpha 3
translight survey ship would be released from active service and placed at the disposal of the Ministry of
Education, and grant proposals would beaccepted as to its implementation and use. Do you followme so
far, Dr. Lacklin?"

"Yes."

"You are aware, of course, Dr. Lacklin, that we haveonly returned to space within the last hundred years
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and that translight was only discovered within the last fifteenyears. I am sure, Dr. Lacklin, that you realize
that there are only eleven translight ships available, and the Alpha3 is the first such model."

"Yes, I am a professor of space history," Ian replied,trying to sound insulted over such a simple question.

"Good. I wasn't sure on that point." The Chancellorcut him an icy gaze.

"The Alpha 3 was to be retired," Ian interjected. "Thedamn thing is unsafe; all the other ships of the same
designhave never returned."

 "Not to worry." And the Chancellor laughed. "I'vebeen assured that little problem has been cleared up.
But as I was telling you, Dr. Lacklin, the grant proposalunder your signature requested use of that vehicle
and,I quote, 'to attempt reestablishment of contact with theseven hundred colonies that abandoned
near-Earth spaceon the eve of the Holocaust War. This will be accomplished by consulting those
surviving records, recentlyuncovered, which indicate the courses of the colonies.Using translight
propulsion it will be a simple matter offollowing the original courses and thus overtaking theunits,'
unquote."

The Chancellor fixed Ian with a deadly, penetratinggaze. "Dr. Lacklin, did you write this grant
proposal?"

Ian looked up and started to answer.

"The truth, Dr. Lacklin, or you'll regret it!"

"No." His answer came out as a timid squeak.

 In exasperation the Chancellor slammed the proposalonto lan's desk. A flurry of dust swirled around the
twomen. The Chancellor suddenly reached across the table,grabbed hold of the proposal, and threw it
into lan'slap.

"Then look at this, damn it!"

Ian picked it up and, adjusting his glasses, he peeredowllike at the cover.

" 'A proposal for the implementation of the Alpha 3unit for the reestablishment of contact with colonial
unitsof the twenty-first century, submitted by Dr. Ian Lacklin,Provincial University System.' "

Ian suddenly felt very sick.

He pulled open the proposal and started to scan it.

"Turn to the last page, damn you!"

Ian obeyed the shouted command.



Proposed Crewing of the Alpha 3 Discovery
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 Understanding the extreme limitation on crew spaceand taking into consideration the isolation fromany
higher authority, it should be realized that the crew must deal with all contingencies related toestablishing
contact with human colonies whileout of contact with Earth. Crew proposal is asfollows:

 1. Pilot of the Alpha 3 unit with previous experience in deep space flight and isolation.

  2. Medical/biological technician with an understanding of medical situations unique to the twenty-first
century, since all units contacted will have beenisolated with their particular varieties of microbesfor the
last 1107 years.

 3. Sociological/psychological personnel capableof dealing with the ramifications of cross-cultural
exposure and shock.

 4. Assistant to the program director, capable of logging all reports, administering to all reporting,filing,
and data management.

 5. Program director, versed in twenty-first-century history, in particular relating to all aspectsof the
establishment of the self-contained coloniesstarting in 2019 until the decision to flee near-Earthspace in
the year 2078. The program director must be familiar with each of the colonial units in question, their
engineering, sociological backgrounds,cultural makeup, and administrative organizations.



Sweat broke out on lan's forehead. He stopped for amoment to look up at the Chancellor and was met
witha glacial stare. He returned to his reading.



 The program director should have a full under-standing of the process leading to the decision bythe
seven hundred colonial units to abandon Earth on the eve of the Holocaust War. The program di-rector
should be familiar with the trajectories se-lected by the units when evacuating near-Earth spaceand have
reasonable estimates of distance traveled by each unit since departure. All such data is cur-rently on file
with the author and is available uponrequest.



Ian groaned softly and looked up imploringly at theChancellor.

"Look at that signature," the Chancellor hissed.

Ian did as ordered and stared numbly at the signature and personal seal placed upon the last page of the
pro-posal. They were his, all right.

"Can you explain this?!" the Chancellor demanded.

Ian could only shake his head.

"Are those your signature and personal seal?"

"Yes," he replied weakly.
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"Then, good God, man, this is your grant proposal!"

"But I didn't write it."

 "Oh, yes you did, Dr. Lacklin, you most certainly did.My contact over at the Ministry has informed me
that the grant has been approved and that the decision has alreadybeen made that you, as the author of
this grant, shall lead the mission.

 "Dr. Lacklin, I don't give a good damn if you wrotethis thing or not, but as far as anyone is now
concerned,you are the sole author of it and will take responsibility as mission head. I'll not have it said
that this documentgot past my office and then turned out to be a fake. I'dbe the laughingstock of the
profession. Dr. Lacklin, thisone is yours and you are going for a ride with it!"

"I can't!"

"What do you mean, you can't? I don't think I'm hear-ing you correctly."

 "You know and I know that those Alpha 3s never cameback. Besides, I get deathly sick anytime I
travel."

 In his panic he could already conjure up a hundredpossible deaths in the mad venture—they could have
anengine overload, or misnavigation could send them intoa black hole. And the quarters, they were so
cramped theclaustrophobia alone would kill him. He wasn't going outthere, and that was that. He was a
historian, a dealer inthe safeness of the past—not some crazed adventurer. He simply reported and
glorified it all. It sure as hell wasn't his job to go out and actually do it.

 The Chancellor settled back in his chair and with a sudden change of tack started to smile gently.
"Come,come, Dr. Lacklin, think of the opportunity. This is your field. Think of the lucrative offers upon
your return. By heavens, man, the publishers would even snatch up thatbook you're working on."

"I can't go. I'm afraid of flying."

"Dr. Lacklin, think how ridiculous we'd look if it sud-denly came out that you were not the author of this
grant."

"I don't care if I look ridiculous."

"But I care, Dr. Lacklin. I most certainly care." There was a note of threat in the voice that carried a
distinctwarning.

 "Look, Ian"—and the Chancellor leaned forward, tryingto put on the suave charm though it was obvious
thatnear-homicidal rage churned just below the surface—"I'llmake it as plain as can be. This will put our
universityon the map. And it will be one of my department people who did it. The regional board of
directors will take veryfavorable notice of a campus with such a success."

"And over my vaporized body, you'll move into theNational Bureau of Education," Ian muttered.

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing, your Excellency, nothing."
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"Then you'll still refuse to take responsibility for thisgrant and will refuse the position of project
manager?"

Ian didn't answer.

"You'll be the coward just because of a little physicaldiscomfort and a very slight risk of danger?"

Ian could only nod his head.

"All right then, if that's the way you want it." TheChancellor suddenly turned and started for the door.

Ian slumped back into his chair and breathed an audiblesigh of relief. He knew a terrible revenge would
be ex-acted for his refusal, but anything was better than going"out there."

 The Chancellor started to open the door and then turned,giving Ian a cold-blooded look of appraisal.
"By the way, Dr. Lacklin. Have you ever heard of a young coed namedMakena LaFay?"

Panic seized lan's face. Cushman knew he had hit the right lever.

"Well, have you?"

"Yes." The answer was barely a whisper.

"She's the daughter of the provincial Governor, youknow. I've met Jeremiah LaFay any number of times.
Hissupport of the Reform Puritanical Movement is wellknown.

"I'd never want to cross him myself—his ability tohave opponents and personal enemies arrested for,
howshall I say, 'alleged violations of public morals' is well known."

Ian appeared to be on the edge of cardiac arrest.

 "Of course, I know dear Makena was an aggressiveyoung lady," the Chancellor continued with a cold,
ma-licious grin, "who perhaps did not live up to her father'spersonal code of morality. In fact, one of my
informantsin the women's living quarters stated that when Makena was a student last semester she openly
boasted, 'I twistedan A out of that fat little fool with only one night in thesack.' Do you know who that fat
little fool is, Dr. Lacklin?"

 A groan escaped from Ian. He couldn't help what hadhappened. She had been waiting for him at his
apartment in a state of extreme undress, giving full exposure to herample charms. He had tried valiantly to
show her thedoor, but in the end, simple human nature won out. Afterall, it had been several years
since...

"But I only gave her a B."

"Ah, only a B. Only a B! So, you don't deny it!"

Ian shrugged his shoulders.

 "Well, my good man, I know about this little B. In fact,half the females on this campus know about that
little B. And with a single phone call I can arrange for our goodfriend the Governor to know about that
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little B! And thenwe'll all get to see 'Only a B' Lacklin get his butt endhauled off by some of LaFay's
gorillas, who would loveto smash you to a pulp for violating the innocence of ourgood Governor's virginal
daughter."

"Virginal! She attacked me, your Excellency, I didn'tstand a chance."

 "Ah, so you admit it, then. Frankly, Ian, I find thatimpossible to accept. In the eyes of our good
God-fearingGovernor, his Little Precious is purer than arctic snow. It would break my heart to have to
tell him that she hadbeen brutally violated by one of my staff, who, of course,has just been fired."

 The Chancellor started to smile again. "But never fear,good friend. Of course I could never do that to
the heroof Kutzburg Provincial. Of course not. I think this littlematter can be forgotten for someone with
your stature. Now, my friend, I do believe we understand each other."

 Ian nodded dumbly. There was a seventy-five percentchance of a quick death in space. But he knew
there wouldbe a hundred percent chance of a couple of broken arms,and God knows what else, if he
stayed.

 "Fine, then, just fine, and let me be the first to offer you my congratulations. I'll send the necessary
paper-work down this afternoon and the school physician will be by within the hour to start processing
your twenty-three-forty-four. If I might be so bold, I'll help you outwith assigning your medical person
and sociologist, andyou can have the liberty of appointing your administrativeassistant. Have a pleasant
day, Dr. Lacklin. And I'll ex-pect you in my office at nine sharp Monday morning."

 The Chancellor closed the door behind him and startedoff for the Academic Records Office. There was
a littlequestion of a grade change up to an A that had to belooked into. After all, he had promised her he
would takecare of it. And just to make sure there wasn't an embar-rassing change of heart, he would
push Ian off-planetwithin the week, along with the other embarrassing clownson his staff. He could
already picture his new office in the National Bureau. He smiled in anticipation.



Ian tried to control the wild panic and for a momenthe contemplated suicide. But that required a little
morecourage than he could muster, and he pushed the thoughtaside; the reams of work facing him that
weekend wouldrequire some help. He'd better give Shelley a call.

Shelley! He leaped out of his chair and pulled open thedoor. And there she was. As if waiting for him.

"Dr. Lacklin, ah, yeah. Ah, I thought I, ah, left mybooks here..."

 Once a week Shelley took him a pile of paperwork. Itgot so that he never even bothered to ask what
the in-dividual items where, and he merely signed each docu-ment or memo and affixed his personal seal
to it. Thedamn woman had written the grant and sneaked it in with the other paperwork, since only a fully
accredited instruc-tor could make grant applications to the Ministry.

"Get in here!" Ian shouted, suddenly finding a way atlast to vent his frustration.

"Ah, well, you see, Doctor. I, ah, got this book I wantto read. Couldn't I, ah—"

"If you value your life, you better get your butt in hereright now!"
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                                               CHAPTER 2




 Brazil's tropical heat was finally locked out by thesilent closing of the liftcar's door. Ian gratefully sank
intothe first available seat and Shelley eased in alongside.Mopping his face with a soaked handkerchief,
Ian breatheda sigh of relief as the frigid air washed over him. The air-conditioning in the Brasilia Skyhook
Station was again down for "routine inspection," meaning that the incompetent ground staff would take
two weeks to find out whatwas wrong. The result had been an agonizing eight hoursof 100-degree heat
while waiting for the next liftcar. Nowthat his fear of dying from the heat was removed, Ian Lacklin again
had time to curse the fates in general andChancellor Cushman in particular.

 After the initial shock of the Chancellor's news had worn off, Ian had thought that, bureaucrats being
whatthey are, it would take a year at the very least before themission was cleared for launch. Given that
much time, he had naively reasoned there would be ample opportunities to gum up the paperwork into
such a tangle that the mission would just keep getting delayed, postponing for-ever the dreaded jump into
deep space.

 But he now realized that the Chancellor had been half a dozen moves ahead of him from the beginning.
lan'sbattle plan collapsed in a paper blizzard as the Chancelloroutclassed and outmaneuvered him in
every bureaucratic strategem possible.

 In the final act of a "team spirit send-off," the Chan-cellor had personally driven Ian and Shelley to the
New Bostem airstrip for their connecting flight to the Brasilia Skyhook Station. Shelley and the
Chancellor had evenmanaged to have a fairly civil conversation about the prospects before them. As a
final gesture he gave them a send-off bouquet of flowers, which made Ian sneeze.

 Ian turned in his seat and gave Shelley an appraisingglance. Why he had requested her was beyond him.
Per-haps it was revenge for her getting him into the mess. Heknew he wasn't attracted to her in any
physical way; shewas all adolescent angles, even though she was alreadyin her early twenties. She had
the air typical of a studious female, one who would forever be bound to a book, wear the most
uncomplimentary of heavy wools, and never becured of near-terminal acne.

 If Shelley had any positive feature, it was her abilityto cover his tail when it came to paperwork and
organi-zation. Only Shelley could make any sense out of lan's data files—if Ian had to run up his data by
himself hewould soon be totally lost... lan's contemplation of Shel-ley ended as the liftcraft attendant
turned on the infor-mation channel.

"Welcome to Brasilia Station, Skyhook 4. Your liftcraftis now preparing for departure."

Shelley turned to Ian with a bewildered look and herealized that her chair speaker was set for
Portuguese.Turning the switch on her armrest to English, he settledback and tried to calm his nerves.

 "We apologize for any inconvenience you may have suffered because of the malfunctioning
air-conditioningsystem. Now that you are aboard the liftcraft you mayrest assured that our crew will see
to your every comfort."
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 Some of the hundred-odd passengers laughed, but theirbiting comments about the competence of the
staff and the safety of the liftcraft didn't help Ian in the slightest.

 "Our transit time to Geosync Station 4 will be elevenhours and twenty minutes..." The voice droned on
aboutemergency procedures and safety regulations, but lan'sthoughts had already drifted away.

The liftcar started to shake, and Shelley's hand duginto his forearm. "What was that?" she whispered
hoarsely.

Ian pointed out the window and smiled at her as if shewere a naive child.

"Why, we've started up, that's all."

The car silently started its ascent up the vertical track, exerting a slight pressure in the pit of his stomach.
Sud-denly they cleared the interior of the Brasilia station andbroke into the tropical sunlight. Their speed
was alreadybetter than a kilometer a minute and the ground droppedaway.

 How undramatic this all is, Ian thought sadly, eventhough he fully realized that he would have been
terrifiedby the old way of trans-Earth lift-off. The days of chemical rockets belching scarlet plumes of
incandescent flame weregone forever. Never would he have the chance to go roar-ing into the heavens
atop a crackling, thundering throneof fire. That was gone, long since gone—a distant memoryalready half
a hundred years past, now that the SkyhookTowers girdled the equator with a ring of spokes. Thetowers
rose tens of thousands of kilometers to geosync and yet that distance beyond for the necessary
counter-weighting. The trip into space was reduced to a simple elevator ride; a very long elevator ride, to
be sure, butlacking the thundering grandeur of so long ago.

 Shelley was quickly glued to the window as they rose up and away. At the twenty-kilometer level the
curvatureof the Earth was ever so slightly visible, and Ian couldsee the deepening indigo of their
destination. Pressing upagainst the window alongside Shelley, he looked down onthe Earth, which was
dropping away with ever-increasingspeed.

For long minutes Shelley stayed pressed to the win-dow, until a faint groan sounded alongside her. "Dr.
Lacklin, what's wrong?"

 "Just thinking about zero G, that's all"—he moanedfeebly—"just thinking about zero G." And he fumbled
through the storage pouch alongside his chair, makingsure that the white plastic bags were there, ready
for hisuse.

 The acceleration was light but constant, as if a gentle hand were pushing them back into their couches.
Zerogravity would not occur until the car arrived at the geosync station, where their velocity in
relationship to theEarth would cancel out their potential rate of fall.

But Ian attempted to divert his thoughts from thatdreaded moment by looking out at the indigo band that
marked the upper reaches of the Earth's atmosphere.

 As if on cue, the steward appeared, pushing a cart ladenwith the more potent forms of liquid relaxant.
Ian handedover a fiver, pointed with three fingers to a dark amberbottle, and an icy triple of rum was
produced.

 He settled back into his chair and took a long, refresh-ing sip. So he was embarking on the great
journey, fol-lowing the path of his heroes on their outward reach tothe stars. How often he had tried to
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romanticize this tohis bored students, who viewed the exploration of spacewith not one-tenth the interest
that was reserved for theafternoon video love shows. How he longed for the worldof a millennium earlier,
when things were held in theirproper perspective.

 Idiots! At least I'm away from them. He took anotherswallow. In spite of his fears, Ian felt a tingling, a
surgeof excitement. He was reaching out along the same paththat millions had followed so long ago. He
would at last have the chance to follow them outward and discover thesecret of their odyssey.

 The thought set his heart to pounding. He was aboutto realize the ultimate fantasy of any good
historian—tocome face to face with the past. With luck he might even find a Mitsubishi Habitat, or one of
the old O'Neill Cyl-inders. Ian knew historians who would joyfully have killedtheir mothers if it meant a
chance to meet with Churchill or to witness the Mongol burning of Kiev. And here washis chance, his
dream coming out to meet him. He couldremember how Lelezi dreamed of finding a tape showing a
Saturn V lift-off. Sure, once that would have given Iana thrill, but now he was going for far bigger game.

The steward came by again and Ian waved for anothertriple. Shelley gave him a frown.

His mind lapsed into happy reverie. He could imag-ine meeting in secret with Smith and the Council of
Tenas they made their momentous decision to abandon Earth on the eve of the Holocaust War. Yes, Ian
Lacklin, an-nouncing to a startled world the forming of the Allianceand the Declaration of Severance...

"It's wonderful, just simply wonderful!"

 Several heads turned to look at him, but he didn't givea damn. Hell no, they can all kiss off. He was Ian
Lacklin,noted historian, soon to be explorer. Why, damn it, oncehe returned from this voyage, there
wouldn't be a pub-lisher in the country crazy enough to turn down his man-uscripts. He'd have it made.
Yes sir, he could snap hisfingers at the Chancellor, why, even the Governor couldkiss his butt. The
thought of such a thing made him laughout loud. And to think that just a week ago he was terrifiedabout
the Governor's ever finding out about him and what's-her-name.

 And the Chancellor, yeah the Chancellor. Good-bye tothat rotten SOB and all the bureaucratic
nightmares ofteaching at a government-run institution. No more damnedmemos about using the correct
forms, or inventories re-porting how many erasers were missing, or asinine edu-cation courses. No sir,
Ian thought, no more facultymeetings, and most of all, no more educational politics."No more!" he
shouted out loud. "Say, steward, get overhere if you please, my good man."

 Shelley was looking around the cabin in mortal em-barrassment, when an insistent warning beeper
suddenlykicked on. "All passengers, this is your flight director.Please be sure that your safety belts are
fastened." Ianpaid it no heed.

Shelley looked over at Ian and made sure that he was strapped in.

 "We have reached maximum velocity; our accelerationwill terminate in ten seconds. You'll experience a
mo-mentary sensation of lightness when acceleration cuts out.We know you'll enjoy it as a pleasant
foretaste of zero Gat Geosync 4. Thank you."

 "And you know what I'd like to tell Miss Redding,Miss C.C. Set Procedures Redding right now?" Ian
shouted.

Shelley looked at him wide-eyed. In her entire shel-tered experience of university parents and honors
dor-mitories, she had never been forced to deal with a drunkenmale.
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 She was still searching for an apt response when the acceleration cut off. Shelley suddenly felt as if she
hadbeen riding an elevator (which indeed she was) and thevehicle had slowed while she kept going. Her
stomachfelt as if it were climbing out her mouth.

 And suddenly she no longer had to think of how torespond to Ian. Her only concern now was to find
enoughtowels to start cleaning up her thoroughly besotten pro-fessor.

                                                   ***

"Yes, Dr. Redding, of course."

 He tried to back out of the cramped middle cabin, butthe laws of zero G tricked him. His arms flailing
like berserk windmill sails, Richard Croce spun across theroom, slapped into the wall, then ricocheted
back towardEllen Redding, who didn't hesitate for one second with her high-speed outpouring of vitriolic
abuse.

"Damn it, woman, help me." Richard groaned as hedid a slow rolling dive straight at her bulging
midsection.

Grabbing hold of a support railing, Ellen gently pulledherself out of Richard's dive-bomb approach. He
driftedpast her and smacked into the opposite wall of the cabin, this time face first, but his outstretched
hands grabbed apadded rail and prevented another pinball-like trajectory.

 "Now, Dr. Croce, if you've stopped your acrobaticdisplay of zero-gravity ineptitude, I would like to
sum-marize my argument."

"Damn it, Ellen, I can't do anything about it."

 "Dr. Redding to you, Doctor Croce." There was a sar-castic edge to how she said Dr. Croce— as if the
linkingof the two words were somehow impossible.

 "All right, Dr. Redding," Richard replied coldly, "I'llremember your title." The rest of the sentence started
toform but he thought better of it. He viewed doctorates in sociology and collective psychology as having
the same validity as a doctorate in physical education or schooladministration.

"Thank you"—she hesitated for a moment, and thensmiled icily—"Doctor."

 He took several deep breaths in a vain attempt to calmhimself, then decided to start in again. "And
another thing, Captain Leminski stated that our gross weight is a hundredand twenty kilos over." He eyed
her bulging form sar-castically, and she started to color into a deeper shade ofpurple that went beyond
the flaming red of her hair.

"I know where we can dump off that weight right now,"she replied evenly.

"I don't see anything coming off your manifest."

"Because it doesn't need to."

"A hundred and fifty kilos of survey forms in triplicate!You call that necessary!" Richard shouted.
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 "Dr. Croce, I've already explained to you that I'vebeen sent on this expedition by our Chancellor to
gatherimportant data. The best way for a sociologist and col-lective psychologist to gather information is
through ob-servation and survey."

 "You don't even know if they'll be able to read thedamn things. Did you get your precious forms
translated into Old English or Japanese or Russian? Well, did you?"

"There is no need of that. I'm sure your good friendIan will be able to translate for us."

 The loathing she put into the word Ian was almostfrightening in its intensity. The faculty battles between
Ian Lacklin and Ellen Redding were near legend. Richardpitied poor Ian when he came aboard.

 "Dr. Redding, I'm sure the Chancellor doesn't give agood damn about these so-called Lost Colonies.
Person-ally, I think this whole charade is nothing more than ahairbrained move on the Chancellor's part
to get rid ofhis most embarrassing tenured faculty."

"Now, Croce, you—"

"Dr. Croce, to you."

Boiling with anger, Ellen stumbled for a response, andRichard pushed on.

 "If—and I say, if—we find these colonies, I think Ian will have more to do with his time than to translate
yourhalf-witted sociological surveys to a bunch of people whomost likely won't want to be surveyed in
the first place.Therefore, my dear doctor, I think it only logical that yourdamn bloody forms should be
heaved out right now."

 "If anything is to be heaved, it should be those tencases of alleged surgical and sterilization equipment." A
smug smile lit up her pudgy face, and she laughed maliciously. "Besides, Doctor, a half hour ago I
managed toput one of those cases through the airlock."

 "You bitch! Do you know how hard it was to get thatgin up here!" His voice trailed off into incoherent
screams.One-tenth of his liquor, gone! Three years for this damnedmission, and only nine cases to see
him through! Richardbarely heard Leminski shout over the intercom about aship's docking alongside as
he launched himself throughthe air toward Ellen.

The hatch behind them opened. A green face peeredthrough. "Oh, my God." Ian groaned.

 "Ah, Ian, old friend," Richard shouted, as he drifted within striking distance of Ellen, "you're just in time
towitness the effect of zero gravity on blubber."

"Why, you pickled sot—"

"Enough! I've had enough!" A wiry form in blue cov-eralls pushed through the doorway behind Ian.

"Ah, Ian," Richard said with sudden cheer, "meet ourpilot and guide through the universe, Stasz
Leminski."

Ian extended his hand, but Stasz ignored him.

"I have my orders," Stasz whispered in a sharp, hissingvoice. His five-and-a-half-foot, hundred-pound
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frameseemed to be a coiled bundle of energy ready to explodein violent rage at any second.

"The problem is simple. We need to dump one hundredand twenty kilos. You must decide which one
hundredand twenty kilos within twenty-three hours. Antimatterignition sequencing will start in twenty-six
hours. If bythree hours before departure you have not dumped theexcess mass, I will do it for you."

Grabbing hold of a handrail, he turned himself aboutas if getting set to leave.

 "Ah, Leminski, I don't think you quite understand," Ellen Redding said. She spoke with the pedantic style
typical of a professor addressing an idiot or a first-yearuniversity student.

 "I understand perfectly, Miss Redding." He smiled atight wolfish grin as she stiffened to the form of
address."You see, Miss Redding, I am the craft pilot and engineer, therefore I am responsible for the
function of this wreckwhich the Confederation has pawned off on you... well, never mind that. As I was
saying, when it comes to thefunction of this vessel, I am in control."

Pushing off, he floated back down the corridor.

 Ellen turned on Ian, who quailed at the sight of his old nemesis. But before she could speak, Stasz's
voice driftedback to them. "By the way, Dr. Redding, I'm declaringthat Croce's 'surgical supplies' are
now part of my ship's maintenance stores, therefore they are not to be touched.Dr. Lacklin, I'd suggest
that those damned forms get dumped right now. Heaven knows how I hate forms; infact, I've already got
eighty kilos' worth in the airlock."He laughed sardonically and disappeared into the forward control
room.

 Sensing an impending explosion, Richard pushed pastEllen and mumbled an excuse about checking his
equip-ment. As he drifted by Ian, his nose wrinkled at the soursmell.

"Good luck, old boy," Richard whispered.

"If I'd known that she was going to be aboard, I'd havestayed home in spite of the Chancellor," Ian
whisperedin reply. "Writing grants would be heaven compared tothis."

"I heard that, Ian."

Richard grabbed Shelley's arm and pushed her out thehatch, abandoning Ian to what Richard told her
would be"a friendly Social Science Departmental Meeting."

 The shouting between the two old rivals filled the ship until Stasz finally called it to halt and begged for a
littlesleep before departure.




                                                CHAPTER 3
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 "Ithought it essential that we all sit down togetherbefore departure and briefly review what we can
expect."Ian was trying to speak with an authoritative voice,but it came out more as a strangled croak. He
and EllenRedding had had such a knock-down drag out over whowas in control of the mission that he
had actually shoutedhimself hoarse. He looked across at her and tried a wansmile, but from her response
it must have looked to herto be a threatening grimace. Nevertheless she said noth-ing; his halfhearted
threat to call the Chancellor and resignover her presence, for the moment at least, had been the lever to
submission.

 "Why we've been assigned is the Chancellor's decision and not mine. But I can see where, if anything, he
wishedto get rid of three tenured faculty and bring in his ownpeople—and, Ellen, I'd think even you'd
agree with that."She nodded her head sadly. Most of the campus staffknew about the affair between
Ellen and the Chancellora dozen years back, when he was still the glad-handing, ever-smiling young
hotshot assistant to the assistant vicepresident. Out of that had come the famous nickname "C.C."
Redding, which most faculty could guess at but usually would not discuss with anyone less than a grad-
uate student.

 Leminski floated to one side of the table and lookedvacantly off into space with a slightly bored
expressionof disdain.

Ian cleared his throat and tried to continue. "Stasz,are we in trim for flight weight?"

"Yeah, and one kilo under. Croce and me drained offan extra bottle of gin and just discharged it a little
while ago."

Oh, great, Ian thought, Richard has a new drinkingbuddy. The pilot to whom we've entrusted our lives.

"All right then, we've got our ship, everything is loaded,and now we have to decide where to go."

 Richard looked up at Ian. "What do you mean, wheredo we go? Why, I thought this expedition was to
look forthe Lost Colonies."

"It's not that simple," Ian said softly. "Shelley's grantrequest mentioned in general terms the seven
hundred lost colonies, and indeed if all of them survived, whichis highly unlikely, we are now presented
with an inter-esting piece of math which our dear sponsors nevergrasped."

"Go on," Ellen said softly, without a trace of anger.When it came to questions of odds and statistics, she
wasall professional and, in fact, even cordial.

 "All right, here is what we know—the givens, so tospeak. Starting in the year 2079 the first colonial units
came to the decision to abandon Earth in light of the coming war. Their propulsion systems were
stationkeeping units, not heavy-lift devices. Given the tech level ofthe period, the only propulsion units
available were iondrive, plasma drive, solar sail, antimatter, and thermo-nuclear pulse.

 "Within four years the first unit completed its modi-fications and was away. Seven hundred and
twenty-three departed before August 7, 2087, when the first wave ofEMP detonations on Earth and the
subsequent strikes wiped out all communication."

Ian was really getting into form now, and for once hehad an interested audience. His was no longer dry
his-tory—it was the information that would be the center oftheir lives for the next three years.
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"Could more units have left afterward?" Richard asked.

 "Possibly. And just that question shows the problemsof this quest. There is only one absolute given in
thiswhole scheme. Six hundred and twelve units did pull outof near-Earth orbit and one hundred and
eleven otherspulled out from various deep-space orbits, including threeasteroid mining-survey colonies.

 "But the data stops the day the war started, when thetracking facilities on the Moon and Mars were
knockedout. So there is the potential that approximately seven hundred other units, which were preparing
to abandonEarth orbit, did indeed abandon orbit."

"So that increases our odds tremendously?" Ellen askedcautiously,

"Yes, from next to impossible to almost next to im-possible. And I'm not being sarcastic. You see, the
Co-pernicus site did have the initial trajectory data. In fact,for the units that left several years before the
war, thedata are pretty darn good, since they had time to do somepinpoint tracking.

 "So here we have the raw data of seven hundred-oddcolonies to start with, that's great. However, did
you everstop to think"—and Ian was talking in general, but every-one could sense that it was directed
toward Shelley— "just how big it is out there?"

She smiled wanly and nodded. The stares of the otherthree focused on her, and she could feel the
hostility grow-ing as each one thought about the fact that it was theoverzealous young student who had
pulled them fromtheir more-comfortable niches and sent them to synchron-ous orbit.

"It's not that bad," she said meekly.

"Not that bad!" Stasz interjected. "My hand to God,for I speak the truth, it's merely numbing in size.

"How far could they have gone?" he asked, shiftinghis gaze from Shelley back to Ian.

"Not far. It's estimated that their drive systems at bestcould take them up to point-one light. Therefore, a
max-imum of 112 light-years out. That gives us a cubic volumeof.. .let me see."

 "Nearly ten million cubic light years." Ellen said softly,obviously proud that she could outdo them all in a
little exercise of mental calculation.

 "Therefore," Ian responded, "I present our problem—where do we start? We shall be looking for
approximatelyseven hundred units in an area of ten million cubic light-years."

"Can't we eliminate a good part of that?" Richard asked.

 "I think so," Stasz interjected. "The fifteen stars near-est to Earth have already been checked
out—without anysign of refugee colonies. That eliminates nearly a hundred craft right there, since their
trajectories carried them thatway. Now, it is of course possible that they went to those systems,
slingshoted around them, and went off on tan-gent trajectories,, thereby making predictions of their
whereabouts more difficult."

 "And I think we can also eliminate two hundred or socolonies because the data we have on them
indicates thatthey would not have survived the journey for long."
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"Why so, Dr. Lacklin?" Shelley asked, curiosityovercoming her desire to hide.

"The answer is simple. We are dealing with closedecosystems. There is a certain amount of free
hydrogenavailable in interstellar space, and if you could accelerateup to ramjet velocities that would be
useful, but outsideof the propulsion systems, the colonies had to be onehundred percent closed."

"I'm not sure that I follow you," Ellen admitted.

 "Well, let us say that a colony had a ninety-nine point nine percent reclamation rate for all combinations
of ox-ygen. Let's say that across a time period ofX , point onepercent of the total oxygen supply is lost
due to faultyreclamation, leaks, and such. Now, point one is not badfor any vessel ifX equals one year.
But look at the simplemath—in one thousand years, unless another oxygen sup-ply was found, the colony
would be dead. Now, this equa-tion applies to every resource: oxygen, amino acids, carboncompounds,
nitrogen, various electronic components, andeven worse, any catalysts, substances that are changedby
the interaction of a process."

 "The first critical point of scarcity," Richard inter-rupted, "defines the limits of growth or survival." He
looked around with a self-satisfied smile, as Ian and theothers turned to him.

 "Well, it's an ecological point, and that's what thesecolonies are—closed ecologies. The first point of
scarcitywill define their possible limit, any bioscientist knows that. So you're saying that a number of these
units hadlimited carrying capacity."

 "At least a hundred are most likely dead by now," Iancontinued, "unless they entered another star system
forresupply and possible colonization. But from what Staszhas said of the. survey, there were no signs of
that."

"So far we've checked the fifteen nearest stars," Stasz responded.

"And nothing?" Shelley asked.

"Not a sign."

 "It's damn peculiar," Shelley replied. "You'd havethought that the units would have naturally gravitated to
the nearest star systems."

"Maybe none of them were appropriate," Richard in-terjected.

 "Two of the systems had planetary bodies that might have been useful for resupply, but the others,
except forthe energy from the star, were next to useless," Staszreplied.

 "Let's get back to the question of which direction totake," Ellen said, sensing that the rest of them would
soonbe off on a technical discussion that could last for days.

 "Ah, yes," Ian responded, as if being drawn back froma drifting line of thought that he wished to pursue.
"Whichway..." His voice trailed off.

 "How about thataway," Richard announced melodra-matically, while pointing off vaguely toward the
"down"direction of the room.

"Dr. Lacklin," Shelley said quietly, waiting for thelaughter at Richard's comment to die down. "Dr.
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Lacklin,what about toward SETI Anomaly One and the galacticcenter?"

Ian brightened up at her suggestion.

 "Precisely what I was leading to, of course," he said hurriedly. "You see, there was one general trend in
themovement.Colonial 237 , which was the second unit todepart, was headed straight for the galactic
center, and our records show that one hundred thirty-five other unitswent within ten minutes of arc to
either side of that point."

"Well, that narrows the volume tremendously."

"Still a bit of a problem, Ellen," Stasz replied.

Ellen groaned. "It only gives us an area about twenty-one thousand A.U. in diameter to search at a range
offifty light-years out."

 Ian chuckled softly and gave Shelley a baleful glance. "I tried to explain this to the Chancellor, but do
you thinkhe cared about the mathematics of our search? Oh no.You see, a bright young graduate
assistant had convinceda bunch of drone-head bureaucrats that this expeditioncould work." His normally
high voice started to crackinto falsetto. "Twenty-one thousand A.U." And shakinghis head, he fell silent.

"Why the galactic center?" Richard asked.

 "Why not? There were several stars they could orbitinto along the path, and somehow it seemed
appropriate.Sort of like going to the center of everything, if you will.And if we were to find anything in
terms of life, I guess that would be the place to look for it. That, and the SETIcontact back in 2018,
coming straight out from the galacticcenter. Even though the contact point was estimated tobe four
thousand light-years away, it was still somethingto go for in all that immensity of space."

"Are there any other areas of such promise?" Staszasked.

 "No," Ian said softly, "the other colonies were prettyevenly distributed. A fair number going toward the
thirtynearest stars, and, like I already said, the paradox of thisis that in the first fifteen checked out so far,
not onesighting has been made. If we head toward the galacticcenter, within a hundred light-years three
stars not toofar off the trajectory might be worth checking out. Twenty- three units used solar sails as
their propulsion, and withour survey-ship telescopies, we can run a computerizedscan as we head out.
Forty of the units were using theold Orion concept—nuclear-blast pulsing."

"God, how primitive," Stasz muttered.

 "Yeah, almost barbaric, but it worked. We might getlucky and detect a detonation or, at least, residual
radia-tion from the pulsers. The ramjets will leave a certainamount of disturbance in their wake, and with
luck, we can latch on. We'll have to trust to the nav-detectioncomputer system to pick out anything and
hope that thereis some semblance of communication between them whichwe can home in on. Many of
the units carried a powerful beacon system and we know the frequencies, so we cantrack on that, as
well.

"So, unless one of my fellow travelers has anothersuggestion, I guess we should point ourselves into the
galactic core and hope."

"We do have fairly precise measurements on colonials418and422 ," Shelley interjected. "We could try
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for themfirst."

 "I don't think it really matters," Ian replied despond-ently, "so what the hell, enter it into the log as we
departthat we're locking onto the tracks of418 and422. At leastit will make us sound like we're doing
something."

"You sound as if you don't expect to find any of thosecolonies," Ellen responded.

"By the Eye of the Crab," Stasz shouted, and he pointedto Richard and winked. Richard pulled a plastic
pouchout of his pocket and tossed it to the pilot, who snatchedit out of the air, pulled the straw out, and
drained off somuch of the contents that Richard's face fell even as Stasz'sturned redder and redder.

 "As I was about to say, nearly seventy-five percent ofthese Alpha-3 class survey ships never came back
fromtheir surveys. Hell, lady, chances are you'll die before weever find one of lan's bloody lost friends.
Why the hell do you think the government gave this ship to your grantfoundation? Two years ago they
dumped a pretty penny into overhauling this crate and then the smart boys inResearch and Development
come up with a safer andfaster design. Now if they scrapped this bucket somedamn fool antispace
senator would scream that we're wasting taxpayers' money. Of course nobody in DSSEwants assignment
to this deathtrap, so some bright youngfellow comes up with the idea of giving it to you damned stupid
educators via the research foundation. Why, that'sthe perfect plan! This bucket sails off to oblivion, no
oneat DSSE is to blame, and in fact we get a bigger appro-priation to build a replacement."

"So why are you along, my friend?" Richard asked.

'"Cause I had a little run-in with the Governor."

"Oh."

"Did you ever hear of his daughter?"

 Richard Croce's and Ellen Redding's howls filled theroom. Ian just turned scarlet. Only Shelley was
strangely quiet.

 "You're all crazy, you are," Stasz shouted. "I'll watchyou laugh though when I punch us out of here in
threehours. Is it the galactic center, then?"

 Ian nodded his head sadly. Why not? Hell, it was asgood as any area to search. They'd have to find at
leastone colony, that was plain. Maybe with a little luck theycould score something in a year or so.



 With a whispering hiss theDiscovery slipped from itsdocking bay, the faint push from the back of the
seat creating a sensation that "down" was at the rear of thecommand compartment. Ian looked across at
Shelley, whowas in the couch behind Stasz, and gave a reassuringsmile. But she didn't need one. It was
her first flight, andfor her it was a moment full of wonder.

 Ian listened in on the chatter over Stasz's comlink. Henever figured out how a pilot could make sense of
thenonstop commands as flight control sorted out the dozensof incoming and outbound flights.

 "Com Sat Rep 23A, your approach to D-97 on 933 isopen. Ah,VCT9 -er, you are cleared for entry
into Restrict9, approach at point-four M per.Discovery1 ..."
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"That's us," Stasz whispered.

"Out to depart line 8, cleared at your discretion. Goodluck."

 "Discovery 1up to point-one G on depart line 8," Staszreplied as his fingers danced across the green-lit
board.The quiet hissing was suddenly punched out by a dullrumbling throb that pushed them back into
their seats, then the booster flared to life as Stasz punched up anoutside view astern on the main monitor
so his passengerscould watch departure.

 The nexus point of the station was already a mile eastern, silhouetted by the backlighting of a half-phase
Earth. The skyhook beyond the nexus shone like a diamond, thesharp, straightedged line descended
toward Earth until itfinally disappeared from view. Jutting out from the cablein all directions a host of
spidery weblines curved away into the infinity of space, a halo over 45,000 miles in diameter, hanging
above the Earth—the growing hub ofcivilization's outward reach.

 The passengers ofDiscovery 1 were strangely quiet as each one dealt with his inner fears. Stasz's
taunting wordshad a ring of truth to all of them. The odds were stacked against the voyage, and all
because a Chancellor wantedto rid himself of some staff to open up positions for a couple of new
cronies.

 "Take a good look at old mother Earth." Stasz laughedsoftly. "You ain't gonna see no blue for a long
time tocome. Jesus, it got so on my last trip, out that I wouldthink more about blue skies and oceans than
I even thoughtabout sex. Funny how the body misses some things morethan others out here."

"You're really not helping things," Richard replied.

"Not paid to help things." Stasz laughed. "Paid to flythis crate and point out the realities to you folks.
Hangon, I'm bringing her up to three G."

 He punched up the control buttons and the rumblingroar increased in pitch as they were pushed deeper
intotheir seats. Ian rolled his head toward Shelley and sawthat she was absolutely enthralled with the
whole thing.

 She gave him an excited smile. "This is what it musthave been like for those first voyagers," she said, her
eyes alight with excitement. The only response she re-ceived were groans from Ellen and Richard.

Within minutes Richard noticed that the half planet ofEarth was noticeably receding, so that the entire
planetoccupied less than half the screen. The Brasilia terminuswas still visible, looking more like a jewel in
a spider'sweb than a complex structure that housed half a thousandworkers and docking ports for a
hundred ships.

 Stasz slowly throttled them up to 3.5 G and held therate there for several long minutes. Ian knew it was
simplya matter of showmanship on Stasz's part. They could justas easily have accelerated at 1 G as they
cleared near-Earth space—and the ultimate effect would have been nodifferent—but Stasz, like most
pilots, wanted to "hot trail"it out and feel the pleasure of raw power under his control.

 Let him have his fun, Ian thought. He was surprisedto realize that he was enjoying himself. The historian
inhim was fantasizing, as well—just as Shelley was doing—imagining the feel of an old shuttle or HBV at
lift-off. He settled into his couch and let the pulsing roar engulf him in a drowsy state. Suddenly the
pressure intensified andhe heard a muffled cry of dismay from Richard. Looking across to Stasz, Ian saw
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that the pilot had slammed thethrottle to the wall. Stasz's eyes were wide and betrayed a maniacal gleam:
he was getting off on the power.

They inched up past 4 and then started toward 4.5, andStasz laughed with a high-pitched keen.

Great, the pilot was crazy!

 TheDiscovery thundered away, slashing across spaceon its outward trajectory. And suddenly the
rockets winkedoff.

A deep rolling sensation rose from lan's stomach asthey went from 4.5 to 0 in an instant. He had the
unpleas-ant sensation that he was tumbling head over heels, andfrom her low, gasping groan he knew that
Ellen Reddingwas already experiencing the worst of it. Stasz merelylaughed.

"And into the universe!" he cried.



 The disk of the Moon soon matched the Earth's in size,as Stasz called them to the forward cabin where
they strapped themselves back into their cushioned couches.

 "I've reviewed it with you once, but for one last time, here we go. We've cleared the major shipping
lanes ofnear-Earth environment, and our nav system has comeup clean, but to be on the safe side I've
positioned our initial path five degrees of arc off the asteroid belt andwill compensate once we've cleared
that region. Remem-ber, the translight jump will cause a momentary blackout and all of you will
experience some degree of nausea, so have those damn bags ready. After the initial jump theship's
gravity inertia system will kick on, so remember that there will be one G aligned toward the long axis of
the ship.

"Are you ready?"

They all nodded bleakly. Ian shot one final look at the small blue-green disk just barely visible on the
video dis-play. This great adventure was already starting to pale.Just what the hell was he doing there?

 "Oh, by the way," Stasz shouted out with a laugh, "in one out of every ninety-seven point four jumps, the
shipbreaks up. We've never figured out why. Just thought you might like to know."

 Ian looked at Ellen. She was tight-lipped but managed a cold grimace of a smile. He wasn't sure if it was
a smileof genuine fear or one of resentment at the crazy schemethat had dragged her into space. Shelley,
however, had a look of joyous anticipation. Richard was strangely quiet, and Ian suddenly realized that
the doctor had narced him-self out with a tranq shot.

"Here we go," Stasz shouted. "Crazy Stasz plays withlight speed—and don't say I didn't warn you!" He
pulledthe lever that punched them into star drive.

 lan's vision blurred. He tried to focus on the disk ofthe Earth, but it was already lost to view. The sun
shotinto range of the camera focused astern, its once-yellowdisk shifting through the lower end of the
visual spectrumto infrared. The darkness of space around it distorted ina hazy shimmer. He could hear
Stasz's high-pitched laugh-ter and, as if triggered by it, experienced a swirling black-ness of nightmarish
dreams.
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                                               CHAPTER 4




 The shipboard routine was soon established. Ellen avoided Ian and Richard and to their surprise soon
fas-tened her attention onto Stasz, even though he was, inher own words, "merely a ship's driver, and not
a verywell-educated driver at that."

 They were grateful for the respite. The vessel was smallenough, as it was, but hidden in an aft storage
compart-ment Ian soon found a quiet retreat where he could bealone with his thoughts. And it was there,
several weeksafter Discovery's departure, that Richard came to him, bottle in hand.

 "Ah, my good friend and fellow wizard," Richard in-toned softly, holding up the precious bottle of gin for
lan'sexamination. "Come, my morose and melancholy col-league, life could be worse. You could be back
at thatdamnable college with that thrice-damned Chancellorbreathing down your neck. So come drain
this preciousliquid with me and rejoice that fortune has thus smiledupon us."

Ian smiled wanly and pushed aside a couple of cratesto widen his little nook so Richard could crawl in.

Richard squirmed into the cubbyhole, uncorked thebottle, and offered it to him straight.

 Ian screwed up his face and, with a quick tilt of thehead, gulped down the scalding liquid. His eyes
streamed rivers of tears; he coughed convulsively and struggled forbreath, but soon the warming glow
spread through hisbody.

 Richard looked around the retreat and shook his head.He knew Ian to be a fairly typical intellectual
neurotic,but the man was head of the project and their lives coulddepend on this neurotic's decisions.
"Must say that you'vegot a nice little fortress here." He took the bottle fromIan, drained off a mouthful,
and smacked his lips. "Youcertainly picked a nice place to hide out."

 Ian gave Richard a twisted smile, already knowing whathe was driving at. "You mean, retreat from
reality."

"Now did I say that, my good man?"

 "No, but we've known each other for twenty years. Ican already tell you what you've been thinking
about.Shall I?"

"By all means, second guess me."

"You're thinking that Ian Lacklin is a good enough sortof fellow to play a round of chess with, to talk a
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little historical bullshit with, to knock a drink down with on arainy winter evening, but let's not push it
beyond that.

 "Yes, beyond that," Ian interjected, waving his arms, "beyond your typical foggy history teacher who
spends most of his waking hours dreaming of a history he never could, or never will, interact with. Hell,
man, a historyteacher by his very nature avoids the reality of his owntime by escaping into the past. Just
think, Richard, justthink for one minute, did you ever meet a history teacherwho had both feet on the
ground?"

"Well, I can think of—"

"Just a minute," Ian interrupted, "I mean a real historyteacher, not some smashball coach disguised as a
historyteacher."

"Well, in that case, I guess..." His voice trailed off.

 "Point proved! My colleagues and I are paid to examinethat which can no longer be touched. History,
the past.Oh, sure, we all dream at times of walking into that pastand being one of the heroes. I know a
skinny, gawky runtof a history prof who would give ten years off his life justto ride with Ghenghis Khan
for one day. But really, if oldGhenghis ever showed up in his office, that guy wouldneed a new set of
underwear in ten seconds flat. That's my point: We're fine at examining a dead past, but to be part of the
living present with its realities and dangers isanother story."

"What are you driving at, Ian?"

 "Look at us!" Ian shouted, and taking the bottle from Richard he popped off another gulp. "We've got a
crazyas a pilot, a pimply grad-ass, and, God help us, old C.C.Then there's you. Pardon me, but you
know your short-comings as well as I do. A doctor in the college clinic with a good grasp of
pre-Holocaust medicine and a greatgrasp on the bottle. Finally there's me. Richard, we'vebeen dumped,
and you know and I know that if we ever get back, it will be a miracle. And I am not merely headof a
project—I am in command!"

 Good lord, he's right, Richard thought, trying to hold his expression straight. Ian Lacklin is in command
of a ship, not some damned faculty subcommittee meeting,where the worst possible blunder that could be
committed was that a room might get painted the wrong color, oranother one of Ellen's damnable surveys
would be forcedupon a group of unwilling students.

 "That scares you now, doesn't it?" Ian asked softly."We are cruising out into totally unknown territory, in
avessel that is known to be unreliable, with a leader whois not fit to lead."

"So, what is the alternative?"

"You want the job?" Ian asked hopefully.

"Are you crazy? At least you're sober more than halfthe time." He paused.

"There's always Ellen..."

 "She'd push both of us out the airlock at the first chance,if we ever gave command to her," Ian replied
sadly.
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 "And after that 'crazy Stasz plays with star drive'routine, I think that issue is settled, as well," Richard
responded. "So, friend, that leaves only you—a woolly-headed, slightly wimpish, and, in fact, altogether
cow-ardly history professor as our fearless leader. Think ofit, Ian, you might be famous
someday—statues to ourfive-and-a-half-foot, overweight, bespectacled, recedinghairlined..."

"Enough. You know, Richard, you're a great psychol-ogist and a real help to someone's fragile ego."

 "Oh, come on, Ian, you'll do all right. After all, if we don't come back, well, I guess that means we don't
comeback."

"Remarkably profound of you."

"Have another pull then, my friend, and let thine egobe restored."

 For several long minutes the two friends sat in silence.Richard, not making the situation easy on Ian, kept
himunder a steady stare, trying to hold eye contact that Ianattempted to avoid. Finally the barrier broke
down.

"There's one other thing," Ian whispered.

"I thought so." And there was no note of triumph inhis voice, but rather a genuine sense of concern.
Some-thing had been gnawing at Ian from the moment of de-parture; maybe he'd finally get the answer.

 "You know history is not the most popular of subjectsback home," Ian said sadly. "What with this New
Re-naissance of High Tech that everyone is chasing, some ofthe early lessons have been forgotten. But
ever since we launched, I've been thinking about a point that I daresaythe folks back home never
considered."

"And that is?"

"Montezuma and Cortez."

"I don't follow you."

"You know the story—Cortez and his six hundred kicked the Aztec Empire into oblivion."

"Yeah, I have some faint recollection of it."

 "I've been thinking, you know, just letting my imagi-nation run. Suppose Cortez had mixed it up with
some-thing different, something with, say, nukes—what wouldhave happened to Spain then?"

"You've got me, Ian, Let's hear this theory of yours."

 "I know these people, these people out of our past. Iknow them better than I know my neighbor, my
students, or in some ways, even you, my friend. You see, Richard,I've devoted my life to studying those
explorers and set-tlers out of the long-distant twenty-first century. I canspeak Old English, Old Russian,
and Old Japanese fluently,and I can get by in half a dozen others. I've read everysingle text and
document that deals with the great Exodus.I feel more at home with the people of that period than Ido in
my own age. I can sense their wonder, their purpose,their passionate drive to settle space."

His voice drifted off for a moment, as if he was lost inthought, then suddenly he continued.
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"Theirs was a grand epic, Richard, those first explor-ers, and now I'm afraid."

"Why?"

"Can't you see? To me it is a dream, a romance. Haven'tyou ever idealized a woman from afar? Think
back to when you were young, Richard. Think of that heart-stopping moment, when the mere sight of her
was enough."

Richard smiled vaguely and nodded.

 "That is the life of a historian. An idealized romancefrom afar. And remember this, as well, Richard,
remember when she was no longer idealized but came to yourembrace. And then what finally
happened?"

And Richard nodded sadly and understood.

 "That is my first fear, my friend. The fear that an ide-alist has when reality finally confronts him. But the
fearsrun deeper."

"As is to be expected from a typically neurotic typesuch as yourself. Hell, man, you wouldn't be happy if
you only had one level of fear."

Ian shot him a look of reproach.

"Sorry. Go on then."

 "As I said, I know these people better than I know myown contemporaries. I know the circumstances of
whyand how they left. Richard, with well over half a thousandunits somewhere out there, has one of them
ever comeback?"

"Well, as I understand it, you just can't turn a milliontons of mass around and 'come back,' as you say.
At leastI know that much about physics. The energy requirementsalone—"

 "Ah, but we're talking about ten centuries, my friend.Why didn't our exploratory teams to the nearest
fifteenstars find some sign of them? By God, man, it's logicalto assume that some of them would have
checked outCentauri or Barnard's. Damn it, there's even a gas giantand iron-nickel asteroids around
Barnard's. But we didn't find a single sign of them there. And for that matter, oneof them could easily
have looped around a star and re-turned. But not a sign, not a single damn sign."

"And you mention the exploratory teams that haven'tcome back."

"I've wondered on that, as well, and I'll place goodmoney that our friend Stasz thinks about it."

"What are you driving at, then?"

"Suppose they found something that wouldn't let themcome back?"

"Come on now, Ian, when I said you were neurotic Iwas serious, but good heavens, man, don't make
me di-agnose you as a paranoid, as well."
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 "Interesting comment, Richard, 'good heavens.' Whatmakes us associate the two?" Ian muttered as if
musingto himself. "Must be medieval tradition and concepts. Theheavens aren't good, Richard, they'll kill
you in an in-stant. Just think, man, we've got this thin wall"—he tappedthe side of the hull, which echoed
hollow in the room. "That and an ethereal force field beyond are our only protection as we slip by at
translight speed. Think if thenav system miscalculated and ran us up on a chunk ofrock bigger than my
fist, you wouldn't have 'good heav-ens' then."

 "Stop trying to make me paranoid, too," Richard mut-tered. And with his eyes fixed on the hull behind
Ian, hewashed down another swallow of gin.

 "But don't worry about it," Ian said with a soft smile,obviously pleased that he had caused a spark of
fear inthe usually unflappable Richard. "If it did happen therewould be such a tremendous flash of energy
that we wouldbe vaporized before our synapses could register one screaming instant of fear."

"Aren't you comforting."

 As if in response, a faint shudder ran through the vesseland Richard winced. lan's heart skipped a beat,
but he tried not to show it. The translight nav system workedafter all, even while they were talking;
sensing an ap-proaching obstacle, it had shifted them around the mass,the inertia-damping system
compensating for all but afraction of the lateral forces.

"Shall we return to what you were saying?" Richardsaid softly.

 "Ah, yes, my fears of the hostile universe. After all,if one is going to be afraid, why not make it a really
big fear? Why not fear the whole universe? Tell me, gooddoctor, is there a word in your lexicon for an
abnormal fear of the entire universe?"

Richard wasn't sure if Ian was joking or not, and hethought it best at this point not to find out.

"Do you mean a fear of alien life forms?"

 "Perhaps. Remember, Doctor, we've only had faster-than-light travel for the last ten years. In fact, in this
obsolete first-generation hulk, we will be venturing outfarther than anyone from our century has dared, so
far.Maybe we'll meet aliens, but I must confess that I doubtit. No, Richard, I'm sorry to say that I think
we here atthe far end of his neglected corner of the cosmos are trulyalone."

"So what else is there?"

"Ourselves."

 "You mean Ellen or Stasz or, heaven forbid, that as-sistant of yours. You think that kid is going to get
seized by a transport of sexual frenzy and murder everyone elseso that she can have you to herself."
Richard chuckledslightly at the image of lan's acned assistant suddenlyunchained of her prim and proper
nature, and as the imageflowed, he realized that in fact it could be quite interest-ing.

 "Come now, Richard. Shelley sees nothing in me. Ourrelationship is purely professional. I needed an
assistantto manage my data during this trip, and since she wrotethe damned grant, I figured she'd be the
one to do it. Butlet's get serious now. When I said 'ourselves,' I meant it collectively."

"You mean those already out there."
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"Precisely, Richard. We've set off on this voyage tofind the Lost Colonies. 'Lost Colonies.' Lost by
who'sdefinition? They left us, didn't they? Have any of themcome back?"

"No. At least, not that we know of."

"Then are they really lost? Damn it, man, it's not like some sixteenth-century sailor getting lost in the
Pacific.The colonies left us of their own free will—they left usof their own free will, and maybe they don't
want anythingto do with us."

"I think that thought's a little foolish," Richard re-sponded. "After nearly eleven centuries they most likely
would be damn glad to get at least one letter from home."

"Maybe they would, but I'm fearful that some mightnot want us to drop in for a visit."

 "Then if that's the case, we'll just thumb our noses,hook on the translight drive, and tell them to eat our
cosmic dust."

"Don't be so superior about it. That's the biggest trap of all in this game."

 "Come on, Ian, aren't you overreacting a bit? If theydon't want to see us, that's fine with me. In fact, I
reallydon't give a damn if I see them or not. No, let me rephrasethat. I might want to find a colony if they
have the rightwomen. Didn't you say that one of the colonies was awomen's consciousness group, and no
men were al-lowed?"

 "Yeah,Colony 122 . It set off in this general direction.Reports indicate they had stored enough fertilized
em-bryos and frozen sperm to keep them going for a hundredgenerations."

"What a paradise."

"I should drop you off on the all-maleColony 123 ."

"Maroon Ellen there. They wouldn't know what to dowith her anyhow."

"Now, Richard!"

"It is a charming thought, though, isn't it?" Richardtried to stand up but merely succeeded in banging his
head against a locker.

"Speaking of Ellen, that reminds me. She sent me offto look for you. She's planned one of her alleged
gourmet meals and wanted your opinion on an arcane formula forsomething called brie."

"Popular late twentienth-century cheese. Quite bigamong the alleged intelligentsia. I think I could help her
out."

"Well, you better join her in the galley. She wants toserve up a genuine twentieth-century meal."

"God help us."

Richard turned and started to crawl out of lan's hidingspot.

Suddenly lan's hand was on his shoulder, restraininghim. He looked back and saw the strain on lan's
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face.

"What is it?"

"I haven't said it all," Ian whispered.

Richard settled back down.

"Go on then."

"Ellen's dinner points it out."

"How's that?"

 "You, Shelley, the Chancellor, in fact, everyone en-visions this voyage as a trip to find the Lost Colonies
from eleven centuries ago. Look at Ellen: She's cooking up a dinner from the twentieth century as if she
half ex-pects that we'll dock with a colony and they'll come pour-ing aboard in polyester leisure suits,
listening to GlennMiller music, and ask us how our 'personal space' is."

 Ian stopped for a moment and looked at Richard inexasperation. "Well, you're all wrong, all of you. It is
theancestors of the people that left eleven centuries ago thatwe are now looking for. They've had eleven
hundred years to progress without the interruption of the Holocaust War.Good lord, Richard, that war
took eight hundred years torecover from. Eight hundred years that we lived on the edge of extinction, and
only in the last hundred years orso have we again equaled the accomplishments of the latetwenty-first
century. But those units that left us left in-tact—their memory banks laden with the sum total of man's
knowledge to work on. It's estimated by some—Beaulieu, for example—that we've lost in excess of
ninety-five percent of all records before 2087."

"So think of the opportunity," Richard said soothingly.

 "Just think of it, man, you're the historian. You should be ready to kill for this chance—just to get aboard
oneof those ships and to be able to tap into its library. Damnit, Ian, just one ship's library would fill our
computermemories to capacity, and still there wouldn't be enough.Return with that, my friend, and then
see your books getpublished. Why, I didn't even think of that—all of uscould get published and get on all
the telepix interviews.We'd make a bundle, we would."

"Richard, just listen. You've heard of the Vikings,haven't you?"

"Barbarians from around the eighteenth century, right?"

"Close enough. Now just picture a Viking wanderinginto our society. How would we receive him?"

"Lock him up, most likely."

"My point is made."

"Come on, Ian, we're no Barbarians."

 "To them we might be. After all, they've got an eleven-hundred year jump on us if they progressed after
theirdeparture."
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 "If they've progressed. Remember, you yourself saidthey were closed ecosystems—chances are they're
alldead. Anyway, I remember that there were quite a fewon Earth that tried to adopt a steady-state
system whenthe fear of shortages hit in the late-twentieth century. Youyourself advanced the theory in
your manuscript that ina small, closed ecosystem innovation and progress wouldprobably be banned. So
with that logic, chances are they'venot gone much beyond our own capabilities."

Richard took another tug off the bottle and offered itto Ian. To be polite, he took another swig and then
handedit back.

"So there, argument settled then."

"Yeah, I guess so," Ian replied reluctantly.

"You better get back to the galley. I bet Ellen is alreadyat a rolling boil."

"Tell her I'll be along in a moment or two."

"All right."

Richard crawled out. And, standing up with a groan,he started for the door. Stopping, he turned and
gave Iana mischievous smile.

"Think we might findColony 122? You know, the wom-en's group."

"I don't think so, but if we do, what makes you thinkthey'll take you?"

"Hell, Ian, remember I used to be M.D. at the AurariaNormal College for Women, in the Dakota
Territories."

 "And you barely made it across the border before youwere arrested for malpractice and morals
charges."

"Ah, now, Ian, you know my uncle the regent of med-icine was able to prove the lie those humorless
peoplehad perpetrated against me." With a laugh he closed the door behind him.



 Colony 122, Ian thought. That would be one of theeasy ones. It was the500 series that he had not
discussedwith Richard. The last ones up, built in the 70s and 80s.The exiles. A fair percentage of them
had headed in to- ward the galactic center along with the more innocuous1-400series. What really
scared him was the exile units and the500 series. They might be ticking bombs. They were the
disenfranchised, the dispossessed of a world tottering toward war—the refugee colonies and the col-
onies made up of entire ethnic and political groups exiledaway from Earth. The500 series with its
liberation groups:the Kurd nationalists, the Botswanian Liberation Group,Dr. Franklin-Smith's political
penal unit, or L-3 519, andthe Pan-Zionist Russian Nationalists. It was groups likethat which gave Ian the
real fear that he could not expressto his comrades.

 Such groups seemed slightly romantic now. They wereromantic because 1100 years separated them
from the present. And as long as they were so distant, they weresafe and fascinating to an age now safely
run by the Democratic Bureaucracy, wherein nothing could overcome theinertia of the worldwide state.
But he could come face toface with the direct descendants of groups that might notfeel too friendly about
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Earth, and the thought gave himthe chills.

He stood up, stretched, and turning, looked down atthe small suitcase-size crate that he had been sitting
on.Stasz had pointed it out to him while doing an inventory.

Ian had been sitting on a thermomine, a nuclear devicecapable of vaporizing a quarter-mile asteroid or a
million-ton colony in a flash. The Discovery had carried hundredsof such mines when it briefly served on
a navigation-clearing detail just before being turned over to the grantfoundation. This one mine had not
been removed, eitherthrough an oversight, or because the logistics officer didn'twant to go through the
paperwork necessary to remove a thermo device and transport it down to Earth.

 Ian gazed at the crate, his curiosity aroused. Finally it got the better of him and he unsnapped the
fasteners thatheld the box shut then peeked inside. It was a little dis-appointing somehow; he had
expected warning signs andsirens to flash on and the mine to look like some incar-nation of evil.

It was simply an ugly black ball with half a dozen silverprojections locked upright. An instruction manual
washooked to one of the projections; picking the booklet up,he flipped it open.



Notice from the Manufacturer—Clearance As-sured Inc.

 Congratulations on selection of the enhanced AB-.23A adjustable-blast clearance apparatus. Satisfac-
tion assured when operated properly. Any and allcomplaints looked into at once by our experienced
quality control personnel.

Be sure to read this operations manual and at-tached errata sheet before attempting use.



 Ian skimmed through the booklet and found the erratasheet. It was printed in bright red ink. He
examined itclosely.



 Warning!!! Warning!!! Warning!!! Starting with the23A series, arming achieved by pushing down allsix
levers which will trigger warning devices. Inresponse to complaints that dropping the device in gravity
conditions might cause it to detonate, anadditional triggering is now required. To activateFINAL
COUNT DOWN: pull up, repeat, pull uplast lever. Unless otherwise programmed, detona-tion will then
occur in ninety seconds. Nonradiodetonation has been chosen to prevent arming byhigh solar activity or
broadcast from transmitters innearby spacecraft. Check your manual for timer set-tings. Default
detonation interval is 90 seconds. Thissafety feature is added at the request of former dis-satisfied users,
their heirs, and assigns and has beenimplemented for your convenience.



 Ian stuffed the sheet into the middle of the book. Then,closing the case to the mine, he stuck the booklet
into hisback pocket.

 The object should have filled him with blind terror, butfor some reason Ian felt a certain sense of quiet
resolution.The Montezuma and Cortez argument was never far fromhis mind these days. He was a
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historian and knew the possibilities.

 So he had, asked Stasz not to tell the others about thedevice. Cortez had burned his ships to prevent his
menfrom escaping from the expedition. Ian tried to push thethought aside that he might have to burn his
ship, as well,before the expedition ended.



 It was no surprise to Ian that Ellen's dinner was ex-cellent. She had even produced the right wine for the
occasion, and after the first bottle of Brinar Chablis '64, Richard had, for the moment at least, settled into
a politeconversation with their hostess for the evening.

 "But, Ellen, I thought you objected to spirits. Eightweeks ago you wanted to dump my treasured
emergencyrations overboard."

"You mean that I wanted to lighten our vessel of anoxious brew one step removed from rat poison."
Ellensmiled for a moment, her freckled face lighting up with amalevolent glow. "Of course, it was a
mistake, my dearRichard."

"I'm glad to hear you say that. And I must in returncompliment you for this amazing repast."

"I am thankful for your appreciation, Richard, and I was going to say my earlier move was a mistake.
Yousee, I think keeping that rat poison was just perfect, con-sidering who I hope it will eliminate."

 "Charmed, Ellen, simply charmed," Richard mutteredas he produced a cigar and prepared to ignite it.
Ian feared an explosion on her part and he knew Richard was simplybaiting her. He could see her
seething under the red-facedsmile but she didn't let go, and there was an almost audiblesigh of relief
around the table.

 Of course, he could half guess the reason—she wouldoccasionally smile in Stasz's direction. So, the
cabin feverwas already setting in, and her original disdain for the "ship's driver" was starting to thin. Stasz
was attemptingto ignore her, but that was difficult with only five people in the room. As the light
conversation flowed back and forth, Ian was fascinated by the subtle interplay betweenthe two of them
as Ellen tried not to appear obvious,Stasz tried to ignore her while making yet another passat Shelley,
and Richard laid out bait and traps for both ofthem to fall into.

Well, this craft is turning in a regular little potboiler,Ian thought as he settled back into his chair, bumming
one of Richard's precious cigars.

 He was lost in thought for several minutes until Shel-ley's voice brought him back into the conversation's
flow.

"I said, don't you agree, Doctor?"

"Agree, ahhh, I'll have to think—"

 "You weren't listening again." There was a soft chas-tisement in her voice, like a mother gently scolding a
favorite child. "I was saying that I think the Chancelloris most likely the head of the Provincial Department
ofEducational Services by now."

They fell silent for a moment.
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"Yeah, his glory, our lives," Richard muttered.

 "It might be a little more complex than that," Shelleyresponded. "After all, he had a number of reasons
forputting you three out here. You were all known to be anopposition to him in the faculty, and as part of
the pro-motion process, you people would be able to evaluatehim. I think, however, that there might be
more to it thanthat."

 Suddenly their conversation was drowned out by theelectronic wail of the ship's alarm. Ian could feel his
heartflutter on the edge of a palpitation. Ellen assumed herclassic "oh, my, I'm so flustered" pose. Richard
attemptedto gently pull on his cigar and exhale with a display ofpanache, but the sudden tremble of his
hand gave it away.Only Shelley and Stasz broke the tableau and, pushing away from the table, they ran
forward to the control cen-ter. The ship suddenly lurched and there was a momentary sensation of falling
away as the vessel performed a radicalshift in its course and the dampening system overloadedin an
attempt to compensate.

"Debris or asteroid," Richard muttered.

"Holy shit!" It was Stasz's voice echoing down thecorridor.

"Dr. Lacklin, come quickly!" Shelley cried.

Ian got up from the table and, with a show of bravado,he looked at Ellen and smiled.

"Would you mind clearing the dishes, Ellen, while Iattend to the problem up forward."

 "Shove the damn dishes," Ellen snapped, "let our fat medico scrub them." Pushing Ian aside, she started
for-ward, with Ian at her heels.

 Entering the forward cabin, they climbed to the com-mand and control center, where Stasz was already
strappedinto his couch with Shelley in the nav-com position besidehim. The vessel lurched again, nearly
knocking Ian offhis feet. Climbing up the ladder, he finally came up along-side of Ellen, who was peering
over Stasz's shoulder ata display board that was all but incomprehensible to him.

"How bad is it?" Ian whispered.

"Bad? It's fantastic," Shelley exulted. "We might havesomething."

"What!"

"Hang on a minute, Doc," Stasz muttered as his fingersraced across the control panel. Hooking on his
mike, hewatched the display for a moment then started calling up more data.

"Confirm, configuration, ship relative 21.34.45.01 hoursR.A., 00,02 Dec."

Within seconds the data design snapped across thelargest of the monitors on the display board.

"Jesus, it's a thousand K across," Stasz murmured. "Ithink we've definitely got something here."

"What is?" Ellen asked.
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 "That's why the alarm went off. I programmed ship'snav to sound an alarm and automatically home onto
any largely metallic, object we encountered. Well, here weare."

Stasz looked over his shoulder and smiled at Ian.

"You're in luck, Doc, I think we've just found yourfirst colony."

"But a thousand K across? They never built anythingthat big," Ian muttered.

"Yes they did," Shelley said meekly, fearful at cor-recting her mentor. "Solar sails."

"But out here, why keep them deployed? The solarwind is negligible. There isn't any evidence of a laser
drivebase behind them."

"We'll soon find out why," Stasz interjected. "Our shiphas already locked on and is three days out with
only a mild deviation from our original course."

 He scanned the display board again, called for a re-confirm, then looked back at Ian with a puzzled
expres-sion.

"Curious."

"What's that?"

 "They're heading inbound toward Earth at point zeroone two L.S. I thought you said all these guys were
tryingto get away. This one is hanging sails to the wind wherethere is no wind and running inbound."

Ian looked at the display showing him that soon hewould come face to face with a world out of the past.

He felt the cold stir of fear.




                                              CHAPTER 5

Colonial Unit 181

First Completion Date:2031

Primary Function:Standard Japanese Colonial/Manufac-turing Unit

 Evacuation Date:Estimated June 2083, one of the firstunits recorded to have completed its conversion
and departure.

Overall Design:Standard Mitsubishi Design Unit DoubleTorus. Maximum Population Potential (MPP) of
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37,500with standard mix of software/hardware industry andexperimental design work on self-replicating
process-ing system.

Propulsion:Solar Sail with matter/antimatter boost.

Course:Galactic Core.

 Political/Social Orientation:Hierarchical Corporate Modelwith head of each family responding to
subsystemleader. Standard Social Orientation and InteractiveSystems.



"Program engage, jump-down to match V-l, target Al-pha, close to point zero zero one A.U., engage."

 Stasz turned in his couch and smiled at the rest of the crew. "Be sure you're strapped in," he said with a
laugh. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the half-chewedstub of an unlit cigar and waved it at
Shelley.

 "You sure that belt is strapped tight? I don't want you falling out of your couch, the way you did last
time," Hereached over as if to help her, but she hurriedly showedhim that it was snugged in tight around
her hips and the cross belting of the shoulder harness was properly se-cured.

A high-pitched warning Klaxon sounded—the thirty-second mark to jump down.

"Don't worry, folks, this one ain't so dangerous. Onlya point twenty-four percent probability of
disintegration."

"How reassuring," Ellen whispered.

 It was their second jump of the day, the last one havingbeen completed only minutes earlier. They had
closed inon their target and jumped down to a relative speed ofzero in relation to their original trajectory.
But since thetarget was in fact inbound toward Earth, they were takinga short jump to close to
maneuvering range.

"Ten seconds and sequencing start."

 Ian could feel the inertia-dampening system hum tolife, and it was almost a signal for his stomach to get
readywith its usual reaction.

The jump-down hit. Overall velocity was still sublightso the effects weren't too bad, but it still took
Shelleyseveral minutes to help Ian with his post-jump cleanup.

Ian could hear the soft gasps of astonishment fromRichard and Ellen, and looking past his own tragic
prob- lems, he saw a sight that was stunning, after weeks ofDoppler-shifted light.

Even from thousands of K out, the sails of the vesselfilled a good part of their visual range.

"Look, Ian, I think it's a double torus," Shelley said.

Ian realized that for the first time she wasn't calling him Dr. Lacklin.
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Ian looked to Stasz's radar display and Shelley's keenvision was confirmed by the screen. A standard
doubletorus. Not the most efficient design, but fairly popularnevertheless.

"Do you have any idea which one it is?" Ellen asked.

"Too early to tell. Shelley, could you access my shipconfiguration data file? Cross-check it with known
doubletorus designs that headed out on this trajectory."

 She started working while the others fell into silenceas the vessel and its sails filled an ever-larger portion
oftheir field of view. Stasz had programmed their jump toperfection, with just enough residual velocity so
they couldsafely close in.

Ian suddenly realized he was trembling. He wasn't sureif it was from fear, anticipation, or, most likely, a
healthymixture of both.

"I know how you feel, my dear friend," Richard said, patting him on the shoulder. "The first night of my
mar-riage to Ethel, I was trembling just like you."

"And she was most likely trembling with disgust untilshe finally got that divorce," Ellen whispered sotto
voce.

It broke the tension enough that all of them could laughfor a minute.

As they watched, the double ring came closer intoview, so that its central support shaft could soon be
madeout in the faint glow of deep space starlight.

"Have you set the radio for the frequencies I sug-gested?" Ian asked.

 "The signal will pulse out on all frequencies you men-tioned, along with several I think might be worth
lookinginto."

Ian activated his headset and nodded for Stasz to openthe line.

He looked around at his colleagues and tried to conjureup the correct words in Old English.

"This is Earth vesselDiscovery calling, Earth vesselDiscovery. Please respond."

Nothing.

"Asleep at the switchboard most likely," Stasz said ina reassuring voice. "Hell, there can be times when
no oneis on the com for hours. I daresay they don't expect a visitor to drop in every day, the way we
do."

"This is Earth research vesselDiscovery approachingand requesting docking information."

"Ah, Dr. Lacklin, try Japanese," Shelley said.

"How's that?"

"According to your data, there were twenty-three dou-ble torus designs, of which eight used sails. And
of thoseeight, six were Japanese."
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He tried to remember his Old Japanese, and after aminute or so, he believed he got off a reasonable
message.Still no response, so Stasz looped recording of lan's re-quest while they settled back.

 "These ships have automatic piloting systems that de-tect and give alarm for any object bigger than a pea
that approaches within ten thousand K," Ian said softly. "Itcould be that no one has gotten into the control
room yet.If anyone's alive in there."

 "There's significant damage to the sail area," Stasz interjected. "Number of lines parted, numerous punc-
tures, I detect holes larger than one K in the central area.And I think we're picking up a reading here that
indicatesa significant holing on the main shaft of the vessel."

"We'll soon know," Ian muttered as they continued toclose in.



 Ian had read about them for years and had watchedthem on countless videos, but nothing, absolutely
nothinghad prepared him for the sheer awesome size of a colonialunit. It filled the entire sky, as if it would
somehow en-compass the universe. Nothing in his experience couldpossibly compare with the massive
double-curve sweepof the twin torus that slowly wheeled on either side of them as they closed in toward
the docking ring on themain shaft.

 The sheer mass of the object was enough to create aminor gravitational disturbance that required Stasz
to pro-vide a slightly increased deceleration as they closed in.

 As the four of them floated toward the docking bay,Shelley passed out hard copies of the ship's design
andschematics of the blueprints now that the particular des-ignation of the ship had been confirmed by
exterior mark-ings. They had already detected half a dozen unrepairedholes in the vessel, one of them a
twenty-meter puncture through the main shaft. So there was little if any hope offinding any life.

 Ian was dreading the encounter for fear of what hewould find. In the three hours of closing there had
beenno signal of any kind. There was no sign of interior lightingand no heat dissipation from the coolant
radiators.

 Sealing himself into his bulky pressure suit, Ian settledinto the docking bay and waited, listening intently
as Staszcalled out the ever-closing range.

 There was a faint jar as the adjustable docking unitconnected with the hull of the other ship. The green
light over the docking-bay hatch turned yellow, and he couldfeel the pressure suit crinkling as the docking
chamber depressurized.

The light overhead changed to red. Ian looked at theother three and nodded. There they were, four
heroes,ready to go forward in the name of Democratic Bureau-cracy. Four heroes, and he couldn't help
but laugh, hishigh-pitched giggle sounding somewhat foolish and slightlyhysterical.

 He punched the button in front of him and the hatchslid open. They were locked up against the side of
thecolony, pressed against a nonrotating collar in the middleof the central shaft. A manual docking door
was in frontof him, instructions in Japanese, English, and Russianwritten across it.

 Within seconds he had deciphered their meaning, and,grabbing the two handles alongside the door, Ian
at-tempted to rotate them.
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He spun in the opposite direction.

 After several minutes of cursing and sweating, the otherthree helped brace him into position and he tried
again.

 As if on rusted hinges, the handles gave way slowlythen suddenly they broke free and started to spin of
theirown volition. The doorway slid open. A slight puff of air came out of the ship. Ian looked up and his
mind blankedout in horror as the ship's radio overloaded with his hys-terical screams.



 Ellen was back in the corner, still clawing at the escape latch back into their own ship, which would not
open withthe outside door unlatched. Yes, he could see that now. Panicked, Ian looked around, the only
sound his own convulsive breathing and Ellen's soft whimpers comingover the radio set.

"Ian, it's all right, it's all right." It was a soft, soothingvoice. Richard, yes, it was Richard.

He could feel the hands on his shoulder. His friend'sface was barely visible behind the helmet, and his
ownvision was obscured by the moisture from his hyperven-tilation.

He looked back and started to turn his head.

"No, not yet, Ian. Don't look back until you're ready."

"What—" He started to sob again. "What—Richard,what is it?"

 "It's a body, Ian," Richard said softly, "it's nothing buta body mummified by the low pressure and dry air.
Itcan't hurt you now, Ian. He just gave you a start whenthe change in pressure made him drift out of the
airlocktoward you."

"Yeah, just a start." Ian could feel his self-possessionon the edge of falling apart again.

"Take a few more deep breaths and when you feelready you can turn around."

"Where is he?"

 "Shelley moved him back into the colony's airlock.She's waiting for us in there. I'm going over to Ellen
now." He let go of Ian, and, pushing off from the wall, he floatedover to where Ellen hung like a cat
clinging to a sheerwall. Her sobbing still filled the headset.

Ian took a couple of more deep breaths and slowlyturned.

As she poked around the interior of the colony's air-lock, Shelley was barely visible except for her
headlamp.While she searched around, she absently hung on to the mummified body with one hand.

Bracing himself, Ian pushed forward into the ship.

"Dr. Lacklin, I've found the airlock into the main cor-ridor of the central shaft.

"Wait a minute, we better close the hatch behind us before continuing on in."
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Ian looked back toward Richard and Ellen.

"Go on without us," Richard said. "I'm taking Ellenback in and giving her a stress pill."

 Stress pill! Hell, he was the one the damn mummybanged into. Out of the corner of his eye he examined
thebody that Shelley was still hanging on to. A cold grimaceof desiccated flesh and bone stared back at
him out oflifeless, haunting sockets. He looked away.

Shelley, ignoring his fear, floated back to the docking door and closed it. Looking around the room, she
noticed some Velcro stripping along one wall and without anyceremony pushed the mummy up against it.
The fastabson the body's uniform locked him into place. Leaving himon the wall, she floated back to Ian.

As she passed by him there was a flash of a smile thatmade Ian shudder. She was enjoying this!

"Want me to open this one?" she asked.

He nodded and closed his eyes. Would he ever be ableto open a door again?

 She turned the handle. There was a faint whisper ofair as the pressure equalized. Something bumped
againsthim. He wanted to scream, but with a supreme effort herepressed it. Opening his eyes, he
discovered that Shelleywas up against him.

 He half suspected that she had banged into him on purpose, and a slightly mischievous smile almost
con-firmed it. There were no bodies inside, however, and to-gether they pushed into the main corridor
and started to explore.



"Shelley, Ian, this is Stasz. You better prepare for yourreturn. Your in-suit reserve is below twenty
percent."

Ian checked the elapsed time on his arm-mountedwatch. Nearly six hours and not one percent of the
vesselexplored. They hadn't even gotten out of the main shaft area.

The sheer number of bodies overloaded his senses, buthe had slowly grown inured to their presence or
he wassimply in shock and the reaction would hit later.

 The forms of death were varied and frightening. Every-where the dead leered at them, some gently
floating byas the opening of long-locked blast doors and passage-ways triggered gentle currents in air
that had not movedfor centuries. Most of the cabins still held some air, but neither Shelley nor Ian dared
to remove their helmets totry it. The command and control enter had been totallydestroyed by a
hulling—the impact that had punched atwenty-meter hole clear through the vessel with an egresspuncture
nearly fifty meters across.

 Most of what they explored were various access pas-sageways, docking terminals, and the guidance
center forthe ship's sails, where half a dozen desiccated forms werestill strapped to their couches.

"Dr. Lacklin, I'm in what appears to be a communi-cations center on level three, section four. Would
youplease join me?"
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Turning about, he floated back up the corridor that shehad followed only moments before. He pushed
past asmall body that held an even smaller form to its breast—he didn't look closer.

There was a faint light coming out of a room. He pushedhis way in and to his surprise found that she had
managedto locate a backup lighting system that could still function.A soft, diffused light radiated from
overhead panels.

 Shelley noticed his look of surprise. "Apparently thepower grid hooking into this area is still intact and
thereare some backup batteries."

 The room was circular with a number of windows onone side that looked out over the docking bay. As
Ianwent up to the window, he could see theDiscovery dockedon the next level down, or at least in the
direction that his feet were pointing.

"It looks as if they stayed alive in here for some time after whatever it was hit them." She pointed to a
numberof boxes and empty emergency food containers that floatedin the room along with the four
bodies.

 "Poor bastards. Damn it, Shelley, there must have beenclose to forty thousand living here. I'd have
thought thatdamage control could have brought this ship on line again."

 "I've been thinking about that, Dr. Lacklin. Look atthe damage. Primary ship functioning area totally de-
stroyed. Power reactor destroyed, main communications, data storage banks, and transport lines to the
two wheels, damaged or destroyed. Eight major hull hits, all to vitalareas. Two or three at the same time
they could havebypassed and still managed to restore service. But noteight at once. Taking out those
eight at the same time wasfatal, and the occupants stayed trapped in each of theiremergency chambers till
the oxygen ran out. It's possiblesome might have lasted for weeks. What a horrible death..." Her voice
trailed off.

"You think there's any chance of calling up ship's rec-ords?"

"Just a moment, Doc."

 Shelley floated to the far corner of the room and hov-ered next to a body. For several minutes she
twisted the body back and forth and suddenly the hand snapped off the body. He could hear a faint cry
of dismay and felt atleast a little pleasure at the realization that even Shelleywas affected by this charnel
house.

"Dr. Lacklin, how good are you at deciphering OldJapanese?"

"Not too good. I can speak it, but that's about it."

"Damn, this body had a notebook clutched to it. Itmight be worth looking at."

"I have the dictionaries back aboard ship."

"Speaking of back aboard ship," Stasz interrupted again,"listen, Doc, I have no desire to board that
graveyard in search of your bodies. You're down to seventeen percentof reserve so would you kindly get
your butts back wherethey belong. Shelley, at least get your butt back, I like it better than our rotund
professor's gludius maximus, orwhatever it is that Croce calls it."
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 Shelley started for the door still holding the notebookwith the clawlike hand clinging to one side. Ian
turnedaway for a moment and looked back out the port. Hisview was framed by the two wheels, above
and belowhim, spinning slowly against the backdrop of an endlesssea of stars. All the key points of the
vessel struck, prob-ably simultaneously—dooming all aboard. He looked outacross the stars and
shivered.



"I figured I should share this with all of you. I mustconfess that it changes the complexion of this
mission"—Ian hesitated for a moment—"perhaps to the point ofabandonment."

 He looked around the room at his companions. Comingfrom a desk-bound civilization where meetings
were the form of business, and the form required desks and chairs,the concept of a meeting in zero G
had a slightly ridiculousquality. There were no desks to define territory and no seating with the leader at
the head. Rather they floatedaround a room and copies of paperwork were tossed backand forth after
being attached to clipboards. Stasz wasn'thelping matters any by floating upside down relative tothe rest
of them.

Ian tried to gauge their reactions. The meeting wasmore a ritual; they already knew the information to be
discussed and a general feeling had already been arrivedat. But he wanted to be sure.

"Look, Ian," Ellen said quietly, "this happened nearlythree hundred years ago. Three hundred years ago
ourDemocratic Bureaucracy was at war with the Chin. Todaythe Chin are our closest allies."

"Let me go over it one more time, Ellen. And anyhow, I think you as a collective psychologist should
know thetheories of Constant Social Lines in relationship to an isolated society."

"It's a theory and I'm out here to prove it or disproveit, that's why I think this is absurd."

"Let's hear him out, Ellen, then you can attack him."

 Ellen glared at Richard, who returned her stare with a mock bow that sent him tumbling head over heels
untilShelley helped to stabilize him.

"Here we go then," Ian stated as formally as he could, but his voice was pitched too high and the
nervousnessshowed.

 "I've worked five days straight on the translations. Inthe interim Stasz and Richard managed to explore
part ofone torus and I think we can confirm that absolutely noone is left alive in there." He gestured
vaguely towardthe window where silhouetted on either side were the twinwheels rotating on their endless
journey.

"This unit departed Earth in the year 2083 and is re-ferred to asUnit 181 . I've provided you with all my
notesconcerning its history. We've retrieved some Holo corememories but I don't have the equipment to
use them.

"Several more notebooks have been recovered and Iplan to analyze them, but I think the first one is
goodenough to go on."

He looked down at the notepad strapped to his knee.
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 "Most of the notes in the book were poetry. Rathernice stuff, called haiku. Our long-dead friend Miko
wasa sensitive individual. A longer poem on page twenty-three of the notebook gives us an interesting
clue. Hedescribes the blue sun of his childhood, which he nowmisses. Stasz and I have checked it out
and this vesselcould have come out of Delta Sag. Which means thesepeople made it to a star eighty-two
light-years from Earthand, as near as I can estimate, spent only twenty-oddyears in orbit about that star
and then began the longjourney back to Earth. There are in fact four referencesto this sun. The next to the
last poem is not a haiku, but more in the tradition of the nineteenth-century Roman-tics. In that poem the
writer speaks of the mission theyhave set.



To warn our forefathers in halls undreamed,

And seek again the light that was,

As we speak to the gods of the sleeping giant,

Revenge of their sons, long dreamed dead.



 Ian looked around the room again. The rest were silent.He had a brief mental flash of the vacant staring
facesthat had populated his classroom. But these people werelistening to him, and he felt a surge of
satisfaction.

 "The last statement is a diary-type entry that makes one thing very plain—they were attacked. I'll read
thelast entry."

He knew this was rather pedantic, but he couldn't helpbut play on the dramatic; after all, he was a
historian.

 " 'It is seventy-four hours since the Alpha/ Omega strike.I look out at our twin wheel, our home, our
world. The lights are still on in the Ag section, batteries...' The nextline is illegible and then picks up again.
'My eyes see, butthey cannot make me believe. My entire world is dying,it is dying and they have
murdered us. Murdered us. Itis the end and there is nothing. Our crypt shall journeyacross the sea of
eternity, a voyager of quiet death. And so I join the others as the lights of my world fade awayforever.

Ian felt a strange turmoil within. The young poet hadwritten this to him, far more sure of the immortality
ofhis verse than any Earthly poet. For in space the script would last, like its poet, for eternity.

 "I've backplotted the heading," Stasz interjected,breaking the melancholy silence. "If acceleration ceased
at current speed they would have left Delta Sag threehundred and ninety-seven years ago."

"How far to Delta Sag, Stasz?" Ellen asked.

"Two months."

Ellen looked at Ian with a challenging smile.

Ian hesitated, trying to buy time. "We've got to belogical about this one. First there is a wealth of infor-
mation aboard this ship. This could keep an archaeolog-ical team busy for the next century. It's the first
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timeanyone from our modern age has stepped aboard a vesselfrom the twenty-first century."

 "Come on, Ian, stop being such a historian and startthinking like an explorer," Ellen replied. "I'm not
inter-ested in dead things, I want living people to sample. Oneof those things"—and she shuddered,—"in
there mightinterest you as you cut 'em up to see what they had forbreakfast, but that information is
useless in my book. They came from this Delta Sag, I want to go there and find out more."

 "There's the next point to consider, as well. This col-ony was murdered. Someone or something out
there killedthem. They could kill us!"

Now his emotions were taking hold.

 They hesitated for a moment on that one and Ian pressedin. "I think we should stay here, study this one
in furtherdetail, and knowing there is something hostile out here, we have every legitimate excuse to return
back home,report our findings, and then get back to our lives."

"From what I've heard of your Chancellor," Stasz in-terjected, "I don't think the sight of you four would
be very welcome."

"To hell with the welcome," Ian replied. "What can hedo to us? We found a colony and that's that."

 "A dead one, Ian," Richard said. "I think our dearChancellor is more interested in living proof than a
float-ing morgue. Remember his famous comment at last year'sboard meeting: 'I am not an intellectual, I
am an admin-istrator.' That administrator will not be pleased with a deadColonial Unit 181. He'll want
live finds, finds that occur after the three years mandated by his office. Any-how, my curiosity is aroused.
Hell, we've come this far,why not finish it and go on to Delta Sag?"

"I'm curious, too," Stasz said.

 Ian knew they were beating him; he had expected thatfrom the beginning. For some strange reason their
curi-osity had been whetted. The fear of this attacker nowacted like a candle drawing the moth in.

He looked at Shelley, but her only response was a shrugand a smile. Finally she leaned over and
whispered.

"Come on, Ian, stop acting like a historian. The people aboard that ship are dead. Think of the chance of
meetingsome that are alive."



 Ian looked back out at the turning wheel. A rumbleran through theDiscovery and suddenly there was a
faintreturn of gravity as Stasz piloted them up between thetwin toruses. A flickering glow shone through
the com-munications bay ofColonial Unit 181 , and in the coldlight he could make^out the bodies
floating on their eternalvoyage.

 At least that fear was gone. He had felt himself encasedwithin a haunted fragment of the universe, as the
soulsof the dead still traveled on a journey that in another sevenhundred years would bring them within
sight of their an-cestoral home.

He knew, as well, that even though they were depart-ing, the ghosts would stay with his soul. The ghosts
wouldcome to haunt him in his nightmares of bodies floating inout of the darkness.
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 Stasz rotated theDiscovery , and the nav computerstook over. Soon they were pointed straight in at a
steadyblue light. Ian closed his eyes and braced for the jumpthat would take them to Delta Sag and the
answer thatall but he wanted.




                                                CHAPTER 6

Colonial Unit: 27

First Completion date: 2031

 Primary Function:Friends of the Light Colony. Anglo-American Peace Activist Group. In response to
the growing concern over the second Kwajlein incident, this was the first of the "peace experiment" units
thatled the way for over one hundred Utopian concept col-onies.

 Evacuation Date:According to Copernicus Base Record,June 6, 2086; however, Mars Base Hatley
claims unit left nearly nine months later. Beaulieu believes MarsBase confused this with the "Second
Friends of theLight Colony."

Overall Design:Standard Cylinder, first generation, 1200meters by 300 meters.

Propulsion:Standard Modification Design, strap-on ionpacks mounted to nonrotational central shaft.

Course: Galactic Core.

 Political/Social Orientation:Unit 27was the first of the"Utopian" experiments modeled after the
early-nine-teenth-century Utopian movement; as such was theleading model of what would become a
significant per-centage of the twenty-first-century colonies. This unitattempted to model its government
after consensus,with the guiding principle that a total concensus would be needed for any action.
Therefore, a single dissentercould resist or stop an entire process. Second, violence of any kind was
abhorred. Third, silent meditation wasoften the path to understanding.



 The detection alarm did not cause the same thrill offright that the first one had created, but the fact that it
awoke him from a deep sleep caused Ian to flop aroundin confusion for several minutes until his glasses
were inplace and he was dressed sufficiently to appear in public.

The rest of the crew was already gathered around Stasz,with Ellen hanging very close to his shoulder.
She hadthrown on a light nightgown that clung tightly to her morethan ample frame. Richard had already
noticed that she was pressing her breasts into Stasz's arm and he gave Iana sly nudge. Of course, they
both knew what was coming,and settled back, anticipating her explosion with as muchpleasure as they
did the data racing across the monitors and spewing from the hard-copy displays.

As usual Shelley was in the seat next to Stasz, and shestarted interpreting the data while Stasz busied
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himselfwith ship commands.

 "It's on a near-parallel course," Shelley muttered."Relative ship trajectory R.A. twenty-one hours,
forty-three minutes; declination five degrees north, range es-timate one light-year, more or less."

"Good lord, Stasz," Richard exclaimed in surprise, "how the hell could we detect that?"

 "Their automatic beacon," Ian replied. "The last onewas out because the beacon had been hit in the
strike.

This one is still functioning. It's nothing more than a signalburst and our ship's computer picked it up."

"Ann, Dr. Lacklin, my printout reads that this thing isdefinitely Earth origin. Shall we go for it?"

"What the hell, that's what we're here for, Stasz." Ianshrugged and started to walk away.

Just before he closed the cabin door a loud smack echoed through the room. With a start Ian looked
back, as Stasz staggered away from Ellen.

"How dare you?" Ellen shrieked, her features flushing scarlet.

 "Listen, lady," Stasz intoned with mock seriousness, "where I come from a woman who presses up
against a man who has been deep spaced for three months is ob-viously asking for some support. So I
figured my freehand could provide that support."

 Ian held the door open as Ellen glided out of the roomin a royal huff. The moment Richard caught his eye
theyboth broke out into rolling peals of laughter. Ian decidedit was time for the cracking of another bottle.



"This looks like two in a row," Ellen said, her commentreflecting the dread they all felt as they surveyed
what most likely was a dead colony.

The unit was less than a thousand meters away, turningslowly, outlined in sharp relief by the starlight and
Dis-covery'sspotlights.

"I'm picking up a hot reactor," Stasz said hopefully."Trace emissions. Their power supply is still good."

 Stasz jockeyed them around the cylinder for a closerexamination. There was no direct view into the unit
sincethe colony was coated with heavy shielding in order to cut down the radiation exposure for the
inhabitants. Ex-ternal light was admitted to the colony by a complex seriesof mirrors, and Stasz
maneuvered toward one with the hope of getting a reflected view of the inside.

"There, in that mirror!" Shelley cried. "Look at the one to the right of the main antenna, do you see it?"

"If we're seeing light," Ian replied, "at least we knowtheir power grid is still up."

 In a vain attempt to appear calm, Ian had started athird read through of theThermomineManual . But
the possibility of life aboard the ship was too much for him.Returning the manual to his back pocket, he
started topore through the hardcopy charts, quickly looking backat the cylinder for reference.
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"The docking ports are on either end of the cylinder, Stasz. Shall we move in?"

Stasz started to maneuver in for final approach.

"Who's going?" Ian asked quietly.

 Shelley turned expectantly and he gave her the nod.He looked at Ellen, half expecting her to back away
afterthe last experience, but to his surprise she mumbled abrief reply about earning her keep. The two
women pushedoff and floated back to the suit room and docking port.

 Richard looked at Ian with a bleary gaze. He had yet to recover from last watch's feast. Ian suspected
that hedidn't look much better.

"Why don't you stay here with Stasz, as backup?"

 "Most gentlemanly of you, my dear professor." Hewinked at Ian and glided up to Shelley's vacated
chair.

 Ian pushed off for the open hatchway. As he clearedthe doorway he heard a muffled comment and,
lookingback, saw Richard pass his flask to Stasz.

"For God sake, we're going out to risk our asses andyou're soaking it up in here."

Stasz gave a quick smile to Ian, took a pull on thestraw, and floated the flask back to its owner.

"Steadies me nerves, it does," he said with an absurdbrogue.

 "If you need to go in there and get us out," Ian shoutedindignantly, "I don't want a couple of drunks
responsiblefor saving my life."

"I'm insulted, my overly righteous friend," Richardreplied. "This doesn't sound like the comrade of my
hap-pier youth. Why, you're becoming too official, Ian Lack- lin."

 With a miffed expression Richard turned away to gazeout at the docking bay, which was lining up in the
centerof the viewport.

"Idiots," Ian muttered, and continued aft to join thewomen.



"Port seals secured, Ian. You can open it up at yourdiscretion."

"Right. Stasz, stand by if we need any help." He tried to detect any sign of drunkenness in the pilot's
voice, butso far nothing.

Ian looked back at Ellen and Shelley. "Ready?"

 They floated side by side at the back end of the cham-ber. Shelley, of course, could barely contain her
eager-ness. Hell, maybe he should let her pop the door whilehe hid back there with Ellen. He was almost
tempted todo it, but what little male chauvinism he possessed forced him to lead the way.
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 "You both have the specs on this unit. Given its found-ing philosophy, if anyone is alive, we should find
someinteresting results."

 They nodded silently, and he knew that a nightmareimage was hovering in Ellen's mind. It floated in his
con-sciousness, as well.

 Ian punched up the control panel command and theairlock hatch slid back, revealing the colony's door
on the other side. It was lightly pitted by micrometeor im-pacts, but the old Anglo-American writing and
instruc-tions were still clearly visible. He double-checked theprocedure, took hold of the handles, and
braced his feetin the magnetic footholds that Stasz had installed. Withone sharp pull, the doorway silently
opened and a whoosh of air whistled past him. Instinctively he closed his eyesand braced for another
nightmare. Nothing touched him;finally he opened his eyes and looked around.

 The vessel's airlock chamber was empty. Pushing off,Ian and the two women drifted into the narrow
room.Ellen turned and fumbled with the hatch mechanism, se-curing the vessel from the outside.

 She gave Ian the go-ahead. Talcing a deep breath, hepopped the next door, which opened onto the
main dock-ing chamber. The room was dimly lit by translucent panels,and a quick scan told him that the
chamber had not beenmaintained or entered in years.

The vast majority of light panels were dark, and allwere covered with a thin coating of dust.

"Must be running on automatic," Shelley whispered.

 "If my Old English spelling is good," Ellen interrupted,"I believe that sign over there points us to the main
cham-ber."

Following Ellen's lead, they soon faced a large circulardoorway at the end of the corridor.

"This is the end of the nonrotational shaft," Ian said,"assuming, of course, that the blueprints are correct.
We clear this door and then enter the main rotating cylinder.Be careful as you go through, you'll be a
hundred andfifty meters up from the floor. If you push off too rapidly,you'll float out into the center and it
will be a pain to getyou back. Just grab hold of the handrails and start to pullyourself down. Watch how I
do it."

"Tell me, Dr. Lacklin," Ellen interjected with a playfultouch of malice, "how much experience have you
had doing this sort of thing?"

"None," he whispered, trying to cover the rush of fear.

 He pulled the door release, and as it started to slideopen, he felt a moment of panic. But the hatch slid
quietlyback and there was a barely perceptible rush of air as thepressure equalized. Ian gulped and
pushed out.

It was stunning; beyond his wildest imaginings... and he was terrified.

 The cylinder stretched on for nearly a kilometer, ver-dant with lush semitropical growth. Broad bands of
green alternated with narrow fields of black, through which thereflected images of the stars shone in
blazing intensity.Illumination came from the opposite end of the cylinder, where a battery of lights emitted
a soft yellow glow thatbathed the world in a gentle late-afternoon light. He lookeddown as he drifted out
the doorway and a squeal of terrorburst from his lips. He had the sensation of falling andthe wild vertigo
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turned his stomach upside down. The network of handhold cables were all around him and in desperation
he snagged hold of one and hung on for dearlife.

Laughing, Shelley came up and grabbed hold alongsideof him.

"Do as you do, Dr. Lacklin," Shelley said teasingly,and she pushed herself off the handhold and drifted
overto the stairs that spiraled down along the cylinder wall. He started to follow her.

Within the first fifty feet he started to detect a faint sense of gravity, but Shelley still continued in a
head-down direction, as if diving toward the ground.

"Not too fast, Shelley," Ian called, as if advising anoverzealous child, "it can be deceiving. Gravity will
pickup significantly the farther we are from the center of ro-tation."

He looked straight up and noticed that Ellen was com-ing down feet first, still holding on to the
handrailings.He liked the fact that she was frightened; somehow itmade his own fear more palatable.

 They passed the fifty-meter marker and now even Shel-ley was feet down and using the steps. She was
takingten steps at a bound, but at least she was slowing down.

"Ian, look at that."

 Ellen had stopped at the fifty-meter observation plat-form. He suddenly realized that she had followed
the rightcourse of action. They all should have observed the sit-uation carefully before barging down to
the cylinder floor.

"What is it?"

 "First off, none of the structures down there seemsoccupied, they're all overgrown. Second, I've yet to
seea person. But third, look up overhead and about halfwaydown the cylinder."

 Ian leaned his head back and gazed up to where shewas pointing. It was a shock to see the greenness
directly above them, where a lifetime of conditioning had taughthim that the sky should be located. He
scanned the distantfloor for several minutes before finally locating what shehad pointed out.

"It looks like smoke."

"Shelley, hold it up for a minute." He looked downand saw that she was continuing on.

"Shelley!"

She stopped, looked back up, and tapped the side ofher helmet to signal there was something wrong
with hertransceiver. Ian gestured for her to hold, but she turnedand kept on going.

"She's full of crap," Ellen muttered.

"I know. Call it youthfulness. Something that you andI, my dear Ellen, have started to leave behind."

"Maybe you, Doctor."

"All right, Ellen, all right, let's not get into an argu-ment."
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 He fell silent and looked out over the expanse of greenthat had run riot through the ship. His gaze drifted
backup toward the smoke. Was it smoke or condensation vent-ing from a broken pipe? And where
were the people? Thesystem was still running, almost the entire ship could beprogrammed to go on
automatic, but certain routine re-pairs definitely required human intervention.

"Shall we go back up the other way and investigatethe smoke?" Ellen ventured.

"Seems a logical place to start."

He looked over the railing for Shelley, but she was nowhere in sight.

 "Say, look, Shelley," Ian started, "don't give me thatcrap about a bad radio. If we get back into the ship
andI discover it to be working, I'm going to kick your butt."

 He stopped for a moment. An image of Shelley's back-side flashed in his mind and suddenly, for the first
time,it was an appealing backside. Naw, must be the isolationof three months out, Ian thought.

"Shelley!"

His voice was suddenly cut off by a loud, piercingscream.

"Ian!"

"Shelley, what the hell is going on!"

"Ian!"

"Shelley. Shelley, what the hell?"

There was no response.

"Ian, down there to the left." Ellen was pointing intothe heavy growth, and Ian saw the canopy of brush
mov-ing as if something were passing underneath it.

"Ian, this is Stasz. What the hell is going on? That girlof yours nearly busted my eardrums."

 "I don't know, I just don't know..." His voice tapered off. This is what he had feared from the start. The
re-sponsibility so far had been merely to point out a directionor, at worst, to mediate fights between the
team members.But in his deepest fears he had dreaded this moment. Someone was in jeopardy and he
had to decide. Worse. He had to got into what was obviously a dangerous sit-uation.

He stood frozen by the railing watching the overgrowthripple toward the middle of the cylinder. He
wished morethan anything to be absolved, to suddenly disappear back to his little cubbyhole in the stern
of the Discovery wherehe could hide away with his books and forget.

"Ian!" Several voices called at once, all cutting in,demanding. Vaguely he looked at Ellen and saw her
mouthmoving behind her faceplate, shouting at him in exasper-ation.

"Ian, we're coming over," Stasz said. A grunt of as-sertion surfaced from Richard.
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 The words started to form in his throat: "Yes, come over and find her, I'm going back to the ship." But
that'snot what came out.

"Stay there, by the time you suit up they'll be gone.Ellen, go back for a stun gun, I'll try to follow."

 He pushed off from the platform, descending the stepsin long lazy bounds with each jump landing slightly
harderthan the one before. He had to be careful not to push offtoo enthusiastically, otherwise it would be
one long jump to the bottom, with an impact at killing velocity. He sud-denly remembered some of the
cheap space thrillers he had witnessed on the videos, where strange radiation-laden mutants preyed on
extraordinarily buxom youngnubiles. He actually chuckled at the thought. Shelley wasflat-chested, acned,
skinny, and bespectacled—he hadnever seen a monster eat anyone like that before.

 What the hell was he laughing at? Maybe that crap wastrue after all. Ian reached the bottom of the stairs
andwas confronted by a wild tangle of growth. A virtual junglecanopied the living units and turned the
designed green-spaces into nearly impenetrable wildernesses. Ian rec-ognized the plant as a variation of
the kudzo, which stillflourished in the south and had been used aboard the colonies as a quick-growing
greenery and food source.

 He soon found a number of broken branches, thenanother broken branch, ten feet farther on. There ap-
peared to be a tunnel. He surveyed it cautiously for sev-eral long minutes, and even as he looked at it, he
suddenlyrealized that the cylinder was getting darker.

"Ellen, are you still up there?"

"No, I'm back in the ship getting the stun gun. Stasz will be coming back with me."

 "The lights are shutting down." He felt a chill. Hismind raced over the fact and then the obvious answer
came to him. Even here, a thousand years out, the oldcustom of day and night remained. The unit's
artificialsun was shutting down. Well, if he was going to find Shel-ley, he had to push on.

 Taking a deep breath, he started into the tunnel. "I'mentering a tunnel about fifty feet from the base of the
stairs. It seems to run along a walkway now overgrown,you'll see the broken branches."

 He broke into a slow run, but within a hundred yards he had overtaxed the cooling system of his suit and
hisown body.

Hell, why am I wearing his pressure cooker? Thoseplants are oxygen producers, I should crack the
helmet.

 But the old Ian was still very much alive—he kept thehelmet on while contemplating the toxic trace
elementsthat could have filtered into the closed environment.

 After several more minutes the twilight seemed todarken appreciably, and against his better judgment Ian
turned on his helmet light to follow the trail. He knewthat it was a clear beacon of warning, but he wasn't
upto crawling through the dark.

 He passed a spidery walk that gently arched over acomplex of glass-walled buildings, all of them
covered bythe everpresent kudzo. He estimated that he was nearingthe center of the cylinder.

He stopped for a moment to look back through a breakin the canopy of foliage. The far cylinder wall
was visible,and he saw twin specks of light suddenly appear againstit.
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"Ellen? Stasz? I think I can see you."

"Ian, where are you?"

"About halfway into the cylinder."

"I'm facing you right now, you should be able to seemy helmet light."

From atop their high perch, Stasz suddenly saw the flicker of light, a long way off.

"I think I see you, Ian. Say, Ian, I see something else.It looks like a fire, can't be more than a couple of
hundredmeters beyond you."

There was no response.

"Ian. Ian?"

He looked at Ellen.

"His light just disappeared," Ellen whispered.

"Oh, shit."



"Holy shit," Ian whispered.

 The club was poised alongside his head. The semiclad woman holding it had already convinced him of
the needto remove his helmet by her vigorous hand motions andwaves of the knotted cudgel. He took a
deep breath ofthe clean-smelling air. Why the hell had he kept that damnhelmet on anyhow?

 "What do you say?" the woman asked softly, and asshe spoke several of her companions came out of
theshadows.

Ian sifted through her speech pattern. It seemed to bebased on Old English, to be sure, actually Old
American,to be more precise. As his mind searched for the rightwords, his thoughts calmed down. He
was engaged in an academic problem and when lost to such efforts, all else was forgotten.

"Oly hit?" the woman asked questioningly.

"No, holy shit," Ian repeated slowly.

"Shit is not holy, only the light is holy; you must becrazy." The others around her chuckled.

"Yeah, I think I am for even being here," Ian replied.

"What you say?"

"Never mind."
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"Are you of the Dissenters?" a lanky, graying manasked, stepping from out of the. shadows.

"What the hell are Dissenters?" Ian replied.

"He must be crazy," a heavy set man next to the grayingone interjected.

"You dressed like that loud-mouthed girl. She of yourcircle?" the woman asked.

"Yeah, ahh, yeah, the girl, she's of my circle."

"Tell me, friend, do you accept the concept that indi-vidual meditation must occur within a collective
body?" the gray one asked. "Or do you accept the right of dissentfrom the collective?"

 Think quick, Ian, he thought frantically. However, he instinctively realized that twenty years of academic
com-bat and bullshitting had put him in good stead. Ian noticedhow the graying one said dissent with a
note of venom.He also realized that the gray man held a very big club.

"What say you, friend?" the heavyset one asked softly,and he slowly hefted his club.

 "Of course, what other way is there?" Ian blurted."The individual must always be a part within the
collectivebody." He prayed that he got his words correct; most ofthe Old American was familiar, but
occasional colloqui-alism and, of course, the slang could be deadly. Especiallynow, so he tried to speak
with rigid preciseness.

He could sense them relaxing.

"Come, friend, and sit with us in the circle of under-standing." The woman beckoned for him to follow.

 She looked at him with a soft glow, and he suddenly realized how attractive she was in a wild, primitive
way. She was almost completely naked except for a brief loin-cloth that barely covered her broad,
inviting hips. Hecouldn't help but admire her full, rounded breasts, whichwere partially concealed by her
flowing red hair. She no- ticed his stare and smiled back at him with a seductivegaze. For the moment
thoughts of rescue drifted away.

 Primitives, he thought, looking for all the world likeNeolithic tribesmen or something out of Eden. Yes, it
could be Eden: the lush growth, the warm semitropicalair, and now that the helmet was off, the sounds of
birdsand night creatures stirring around him.

Following the lead of the woman, they pushed theirway into a small clearing, illuminated by a roaring
blaze.Several dozen figures sat around the crackling flame, andone of them was Shelley.

 He couldn't help but look at the redhead, even as hetried to get his thoughts under control. Shelley
turned as one of the people by the fire pointed at the new arrivals.

"Shelley, everything, all right?"

"Ian? Well, if it isn't Dr. Lacklin, who's finally cometo rescue me."

Was she mocking him, or was there a slight tone ofrelief in her voice?

Ian stepped into the circle of light and, gazing around,saw that dozens more had gathered around in
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curiosity.

He drifted over to Shelley's side, smiling broadly andnervously all the while, noticing that they smiled
backjust as broadly. Good lord, why are they smiling like suchdamn fools at a total stranger?

"Dinner." Someone was poking him in the back.

He turned with a yelp and was confronted by an old man bent over with age.

"Dinner," the man said again.

Good lord, was that why they were smiling? They weregoing to have them for dinner.

"Shelley!"

"It's okay, Ian, the food's not bad. Some sort of veg-etarian mix, that's all."

He finally understood and broke into a nervous grin."Thank you, ahh, friend."

A number of people around the circle mumbled theirapproval at his comment.

He drew closer to Shelley and sat down by her side."What happened?"

 "Most likely, same as you. They jumped me, but onceI took the helmet off, they calmed down.
Something aboutdissenters and I assured them I was nothing of the sort,and after that everything was
fine. They brought me backhere, fed me some broth, then you came in."



 The old man brought over a wooden plate filled witha thick white soup. Ian took a hesitant sip,
rememberingall of his anthropological studies about primitive societiesand eating rituals. The woman he
admired earlier steppedout of the crowd and sat by his side.

"You from Earth, or another colony?"

This was a surprise. He expected some mumbo jumbo about gods from other worlds, or some similar
nonsense.

"Earth. How did you guess that?"

"We're not stupid. You obviously aren't from here, atleast not dressed like that."

"But how do you know about Earth? Did your eldersteach you or—"

"Come now," she admonished, and lightly touched himon the arm, a move that Shelley could not fail to
notice."We do not understand everything, but some of the teach-ing computers and their programs still
work. When we'reyoung we use them."

"If you can do that, then why do you?..."

"You mean, live like primitives. Why not? Maybe youshould ask yourself that."
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"Yes, friend," another woman interjected, "why notlive like primitives?"

"But how do you keep your system running?"

"Most of it was automated by our forefathers. All wehave to do is routine maintenance, which is simple."

 "Which frees us of the slavery of complexity, so thatwe can return to simplicity and light," another one
said,and a chorus of voices murmured in the affirmative. Ianlooked up and noticed that several hundred
people hadgathered around the roaring fire.

"They're just getting started," Shelley whispered.

 "When we foreswear complexity, then all is balanced," a young man said from the back of the crowd.
"Then andonly then is true simplicity obtained."

This is crazy, Ian thought, what are we getting into,first-year philosophy?

"But the order of your world is built on complexity," Ian tried cautiously.

"But we have purified it back to the basics," anotherreplied.

 "However, you live in one of the most complex ma-chines ever designed by man. Once you accept that
firststep toward complexity, there is no going back."

"But we have," several replied eagerly.

"As I said," Shelley whispered, "don't even try."

 "But this is a machine you live in, not Eden," Ianreplied, "and a machine requires technical skills. Just
sup-pose something really serious should go wrong."

 "Nothing has, and nothing will," the redhead replied."We have everything under control, as long as we
followthe simplicity of collective meditation and consensus."

 "Tell me more about the dissenters," Shelley asked,wishing to extract Ian from a potentially dangerous
de-bate. Ian, however, shot her a quick look of reproach.These people obviously got excited, a little too
excited,about the dissenters. He still wasn't sure if he and Shelleywere guests or prisoners, and until he
knew more, hewanted to keep them smiling.

"They are the ones who fell," the gray-bearded elderreplied.

"How so?" Shelley continued.

"Can't you yourself see their folly?"

Oh, no, Ian thought, step carefully.

"Look out! Incoming!"

A wild explosion of confusion erupted. The peoplescattered in every direction, screaming in terror. For a
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second Ian thought Shelley had triggered something and they were now going to be ripped apart. Then
he noticedthe colonists were all running away, and he wondered ifhe and Shelley had broken some
taboo, which causedthem to flee.

A roaring, whishing noise thundered overhead.

"What the hell!" Ian felt something brush past hisshoulder and for an instant thought Shelley was pressing
up against him.

"Ian?"

 "Yeah." He turned to look at her. But his view wasnow blocked. A huge arrow, nearly a dozen feet in
lengthand as thick around as his thigh, was buried in the groundbetween them. The pressure on his
shoulder came fromthe still-quivering bolt.

 The locals looked at him in open-mouthed amazement. He tried a wan smile of bravado, wishing for a
quick line.Ian looked back at the arrow, its heavy point buried onlyinches away from his foot. His eyes
rolled up and hefainted dead away.



 He heard a roaring sound, as if he were trapped in awaterfall. The shouting was all around him, and the
in-dividual voices soon came clear.

"Those sons of bitches!"

There was a wild frenzy of activity. Shelley had draggedhim off to one side of the circle.

"Another incoming!"

The crowd scattered and this time he noticed that most of them disappeared into the vine-covered
buildings thatsurrounded the clearing. He saw the bolt streaking in,following a strange curving trajectory.
The arrow slammedagainst the side of a building and shattered.

"Bastards, ass-kissing Dissenters." The crowd pouredout of the buildings, chanting.

 "Bastards, bastards, bastards." The air around them pulsed with a rippling energy. From out of the
shadowsan object out of ancient history was dragged by an en-thusiast mob.

"Double torsion ballista," Ian murmured. The urge ofthe historian was too much. He crawled out from
under the protection of the building and went over and joined the shouting mob.

 He walked up close to the machine. It was the realthing, and he felt a rippling thrill. The twin bundles of
rope that powered it were made of human hair, while thebowstring appeared to be made of steel cable.
Half adozen young women carried up a ten-foot arrow and thecrowd roared with pleasure at the sight.

The machine was cocked by hand-powered windlassesthen tilted back so that it pointed halfway up to
vertical.

What the hell? Ian stepped back. Why were they shoot-ing an arrow straight up?
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The crowd suddenly fell silent, and suddenly he hearda soft echoing chant.

"Assholes, assholes, assholes."

 He looked around wondering where the distant chant-ing came from, until Shelley touched his shoulder
andpointed straight up.

"Look."

 Ian tilted his head back and then he suddenly remem-bered. They had seen another fire on the opposite
side ofthe cylinder. Directly overhead and three hundred meters away was the other side, and a flickering
fire illuminatedthe sky above them in a soft ruddy glow.

 Ian sidled up alongside the redhead. He gulped as hecame closer. The exertion and excitement had
coveredher body with a sheen of sweat, and her eyes were wildwith excitement that had a most definite
sexual aura toit.

He collected his thoughts and pointed straight up. "Dis-senters?"

She nodded her head vigorously.

 The graybeard took up position alongside the catapult,which was now loaded, and grabbed hold of the
trigger.

 "We are the truth," he intoned. "Therefore in the nameof the truth and the light we are absolved of this
action.It is not my hand that triggers this, it is the result of ourconsensus, therefore I am not responsible,
for the con-sensus makes me do it. But it is moral nevertheless, sincewe are right."

"We are right and they are wrong," the crowd roared.

"Fuck you" came a distant reply.

The elder yanked the trigger.

The catapult snapped with a thunderous crack. Thearrow leaped away into the dark.

Ian was amazed. "Say, I thought I read somewherethat you were founded by believers in peace?"

"But we are followers of peace."

"That looks like a weapon of war to me."

 "No, it's not, it's random luck. We don't aim it atanyone, if they get hit it's the will of a higher power. We
believe in peace more than they do, and we are right, therefore our protest against them is for the higher
causeof peace."

He tried to follow the logic but gave up.

 "It's going to be a long night," the redhead whispered,drawing closer, and her hand lightly touched his
side.
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"But it looks like you people are having a war here,"Ian said weakly. "How can we? I mean, aren't they
goingto come down and attack...?"

 "No, that would be violence. They stay on their side,we stay on ours, and we trade spears. What do you
think,we're savages or something?"

She drew closer, her naked breasts brushing againsthis arm.

He didn't dare to answer.



 As he stepped out of the building into the soft diffusedlight of day, Ian felt a sense of guilt. Shelley sat by
the ashes of the fire, notepad in hand, punching in observa-tions. He ambled over to her side feeling
rather sheepish.

 "So, tell me, are primitive mating customs all they'recracked up to be? Shelley told us what you were up
toin there."

It was Ellen! He turned around and there on the op-posite side of the square stood Stasz and Ellen.
Ellen'sexpression was definitely not one of cheerful good morn-ing.

 The redhead came out of the shelter, raised her armsup over her head, and stretched with a supple feline
grace.Ellen's expression reddened, and on Stasz's there wasgenuine admiration as he kept looking from
the girl andback to Ian. She smiled a vague sort of hello in theirdirection, then wandered off into the
overgrowth. Shelleydidn't even look up but simply continued with her notes.

"I'm glad to see you were in good hands and safe,"Ellen snarled. "We wandered over half this god damn
botanical toilet looking for you. Then we get captured bythose, what did they call themselves, 'true
dissenters,'and then..."

"Watch what you say," Shelley snapped.

"Are you addressing me?" Ellen purred, getting readyto strike.

 "I would suggest that if you are referring to our friendsup there"—Shelley pointed vaguely toward the
otherside—"that you do so quietly. And for God's sake, don'tcall them true dissenters. Our friends
around here getupset rather easily."

Ellen knew she couldn't argue with her, but Ian andStasz could see that Shelley had insulted her by
pointingout something she should have realized already.

As if in response, a faint drifting call echoed down from above. "Collectivist assholes!"

"Oh, no, here we go again." Ian groaned.

"Naw, they're too exhausted," Shelley replied. "It wasa hell of a night."

"To be sure," Stasz said, his voice edged with jealousyas he looked back in the direction the redhead
had taken.
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 A couple of men were still gathered around the cata-pult, which was loaded, and Ian could see this
would bethe last shot of the fray, since everyone had gone off to sleep. The old graybeard, however, was
still up and di-recting the alignment of the siege engine.

 "Gates, the old graybeard, is the leader. By the way,you might like to know that you spent the night with
hisdaughter Ileia," Shelley said softly.

Ian looked at his feet and muttered a comment aboutobserving local customs.

 "Gates filled me in on some fascinating details," Shel-ley continued, ignoring his embarrassment. "I've re-
corded them all, Dr. Lacklin, so that you may study themlater, when you feel up to it."

Stasz snickered and turned away, while Ian tried to come up with a casual reply.

"Freethinker bastards!" It was Gates and one of hisfollowers.

"Watch this," Shelley said.

 The catapult hurled its shot, which arced up and away.It followed an arching path, due to the Coriolis
effectcreated by the turning of the cylinder. In the daylight Iannow realized that the catapult was not
aimed straight atthe other campsite but a good sixty degrees off.

 He watched the bolt climb in a curving path—at least it appeared that way. As it reached toward the
relativeapogee in the center, the bolt slowed, then with ever-increasing speed it started the long sloping
glide backdown.

 "Pretty good accuracy," Shelley said, "considering thephysics of shooting an arrow inside a turning
cylinder."

 Ian watched with admiration as the bolt streaked inand landed near the bull's-eyelike target created by
thedissenters' campfire. There was a mild scurrying and hehalf imagined that he could see several people
look upand shake their fists.

"You missed me" came the taunting cry from the other side.

"The forms these people are going to fill out will befascinating," Ellen whispered.

Gates and his two assistants shook their fists at theother side, and calling it quits, they went into the
nearestbuilding to catch up on their sleep.

 Ian looked around the cylinder, at least able to get agood chance to observe his environment without the
pres-sure of looking for Shelley. Its scale was truly astounding,but what amazed Ian even more was the
realization thatthis was a small unit of early design. There were colonial cylinders of the same general
design that were fifty times as big in volume. He looked up again at the lovely sweepof green overgrowth
that covered nearly everything. Hewondered how the unit managed to allow so much of itscarbon and
nitrogen to be fixed in such a profusion of plants, but then from his own rough estimate the popu-lation
here must only be a few percentile points of the bearing capacity. So that great percentage no longer in
existence must be a fair part of the liquid and other ma-terials tied up in the unit. The thought suddenly
struckhim with chilling force. Back on Earth one could not easilygrasp the total cyclic nature of life. He
once had a profwho pointed out that, statistically speaking, the next glassof water you drank would be
carrying in it a moleculefrom Caesar's body—and from Cleopatra's urine, one ofhis classmates had
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rudely interjected.

But here the system was closer. These people, Gates,Ileia, a good part of their very bodies were made
up ofthe component chemicals that had formed their grandsiresbefore the coming of the Holocaust.

 As a historian the thought awed him. But there was a more overriding concern at the moment. He was
simplyexhausted.

"I'm heading back to the ship. If you people stay, Iwould suggest that you do so as a group. I'll send
Richarddown to take a look at these people."

"I take it we're staying for a while?" Shelley asked.

"Well, I guess that's what we've come sixty light-yearsfor. We'll stay a week or so to gather the
necessary data,document this place, then we'll push on."

 "I want to get my surveys out," Ellen said excitedly."This is going to be fascinating. I should get at least
twoor three publications out of this one."

 "And I think I'll get something, as well," Stasz saideagerly, as he edged off to one side of the group and
thenturned to plunge into the overgrowth.

 "I'm going back to sleep aboard ship. I don't want any of these people allowed aboard the vessel," Ian
com-manded. "If both sides met there, we would be the onesto suffer. So they stay out. I would suggest
that we getStasz to rig up a simple security surveillance system onthe approaches to the air lock."

"I'll let him know when he gets back," Shelley said.

Ian turned and started back up the path. He gave aquick scan up, looking for incoming. Their catapult
wasvisible but it was unattended.

"Get some rest, Dr. Lacklin," Shelley called. "You'vehad a hard night."

He looked back at Shelley. She had that straight, of-ficial look about her, all professional.

"Ah, yeah, thanks, Shelley." He searched awkwardlyfor words, "Yes. You did a good job."

"I doubt if you did." Ellen sniffed.

"Ah, shut up," Ian grumbled, and he pushed off backto the ship.



"All secured for undocking," Stasz's voice crackledover the intercom.

Ian felt the gentle nudge of the ship as the maneuveringthrusters pushed them free and away.

He watched on the aft monitor as the bulk of the cyl-inder dropped astern.

"I still think they're the craziest assholes I've ever laideyes on," Richard said, resuming their conversation.
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 "Don't say assholes, Richard," Ellen replied, "I've heard that word shouted at least ten thousand times in
the last two weeks."

"Okay, bastards."

"Richard!"

 "I'm throttling up," Stasz said. A faint pulsing rumbleechoed through the ship and the slight tug of gravity
in-creased. Funny, he barely noticed the gravity changesanymore, and his stomach couldn't be in better
shape.

 "That's one group I'm glad to be rid of," Richard mut-tered as he uncapped a beaker of gin and offered
it around.Even Ellen took a quick snort and smiled her gratitude.

"So damned self-righteous, both of them," Shelley re-plied. "I still can't figure out what split them up."
Shelooked to Ellen, their sociologist who was always ready with a theory.

 "I don't know, some doctrinal point about their wor-ship service. I think the break came nearly a
millenniumago. Fascinating how they ritualized their war. They neverengaged in direct killing close up,
they clearly definedtheir boundaries and observed them, and I found at leastone record in their computer
that indicated they had co-operated when the vessel was holed. They even coop-erated in their birth
reductions and contraceptives tomaintain the low population. But Lord, did they get into symbolic
warfare."

 "It sure as hell didn't look symbolic to me," Richardreplied. "Thank heavens those crazies didn't have a
cou-ple of small thermonukes; they'd have wiped each otherout long ago. What do you think, Ian? Ian?"

 Ian sat off to one side, his expression pale as he fum-bled with his pockets. But the others barely noticed
as Shelley jumped back into the conversation.

 "But it was symbolic. It was their catharsis; they could vent their feelings and only occasionally would
some un-wary person get slammed."

"I still think they were damn fools," Richard muttered,and Shelley nodded her agreement. Ian noticed
how shestared at him, and felt a sudden flush of embarrassment.

"I think I'll go forward and watch jump from Stasz'sCo seat."

 He fumbled through his pockets one more time, buthe already knew that what he was looking for was
some-where back on the colony, most likely having fallen from his pocket while he had been "playing"
with Ileia. He hadmislaid the Thermomine Manual and chances were theinhabitants were already pouring
through it. He couldonly hope the symbolic warfare would stay symbolic. He cursed himself soundly;
here was yet another thing to feelguilt over, but there was no way he could tell his comradesabout this
screw up—Ellen would be all over him in aflash.

 As Ian closed the door, Ellen was waxing enthusiastic over the data she had collected about controlled
primitivesocieties and ritualized warfare. She had been so enthu-siastic that Ian had half expected her to
request that shecould stay behind, and only a promise of a return visit ontheir way back home had finally
convinced her to leave.

He was half tempted to stay there, as well; Ileia hauntedhis thoughts. But in a way he was glad that they
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haddecided to pull out. At forty-two he just couldn't keep upwith the demands of a healthy
eighteen-year-old, no mat-ter how much he would fantasize about her later.

 The decision to leave had come as a mild surprise toeveryone. They had settled in nicely, learned to
dodgethe spears, and in fact were even starting to view the war as a great game—as they freely drifted
between the twosides, taking notes and observing. Gates had hooked himinto the computer log. The
records of their initial depar-ture over a millennium ago were still intact—a historicalfind that would keep
dozens of graduate assistants busyfor years. There were even fragments of a library and Ian found
hundreds of volumes and documents thought to be long lost.

Ian had holed up in there for a week, taking all meals,sleeping only when exhaustion had set in, and
pushingoff Ileia's advances. And he discovered two disturbingfacts.

 The first, that a large exile colony had been establishedfor political refugees. He already knew that, and
knew aswell that it had been the final domain of Dr. FranklinSmith, a noted political dissident in the years
just before the Holocaust. He had assumed that Smith's colony hadbeen destroyed when the war started,
since the recordsback home indicated for some vague reason that the unithad died.

It had not.

 The records inUnit 27's main library indicated a sight-ing of it some forty years after departure, but their
tra-jectory was faster and Smith's unit had passed themwithout direct contact.

 But it was the second fact that had caused Ian to pullup stakes and leave the peace movement colony
behind.Ian had discovered the name of Smith's ship. Alpha/Omega. A strange compulsion was forming in
lan's mind.Even as the compulsion formed it frightened him, for itimplied a danger he would rather not
face. But for some reason beyond his understanding, he wanted to discoverwhy a colony started by a
hero out of the distant pastwould now engage in wholesale murder. What was it that the poet fromUnit
181 was warning him against? To thesurprise of everyone else, Ian had talked them back tothe
Discovery and then immediate departure.

 He couldn't understand his own compulsion and triedto make believe that it was a simple intellectual
exercise. Even as he pondered this fact, Ian reached the front cabinand swung into the seat alongside of
Stasz.

"Proper trajectory set and locked in," Stasz said.

"We're ready."

"Remember those odds, Ian my friend. This jump couldbe the disintegration act."

 Ian didn't reply. Logically they should head back toEarth, report their findings, and let someone else go
out and look. But the way the bureaucracy ran, that couldtake years. And besides, he was starting to find
the whole adventure compelling. Challenge was here. And mystery.His mind wandered around that
thought even as Stasz pushed them through jump and the wave of distortionwashed over him, plunging
him into darkness.
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                                               CHAPTER 7

Colonial Unit 287

First Completion Date: 2052

 Primary Function:Experimental Longevity Unit. Com-bined Russo/American effort with cybernetic
implantsdesigned to continue life beyond the then 130-yearmaximum. Such research had been banned on
Earthin 2041 by the United Nations as a response to ThirdWorld pressures concerning the question of
population control. Anyone already using artificial organ implants was exiled to space in 2050, with most
moving to the280-model units.

Evacuation Date: December 2085.

Overall Design:Bernal Sphere. Lower rotation rate with.3 G standard gravity. Extensive living area in the
zero-G regions.

Propulsion:Matter/Antimatter mix.

Course:Galactic Core.

 Political/Social Orientation:Corporate model managed byruling board. This unit was a nonpolitical
interface be-tween the Americans and the Soviets, and yet anotherexample of their expanding
cooperation in the middletwenty-first century.



"Discovery, you are cleared for final approach anddocking."

 Stasz had them lined up on the long axis of the slowlyrotating sphere, and with gentle nudges of the
thrustercontrols he guidedDiscovery toward the main externaldocking bay. They had been invited to
enter via the maininterior bay, but Ian insisted on an outside dock so theycould leave whenever they
desired and, if need be, with-out hindrance or permission.

 As the massive bulk of the two-kilometer-diametersphere filled their forward viewscreen, Ian was finally
torn from his observations by Shelley's insistent nudge.

 "Here's a brief review of the records in your file, I thought you'd like to take them with us. I've provided
copies to Richard and Ellen, as well."

"Thanks, shall we join them?"

Shelley nodded her agreement and together they floateddown the corridor to the docking bay.

 Damn, she's simply too efficient at times, Ian thought.He always felt uncomfortable around efficient
people, theymade him feel foolish and somewhat guilty. He knew hisdallying with Ileia bothered her, but
Shelley was only hisgraduate assistant. Richard had commented time and againover the last ten days
'Remember that virginal graduateassistant of yours is only three years older than your redheaded
Amazon.'
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Naw, there can't be anything in it. Shelley's a gawkygrad-ass with a mild dose of hero worship for her
brilliantprofessor...He pushed the thought aside; they came through the airlock and joined the other two.

"You've had a chance to scan my notes?" Ian asked.

 "Looks fascinating," Ellen replied. "What've they discovered if their experiments have been continued
sincetheir departure?"

 "We'll soon know," Richard murmured expectantly asa faint jolt ran through the ship. The docking
adapterhooked on to the colony's exterior airlock and quickly formed a pressurized seal.

"All clear," Stasz called from the control room.

 Ian reached out and pushed the door release. It slidback noiselessly. Even as their hatch opened, the
colony'shatch parted, as well, to reveal the usual double-entrysystem

 Ian and the others pushed off, and as the last of themcleared the second doorway, it slid shut behind
them.

"Dr. Lacklin," said the voice of the colony's approach control, "as I mentioned earlier, we do request
disinfec-tion."

"I doubt if that is necessary," Richard replied.

"Use our disinfection facilities or leave us, Dr. Lack-lin."

 Ian looked at the others, shrugged. They put on safetyglasses as requested and were dosed with an
ultravioletbath, followed by a disinfectant spray. Finally they wererequired to don robes, surgical masks,
and gloves.

 Richard looked professional in the robes, but Ellensnickered at the sight of the old M.D. as he flapped
aroundin zero G wrapped in a green hospital gown.

 "We're ready," Ian called. The second doorway opened.The slight inrush of air carried the scent of
disinfectantand alcohol, mixed with a slightly unpleasant somethingthat made all of them feel uneasy.

 They exited into the main corridor, where a slenderman floated in free-fall. Ian had wondered what he
wouldlook like. He had expected a bent form, aged beyondimagining, dried out, his desiccated flesh fit
only for the grave. But this one was different. He was old, extremelyold. If anything gave the age away, it
was the eyes thatbetrayed a soul that had seen too much. The man wastotally bald; the skin of his head
wrinkled and yellow likeold parchment. But he moved with an easy grace as hefloated closer, his robes
rustling lightly and giving off ascent of cleanness and starch.

"I am Joshua Morisson," the man said with a crispvoice that was almost too precise and clear, "and you
must be Drs. Lacklin, Croce, and Redding." He noddedto each in turn.

He stared at Shelley for a moment and smiled softly."And you are their young assistant Shelley."

His smile flickered and then died. "You have much totell me, all of you. I want to hear again of Earth."
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Ian looked at him closely, almost afraid to ask.

"I want to hear again of my home," Joshua whispered,"for you see, Dr. Lacklin, I am over sixty-score
years ofage. And I wish again to hear of the world where I was young."



 The others were gone, off on a tour of the colony, ledby an assistant who looked even older than
Joshua. ButIan had not wanted to leave the man. Here was the dreamof a lifetime fulfilled at last. He
stood face to face with alife that had spanned a millennium, a life that had seenthat distant time of so long
ago when the world wasyoung—and the greatest of adventures was just begin-ning.

 So he had answered with patience the old man's ques-tions and watched with fascination as his host
exploredthe corridors of long-forgotten memories. Occasionallythe old man softly cried, as if each of the
memories wasa sharpened point driven into his psyche, reopening long-forgotten wounds.

"So, it is all gone—Washington, London, Moscow, thegreat museums, the lovely churches, the soaring
monu-ments—all gone, as lost now as Troy and Carthage."

"Not really," Ian replied. "There is a New Mosca andNova Washington. I participated at a dig for the
old Cap-itol building when I was a graduate student."

 Joshua nodded sadly. "You see, young Ian. You see.You participated in a 'dig,' as you call it, for
somethingthat is still alive in my mind. You were digging for relicswhere I walked when I was a boy. I
remember"—and hisvoice grew softer—"I remember seeing a President buriedout of that Capitol when I
was seven."

 "Who?" lan's curiosity was screaming at him. Herewas the link. The living memory that could touch back
into a long-lost world. It was the ultimate dream cometrue. This man had been there, had seen, had
experiencedit all—ten thousand questions begged to be answered.

 "Who? Who? Why I'm not sure," Joshua said softly."I can see him, I can remember his voice carrying
clearand high on a cold January day, and then he was dead. But who was he, you ask." His voice drifted
away.

 Ian waited patiently, hoping that the layers of memorywould be stirred, but nothing came, just a slight
shakingof the head and then a half-bemused smile of sadness.

 "It is so long ago that I have not thought of it in ahundred, maybe two hundred years. I am old, Ian, my
comrades and I. Old as if we were like Adam, bent underthe weight of endless centuries since the loss of
Paradise."

 Ian leaned forward and touched Joshua on the hand. He felt a sense of awe that he was touching
something alive from the distant age he had dreamed about since childhood. He realized, as well, that
underneath this"specimen" that he wished to probe and record, there wasa man like himself. "How does it
feel?" Ian whispered."I somehow can't imagine it—how does it feel to havelived so long?"

Joshua smiled, as if he had waited and prepared forthat question. "I can remember when I was a child.
Therewas a thing called movies, do you have them still?"

Ian nodded.
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 "I can remember a day when I wanted to go to a movieand my mother said she would take me that
afternooninto the city. How I wanted to see it, how I had waitedfor weeks for that film to arrive. It was
early in the morn-ing, and so I settled down to wait for my mother to takeme. And the seconds dragged
by as if each fragment was a frozen entity slowly melting, to be replaced by yet an-other slow melting
fragment. I waited for an eternity..."His voice trailed off for a moment, so that Ian thought hehad fallen
asleep, but suddenly he stirred.

 "Do you remember the eternity of time when you werea child? That morning will be forever frozen in my
mind.I believe that only a child can truly see time in its passage.As we grow older time slips through our
fingers withoutour ever grasping it. And now you ask what my eternityis like.

 "I will tell you, Ian Lacklin, that the centuries of this endless journey have seemed like but a moment to
me,when compared to that morning of a millennium ago. Forall of time is an illusion. I drift now through
eternity andno longer feel its passage. There is no awe, there is nothingto excite, there is only eternity."

He knew the question was foolish but he had to ask.

"What was the, ahh, movie, I think you called it?"

 Joshua smiled again, as if he knew that this questionwould be asked, as well. "I can't recall now, it was
some-thing about the future and our distant past. It was aboutspace and a man who traveled far, but I
can't recall. All I remember is that in the end, we didn't go. My motherforgot her promise to me and left
with some friends, andso I didn't go. And across the centuries all I can nowremember is the pain."

"How have you managed this?" Ian asked. "How haveyou lived so long?"

"Ahh, how have I kept the spirit trapped in this vessel?I believe you are the historian, Ian, you must
know ofour grand design?"

"All I have are the few records that survived the Ho-locaust."

 "So that is what you call it now. I remember we usedthat word for something else, as well. But I guess
that itis fitting, a burnt offering, yes, that is fitting.

"But you wish to know how, rather than simply to hearthe ramblings of an old man."

"They're not ramblings," Ian said softly. "If need beI'll stay here as long as you will allow me, for I am far
more interested than you can imagine. Joshua, you aremy dream, you lived then, while I can only dream
of thattime. You saw it with those eyes, and through you I wantto see it, as well."

"These eyes, you say." Joshua chuckled softly. "Yes,these eyes. But let me return to your original
question asto how."

 Ian pointed to his wrist to ask if he could record theconversation. It took Joshua several seconds to
realizethe nature of the small device on lan's wrist, but he nod-ded his approval even as he started to talk.

 "I was a genetic engineer, a researcher on the edge of our bold new frontier. And through our research,
and in many other realms as well, we felt at last that we couldeven stare death in the face and turn him
back. Our strat-egies were many, just as a general will employ many dif-ferent weapons, each
appropriate to its task, to win hiswar. For this indeed was war—we were fighting the great-est tyrant of
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all.

 "Some followed the paths of mechanical engineering,so that it became possible to replace many of the
organsthat had once been the cause of so much anguish andpain. Soon we had the heart, the liver, the
kidney, hor-mone producers, and even the eyes," and as he said thathe gently pointed to his right eye,
"which you in errorsaid had witnessed such distant times. But the engineers'victories were merely
successful counterattacks; it waswe, the bioengineers, the genetic scientists, who turnedthe tide of
victory. We learned cells would only reproducefor so many generations before losing their vitality; we
learned to halt that decline in individual cells; we learned,as well, to supply antibodies tailored to the
needs of eachindividual, growing outside his body a reserve speciallydesigned and ready for instant
application. We also mas-tered the rebuilding of major organs by genetic manipu-lation of individual cells.

 "We learned these things, and the world hated us. Forour wonders were expensive beyond all imagining.
Onlythe wealthy, only those who had made their fortunes couldafford our treatments. And as billions
starved, hundreds who had everything learned to extend life, to stare deathin the face and cheat him of his
prey. So at last the hatredof the world turned against us, and we were banished tospace.

 "But we already knew that space was the only place we could go to if we truly wished to cheat the final
ad-versary. For on Earth there was too much that killed.Gravity kills as inexorably as any disease. It
taxes thebody, it exacts payment from its victims. Here there wouldbe no accidents to our bodies that we
could not repair, here our environment could be controlled, everythingsoftened, everything designed,
everything..."

His words drifted off for a moment.

"We've cheated him," Joshua whispered, "we'vecheated him. I can live yet another thousand years and if
need be, I can be saved."

"Saved?"

"Yes, many choose that in the end. If something goeswrong that we cannot stop—forms of senility,
damage tomemory, certain rare cancers that we have yet to learnhow to control—we simply save the
person. He is placedin suspended animation—ahh, I think the word is hiber-nation."

"You've mastered that?"

 "Yes, in the year that we fled from Earth, before thewar, our researchers found the answers and learned
tosynthesize the necessary hormones that would trigger thatmost ancient of protections."

 "That is fantastic!" Ian replied. "Richard has to hearabout this! It could revolutionize space travel. It
couldopen up the entire universe!"

 "Yes, I would have thought your people knew aboutthis; we shared the knowledge with another colony
aspayment for their leaving us alone. This was just beforewe left Earth. I would have thought they would
havespread the information."

"What colony was that?" Ian asked casually.

 "I remember meeting with their leader, he was a stu-dent of mine. Funny—he was a reasonable sort of
man,but driven. I gave him a small supply of the hormone, and to my surprise, he honored his word and
left us. Ihad thought there for a moment that we would have diedafter all."
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"Who was he?"

"His name was Smith."

 Ian wanted to push for more on that, but his thoughts were becoming disoriented, as if he had suddenly
been turned round and round. So what if Franklin Smith hadbeen here? More than a millennium had
passed, and withit a journey across trillions of miles. But he still felt thehaunting image of the poet,
floating—his words, a portent of warning.

"Would you like to see the rest?" Joshua whispered.

"What?" He was suddenly pulled back from histhoughts.

"The rest, my old friends, my fellow travelers."

"How many are like you?" Ian asked. "How manywere born before the Holocaust?"

 "All of us," Joshua replied. "The youngest woman tocome aboard was already long past childbearing
age. Weare all of the long before."

Floating up out of his chair, he gently pushed off to-ward the doorway and beckoned for Ian to follow.

 They passed out of the docking and reception areas and finally entered the main living area of the
sphere.

The smell of antiseptic was overwhelming, and with itthat faint, unpleasant scent Ian could not quite
place. There was a silence to the colony, as if they were in the realm of the dead.

 Occasional white-robed figures would float by, and somewould nod a greeting to Joshua. Ian soon
noticed thatvery few of the ghostlike people displayed what he thoughtshould be a natural curiosity over a
stranger. The colony'sinhabitants drifted by as if lost in a dream.

 Joshua finally led the way out of the free-float envi-ronment, and, boarding an elevator, they rode down
to the one-third-gravity level at the base of the sphere.

 Joshua walked with obvious discomfort and unstea-diness. This section was almost entirely empty. They
slowly walked along a white corridor that looked to Ianto be typical of some early hospital ward.

"Where is everyone?" Ian asked. "I haven't seen any-one since we've come down."

"I'll show you," Joshua replied as they came to a dou-ble door that opened silently at their approach.

Ian felt a sudden uneasy compulsion. He wanted tobreak away from this skeletal figure and run. Run out
ofthe hospital with its nightmarish feel of infirmity and death.

 He saw Richard, Ellen, and Shelley standing on the other side of the door, the three of them obviously
sub-dued.

 "Ahh, your friends," Joshua said softly. "Dr. Croce, Ihope you've found our technology to be of some
interest."
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Richard nodded slowly but was silent.

 lan's eyes gradually adjusted to the low level of bluelighting, and he recoiled with horror. The nightmare
flashedback for a second and he wanted to scream.

They were standing in a long corridor that curved upward and away, and he suddenly realized that this
hallwaycompletely circled the ship. And it was packed with bod-ies.

 They were suspended from the ceiling, each onewrapped in a see-through sarcophagus; each
sarcophaguswas linked with several tubes and monitors to a biosensor.

"Here is our sleep," Joshua whispered, as if afraid thattoo loud a voice might awaken the sleepers.

"When something finally strikes us that we cannot cure,we take the hormonal injections that trigger our
hiber-nation. Thus we shall ride out the millennium until at lastthe cures are found, until rejuvenation itself
can be re-created, until even we can be made young again."

 Ian walked away from Joshua. And stared off aim-lessly. The bodies hung around him on either side. All
of them old, old and shriveled, yet still alive in their endlesssleep journey. To each was affixed a data
card, and hequickly scanned some.




JOHNKEENEb. 5-3-1965HIB. 7-11-2238.ALZHEIMERS, RECURRING MALIGNANCY.

ANDREWBARRYb. 7-17-1964HIB. 8-1-2718.INSAN-ITY.

WILLIAMWEBSTERb. 8-18-1945HIB.4-4-2110.IN-SANITY.



 Ian looked back at Joshua. All of them born a hundredyears before the Holocaust! In their minds were
lockedthe memories. And such memories—memories of a grandand heroic age that he thought was lost.
How they musthave felt to have been part of the great epic. How theymust have been enthralled. But as
he looked back at themhe also felt a growing sense of uneasiness. And Joshuastood quiet. Watching.

"How many like this?" Ian asked.

"As of yesterday's accounting, 28,455."

Ian turned and started to walk down the corridor, cas-ually glancing at each nameplate.



INSANITY

ALZHEIMERS
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ATTEMPTED SUICIDE

SENILITY

INSANITY



"What is happening here?" Ian whispered, as if to him-self.

 "You know," Joshua said, coming up alongside of Ian,"there are only one thousand fifty of us left—those
that are still awake. I find it strange somehow to think of it.We have turned ourselves into a company of
sleepers. Wehave cheated death and will continue to cheat him acrossall eternity, as we fly through the
night—forever running.But eternity itself is a trap. We have cheated it. But stillit exacts its price."

Ian found he could not look into his eyes. Joshua floatedbefore him, that distant enigmatic smile still on
his face.

"Of all the places I have visited or shall visit, this isthe one I shall come back to," Ian said.

Joshua nodded.

 "You have gazed at man-made eternity," Joshua re-plied. "And Ian Lacklin the historian only wishes to
visitso that he can look into the past."

 Ian did not reply, for what Joshua said was true. If thiswas the potential of living across the millennium,
then he would indeed prefer death. And in that thought Ian Lack-lin started to discover something else,
as well. All his lifehe had been a coward. In fact, at times he felt ratherproud of his cowardliness and
viewed it simply as the proper reaction of any intellectual. But he saw a deeperfear haunting Joshua. A
fear of death so all-consuming that life in a mausoleum was thought by him to be preferable. Ian felt that
he would never again fear death inquite the same way, having seen what the extreme couldbring.

 Joshua seemed bowed down, as if the weight of ageswas oppressing him. And with that weight had
come theloss of all vitality, all life—so that he was nothing but a husk, floating through the motions of
living.

"I'll be back, Joshua, and we can spend long daystalking, talking of all that you once saw."

"All that I once saw," Joshua said as if echoing hiswords.

 "I've loaded our ship's memory right to capacity withyour records, thank you for helping me with that. I
knowRichard will be fascinated with your medical data, and Ican't begin to tell you how your early data
library will help my research. Thank you again."

 "You're welcome," Joshua replied, his voice barelyaudible. He seemed to be staring off into the distance,
asif looking beyond to something Ian knew he could notsee.

 "I might not be awake when you return, Ian Lacklin.Just our talking for the last ten days has conjured up
somany memories better left undisturbed. And each mem-ory is a weight, a heavy chain dragging me
down into aswirling circle of despair that I cannot escape. I may notbe awake then when you return, and
if not, come andvisit me in the corridor of sleep and say hello, Ian Lacklin.Say hello to one who shall
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outlive you into eternity."




                                               CHAPTER 8




 Looking at the aft viewscreen, he could still see Joshua's unit, a small sphere of light suspended in the
cross-hairs of the high-magnification scanner. Ian finally turnedhis gaze away from the screen and looked
over to Richardand smiled.

 "Are we going to float out here forever?" Richard askedquietly, while offering a flask of gin. Ian nodded
his ap-proval and the flask floated across to his outstretched hand. Just as he started to take a pull on the
straw, the doorway slid open and Ellen drifted through the hatchinto the storage compartment that all
knew was lan's se-cret hiding place.

"So much for my sanctum sanctorum," Ian muttered.

Ellen settled down by his side and extended her handto the flask.

 "Good gods"—Richard gasped—"is this a sign that our beloved group psychologist is cracking up,
running amok,and all that?"

"Shut up," she muttered in reply.

"And so touchy! Truly this is too much."

"Look, Croce, I knew Ian was in here trying to decide,and I thought I'd join him."

"Well, what do you think I should do?" Ian asked.

"I feel the same way you do," Ellen replied. "I'm torn.Our ship's memory banks are filled to capacity. I've
gotenough forms filled out to last me through half a dozenpublications, and most of all I'm just sick.
Especially afterthat one." She gestured toward the screen.

"But?" Richard interjected sarcastically.

"Yeah, but," Ellen replied. "That's just it, Ian, we'reall being drawn by that one big but. A bit of mystery
hasbeen set, and I'd like to get a look at what this Dr. FranklinSmith set in motion. I must say that the
videos of him arequite compelling."

 Ian smiled weakly at her. They had watched the 1100-year-old tape made by Joshua's onboard security
system. It was badly damaged but computer enhancement hadrestored many of the details. Smith had
been powerful—his charismatic energy rippling across the millennium. Hisebony features had carried a
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sense of great intellect paired with a ruthless drive for survival. Yes, the romantic imagefrom the past had
held Ian in its sway as well.

 "He's long dead," Ian replied. "And if the odds arecorrect, chances are all his people are dead, as well.
Theirship was an exile unit, and overcrowded far beyond its bearing capacity. True, he was a charismatic
leader, one of the moving forces for the Great Outward Leap, but for his particular unit the odds were
near impossible. I thinkthisAlpha /Omegais just another unit."

"But curiosity, the bane of any good historian, hauntsyou, doesn't it?" Ellen asked.

 "All right, let's be logical," Ian replied. "First off, ourship's memory is packed to capacity. We wouldn't
storeanother byte of data if we wanted to. We've been out overfour months, and it will take nearly that
long to return."

"If this crate holds up," a voice said over the PA loud-speaker.

"Ahh, yeah, thanks for the encouraging reminder,Stasz." Ian looked up at the forward viewscreen, which
was suddenly filled with the image of their grinning pilot, who had obviously been indulging with Richard.

 "I thought this little room was my private domain!"Ian shouted. "First Richard, then Ellen, now you
listeningin. So where the hell is Shelley?"

 "Right here, Ian." And the doorway slid open so that she drifted in to join them. "I was listening in on the
intercom. There's been an open channel out of your cub-byhole for months, but you never knew it."

 Oh, great. Then they had heard his mutterings in pri-vate, when he thought he was hiding from the rest of
them.He suddenly realized with a flush of embarrassment thatShelley and the rest must have heard some
of the com-ments he had mumbled of late concerning Shelley, as well.

 He looked up at her and the moment of eye contact was enough. She blushed and he quickly turned
away,and the other three chuckled.

"Highly unethical, some of the things you've said toyourself," Ellen admonished.

 "Let's get back to the subject," Ian interrupted, trying to regain control of the conversation. "As Stasz
remindsus on every single jump, there is a probability of disaster built into the Alpha-class spacecraft.
We've been lucky.One more successful jump and we could be home."

 "Or one jump to Delta Sag, which is only seven light-years away," Shelley replied. "We could check out
thevicinity, and then head for home. It will only add a monthand a half to the journey."

 Ian realized that they were merely voicing the argu-ment that he'd wrestled with all day. Joshua had
shakenhim up. He had never expected something quite so chill- ing. But he was curious, as well. He had
never orbitedanother star. Not surprising—he'd hardly ever been off-campus. They would in fact be the
first survey vessel everto orbit the Delta Sag binary. And since a number ofcolony vessels had headed in
this direction, there was thepossibility that they might find something.

"Come on, Ian," Shelley said softly. "Let's do it."

Ellen gave him a nudge and offered the flask.
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"But you're almost out of forms," Ian said jokingly.

"I'll improvise. Hell, Ian, you've made my career onthis journey. I never thought it possible that I'd ever
profitfrom knowing you."

"Say, Ian, when she gets rich and famous, we shouldgo to some conference and pass the word about
what C.C.means."

Ellen turned with a roundhouse punch, and Richard jerked aside, just barely missed losing his teeth. As
Rich-ard ducked, Ian was able to observe the absurd effects created by trying to punch someone in zero
G.

It took Shelley several minutes to subdue Ellen and pull her out of the room.

"Not nice, Richard," Ian said admonishingly.

"But it was fun."

Knowing that the intercom line was hot, Ian didn'treply immediately. After thinking their situation over for
a few minutes, he said, "All right, Stasz, punch us up forDelta Sag. But this time I think I'll stay back here
withthe flask and ride it out."

And when the drive finally kicked in with a vision-blurring jolt, Ian could barely tell if it was the gin or
distortion that caused him to black out.



 When the detection alarm kicked in, Ian and Shelleywere hunched over the display board examining
some of the records fromUnit 287 . For two weeks they had spent every waking moment checking out
the video recordingsand the historical data stored aboard the vessel. Ian wasstill in a state near shock
over the library, where he had discovered thousands of works believed to have been lostin the Holocaust
War.

The names of authors whose works were till now un-known scrolled across the catalog display, and Ian
mut-tered with frustration when he tried to decide which to examine first.

"Look at these," Ian had cried. "The discovery of justone of these books would have been worthy of
note, and we've found thousands. It will revolutionize our under-standing of pre-Holocaust literature."

Shelley hung over his shoulder and watched as thenames and works flashed across the screen.

"Who was this Mailer?" she asked.

"Someone obscure, I've read that his works are noth-ing but worthless mutterings."

"Then if that's the case, with our memory filled tocapacity, shouldn't we dump him? I mean, Richard,
Stasz,and Ellen are all howling for memory space."

"Yeah, maybe you're right," Ian replied, and he pushedthe erase button to make room for something of
morevalue.
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"What about this Akhmedov? I never heard of himeither."

"Good heavens, girl, and you my grad-ass ahh, I meanassistant. I should have you go back and reread
yourtexts." And it was at that moment that the alarm kickedin.

Stasz quickly hit the override and within minutes theyhad gathered forward to see what was to come.



 "No beacon functioning on this one," Stasz reportedto the assembled crew, "but it's the biggest I've ever
seen.Her mass triggered the alarm. She's only about fivehundred A.U. off our main course, heading for
Delta Sag.Should we jump down and check it out?"

 Ian looked around and shrugged his shoulders. "Whatthe hell?" he murmured. And turning, he went back
tothe computer board aft to ride out the velocity shifts and the gut-popping downshift to sublight.



"So that explains the mass," Stasz said. "There're two of them riding together."

They were on final approach, and the confusing shapeof what appeared to be a triple torus mated to a
Bernalsphere had finally, at closer examination, resolved itself into two distinct and different vessels.

"Shelley, can you get a clear design printout of this?"Ian asked.

 Shelley ran the radar imaging through the computerfile, and after several minutes of cross-matching with
theirrecords, the probable design and ship's data finally cameup on the screen.

"Ian?"

"Yes?"

"What the hell is Albania?"

 "Albania?" He floated over to Shelley's side and peeredover her shoulder. He noticed that there was a
faint but pleasant scent to her hair, and for a second his thoughts were diverted.

 "What is it?" Ellen asked, and as he looked across ather Ian realized that she had noticed his diversion
and hefelt somewhat flustered.

 Albania? Faint memories were stirred of old maps ofsoutheastern Europe. He wasn't sure, but he had a
rec-ollection that they were some crazy nationalist group outof the Balkans. A number of ethnic groups
had founded colonies in that final decade before the Holocaust, as an attempt to preserve their culture if
the war finally came.So this then must be an ethnic preservation unit. Hechuckled softly at the image of
the Albanians greeting him at the door wearing gawdy peasant garb and gyrating tobizarre folk music.

This might be amusing, Ian thought lightly. They mustbe harmless.

"Ian, I'm getting a printout on the second unit," Shelleysaid. "It appears to be another ethnic group, it's a
Serbo-Croatian Nationalist Liberation Unit."
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Serbo-Croatians? Hell, even he was stumped by that.

 He looked across at Ellen. "Amaze me and tell me thatyou know Serbo-Croatian, or whatever it is they
speakover there."

"I'd like to lie, but I never even heard of Serbo-Croatian."

Ian didn't answer. He'd let them think that he knewall about them. He took over the data board from
Shelleyand accessed into their own library and into the library from287 to find an answer.

After a half hour of silent study, he came to his con-clusions. "Stasz, how about firing up our drive and
gettingus the hell out of here."

"What do you mean?" Richard interjected. "Hell, we'reonly a thousand kilometers away and closing.
Come on, Ian, let's check these ethnic guys out—it might be inter-esting."

 "Look, I'm the historian and the project leader. Trustme. Those Albanians and Serbo-Croatians were
neighborsback on Earth. In fact, if you go over to that region today,you'll still find them gleefully slicing
each other's throats when the sun goes down. They were doing it for a thou-sand years before the
Holocaust. Hell, those crazy bas-tards helped to trigger a world war. If ever there weretwo groups of
people who enjoyed slaughtering each other,it would be those two. I bet that they searched throughall the
cosmos just to find each other out here, so they could dress up in their ethnic garb and go at it. So let's
just leave them alone with their friendly folk customs."

"Come on, Ian, let's go in just a little closer." This timeit was Stasz.

"You're playing with fire."

"And here I thought you were turning heroic on us.

Now the old Ian comes back out again," Shelley saidjokingly.

"Okay, go ahead, you crazies. But if they can get aboardthis ship, you better learn how to speak Serbo
or Alba-nian, or whatever it is, damn fast."



 From less than a kilometer away they slowly circledthe two units. The two colonies were docked to
each otherby several long tubes. Stasz hailed the vessels on every possible frequency but received no
response. However,both ships gave clear indications that their reactors werefunctioning at full power, and
from the exterior mirrors Ian could see reflected images of the inside indicating lights and movement.

 It was the half-dozen suitless bodies floating betweenthe two ships that finally sobered lan's companions.
Suddenly a number of vessels emerged from the Serbo-Croatian ship, and then from the Albanian. Both
squad-rons started in their direction and lan's arguments finally took effect.

 "I think we better get out of here," Stasz muttered ashe punched up the sublight drive and started to pull
awayfrom the colonies.

However, after several minutes it soon became clearthat their pursuers were gaining on them.
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 "You see, I told you so," Ian said dejectedly. "Youguys wanted to check them out when I told you not
to,and now they're going to force us to attend whatever itis they do to each other over there."

"Maybe they're not hostile," Ellen said hopefully.

"Not hostile? Did you see those bodies that had beendeep-spaced? That didn't look too civilized to me."

 "They're closing in at point twenty-three kilometers per minute," Stasz interrupted. "I'm pushing her to the
max now, but it will take me another half hour to plot outour jump and go through purging and
adjustment."

"Can't you speed it up?"

"You want to up our chance of disintegration from 1.4to 20.2 percent?"

"Might not make a difference," Ian replied.

"Say, take a look at that!" Shelley cried, pointing at the aft screen.

A flash had emerged from the lead Albanian pursuit vessel.

"Looks like a primitive rocket," Stasz yelled. "If it'saimed at us, we're dead meat."

 The rocket accelerated and within seconds its course was obvious, as it closed on the lead ship in the
Serbo-Croatian pursuit squadron. In a noiseless flash of light the Serbo-Croatian craft disintegrated. The
other vessels sud-denly turned in their pursuit paths, accelerating away at right angles from their original
trajectories. Rotating ontheir axes, they started to fire back.

 "Good old rivalry saves our butts," Richard murmured."Hate each other too much to let the other one get
theprize."

 More vessels soon emerged from the two colony shipsand a major battle was underway. In the
confusion theDiscoverywas soon forgotten, as each side prevented theother from closing in.

"Say, Stasz," Richard asked imploringly, "would youpunch us out of here asap?"

Stasz chuckled and recited again the odds of disinte-gration with the jump. But the routine somehow did
nothave the same effect anymore.

 "Albania," Ian repeated, shaking his head, bumming aflask from Richard. He headed aft to hide out when
the shift hit.



 Ian sat alone in the command bay as the others slept,and for a brief moment he was able to enjoy the
totalsolitude that being the only one awake could bring. Afternearly five months of voyaging together,
each had learnedthe patterns of behavior that would generate the leastamount of friction. Ian found that
reversing his circadiancycle gave him the chance to quietly hide in his workwhen most of the others were
asleep. As theDiscoverysoared across the vastness of empty space, Ian wouldspend hours in Stasz's
couch contemplating the Doppler-distorted images or prowling through the vast accumu-lation of data
stored in the ship's memory. And Ian finallyrealized that he was actually happy. In spite of the fears that
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still haunted him, he was enjoying himself, perhapsfor the first time in his life.

 First of all the vast and varied responsibilities of Earth . were gone. All concern about rent, budgets,
departmentmeetings, and reviews by the Chancellor had vanished. Ian actually felt healthier, and he had
to confess that El-len's food, even when spiced with her occasional vitriolictirades, was far better than his
bachelor monstrosities.There was something far deeper, as well. For the firsttime in his life he felt as if he
were doing something im-portant, not just dreaming about the lives of others longdead. The sense of
accomplishment was almost worth thebouts of terror that still assailed him. He found that hewas actually
learning to manage the nagging self-doubtswhen he had to make a decision that could be crucial tohis
survival, let alone the survival of others.

 One self-generated disturbance, however, did give himpause for concern. He was experiencing an
increasing number of fantasies about Shelley. She had somehow changed. When they had departed, she
was still the kid who was playing at being the grownup housekeeper andguardian for a beloved uncle or
older neighbor. Ever since the burning he had received from the Governor's daugh-ter, Ian had sworn off
females in general and young ones in particular. As a college professor he mainly associatedwith kids
twenty years his junior, and he had learned longago that they were a quick and easy way to a tribunal
hearing on a morals charge.

 But five months of close proximity was getting a littletoo much to deal with. He knew that Stasz had
absolutely no interest in Ellen's designs but was turning his attentiontoward Shelley, as well. But the few
grab passes offered by the pilot had all resulted in cracked knuckles. So thatpossibility was out.

 At times he thought Shelley was making a direct passat him, and then again there were times when she
seemedjust a slightly gawky grad assistant who was trying to behelpful. But more and more of late, he
found himself contemplating the tight slacks that Shelley had taken towearing, and the press of her body
against his when theywere hovered over the computer display...

"Mind if I join you?"

Ian awoke from his reverie to find Ellen standing inthe doorway. "Ahh, sure. Thought you'd be asleep."

 "Felt like taking a midnight stroll." She chuckled softly.Coming forward, she slipped into the Co seat next
to Ian.

"You look rather pensive."

"Oh, just watching the show pass by."

"It's rather frightening at times," Ellen said softly.

"How so?"

"Come on, Ian. In my book, you were the originalcoward. I thought you would still be quaking at the
pros-pects of this voyage."

 He didn't take offense at her statement. And ratherthan ducking it, he had a strange compulsion to talk it
out. "First of all, I did feel terror, cold stark terror, when I finally started to realize what this voyage was.
I canalmost understand how medieval man was stunned andterrified by Copernicus. Before him the
world was small,safe, the center of God's will. After Copernicus eternitystretched out before us and such
a thing was beyond ourability to grasp, thus the blind terror of it all.
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 "When I realized just how far we would travel, justhow far away from Earth we were going, how far we
weretraveling from that damn little campus, I was struck withfear. The thought of this frail, delicate body
hurtling atjump speed for trillions of miles was beyond my abilityto deal with on a rational basis. I tried to
soothe myself with the thought of the romance of it, but that's a bunchof shit. There isn't any romance,
there never is any ro-mance when you're out doing it. Maybe years later we'll talk about how romantic it
all was. The romance of ad-venture exists only in the memory. Any good historiancould tell you that."

"Sounding philosophical tonight."

"Comes with soaring in space for too long. It gives youthe chance, the time to separate yourself from the
mun-dane. I think I can understand the attraction the explorers of long ago felt for the sea. Out there the
mundane caresof the rest of the world were lost in a never-ending changewhich was the sea, the wind at
your back..."

"But it's so cold," Ellen whispered. "I look out at thisimmensity and I feel so small, so alone."

 "Precisely. And that is where you lose yourself. I'veimagined at times that this voyage could soar on
forever,across the endless sea."

"And I see it merely as a mission and then a trip home.Don't you want to go home, Ian?"

"What for? To go back to faculty meetings and the monthly confrontations with Dr. Ellen Redding?"

"All right, Ian, you made your point. You know, I'vetried at times to analyze why we can't stand each
other.For that matter, why I can't stand most people,"

 He was tempted to let fly with a sarcasm, but let itpass. Ellen was making an effort. Rare, to be sure, but
it was an effort.

 He took a deep breath and made the plunge. "When Ihear the name Ellen Redding I picture a florid,
freckled,five-foot-three, slightly overweight, middle-aging adoles-cent, who still behaves at times like she
is the ingenue ofthe high school set."

He quickly held up his hand to ward off the explosion,but it didn't come. She just sat silently, and he
wasn'tsure if the blush on her face was a signal for a fireball orfor tears.

 "And I think she resents it all," Ian continued. "Shewishes to be something else. The classic beauty, the
trulytalented artist, the person who lives in the same circle as the Chancellor or with the literati of New
Bostem, andinstead is stuck in a backwater town. So you lash out,Ellen. You lash out at this overweight,
balding, none-too-competent history professor. A male of the species who can represent all the males
who never gave you an evenbreak just because of your sex and lack of sexuality. And I guess I'm saying
this 'cause I'm a long way from home.I'm still a coward underneath it all, and I want to burythe hatchet."

"Ian, you never did learn tact. You never did learn howto tell the truth without cutting flesh."

She turned away for a moment. "I think I'd almostmiss cutting you up."

"There's always Richard."

"That slob?"
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 "Sure he's a slob—a frustrated slob who never hadthe right connections in a system that required it. A
slobwho was a little too sensitive when it came to practicingmedicine, and hid it with a couple of drinks
too many. And anyhow, Ellen, you make him happy."

"I make him happy! I'm not sure I heard that cor-rectly."

"Sure, Ellen, think of it. Where would you and Richardbe if you didn't have each other to insult? I half
believewe enjoy our antagonisms as much as we do our loves.It gives us the energy to face what
otherwise would be avery boring existence. Think of it this way, Ellen, youmake Richard happy in a deep
personal way every timeyou insult him."

She turned and looked at Ian. She wasn't sure if hisspeech wasn't some sort of elaborate joke planned
byRichard and Ian, or if she was experiencing a moment oftruth between the two of them.

 Then the alarm kicked on and within seconds Staszwandered sleepy-eyed, into the cabin to check the
consoleprintouts for navigation prompts.

As Ellen walked out of the cabin, Ian would have swornthat she smiled at him.




                                               CHAPTER 9

Colonial Unit 122

First Completion Date: 2063

 Primary Function:International Feminist Foundation.Organization founded by radical feminists in 1994 to
"create a lifestyle totally removed from a male-dominated infrastructure."

Evacuation Date:According to Copernicus Base Record,July 19, 2083. Believed to be one of the first
units todepart near-Earth space.

Overall Design:Single Torus 900 meters in diameter withcentral shaft 500 meters in length.

 Propulsion:Standard Modification Design, strap-onmatter/antimatter packs mounted to nonrotational
central shaft.

Course: Delta Sag.

 Political/Social Orientation:Anglo-American, RadicalFeminist. Taught doctrine of removal of the male
spe-cies. Thousands of sperm samples were taken and all Y chromosome sperm destroyed. The result
was bil-lions of frozen X sperm, creating a potential "pool"capable of providing enough fertilization
capabilitiesto last for several hundred generations.
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"Hard Dock!" Stasz announced, turning to look back at the rest of the crew.

"Any reading yet on which unit this is?" Richard asked.

"There're no external markings," Shelley replied. "The beacon is off, and all I have to go on is the design.
Thereare thirteen single-torus models listed in our records."

"Shall we go?" Ian said softly, as he eased out of hisseat and drifted aft to the docking port. "Who's
game forthis one?"

"What the hell?" Richard responded as he slipped out and followed Ellen.

As they suited up with businesslike calm. Ian couldremember the fear and anticipation of his first
boarding,but that seemed like ages ago, as if he possessed the memories of someone else.

"We're throwing the hatch," Ian said as the manualairlock to the colonial unit slowly opened. Instinctively
he braced himself as the hatchcover parted. A quick flashof memory caused his pulse to jump. But
nothing wasthere except for the usual corridor leading to the secondairlock.

 They closed the doorway behind them, and in the softglow of their headlamps Ian pulled the manual
release forthe inner airlock door.

 "Holy shit!" Richard murmured. The words flowed outof him in reverent awe, as if he had suddenly
looked intoa celestial radiance.

 The words were on lan's lips, as well. A single woman stood before them, as if Eve had appeared
incarnate fromthe Garden, her body clothed as was Eve's before the fall from grace.

 "Damn me," Richard said, "what the hell do we havethese things on for? She looks safe enough without
'em." And before Ian could stop him, Richard unsnapped his helmet and pulled it off. He moved closer to
the womanand smiled, hoping the slight odor of gin would not provetoo offensive.

 Her deep-blue eyes had a cold clearness that seemedto mask a longing desire, her curly blond hair
tumbleddown past her shoulders to just barely cover the full swell of her breasts. She stood before him
naked and inviting.

"Ahh, my child, do you understand what I'm saying?"

She nodded and smiled.

 "My name is Dr. Croce. Ahh, well now, you see, beingof the medical profession my training requires that
I mustinquire into your obvious state of excellent health. Do you understand me?"

She nodded again.

"Good, my ahh... dear." He moved forward andtouched her lightly on the shoulder. "Would you mind ifI
perhaps examined you a little more closely?..."
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"Richard, you pig!" Ellen pushed forward to stand be-tween the girl and the medico.

 "Ahh, yes, I've heard of that word, 'pig'." The voicewas cold and chilling. Ian turned and found himself
look-ing into a set of cold dark eyes. He stepped back as halfa dozen women floated out from a side
corridor. Theywere dressed like their comrade, but the business endsof six antique pistols were enough
to convince him thathe shouldn't ask questions about their choices in fashion.

 "You see, sisters," the cold-voiced woman said, "it'sas we've learned. His first thought was that of
exploita-tion."

 "I can explain..." To those unfamiliar with him, Rich-ard's voice sounded solemn and professional, but
Ian coulddetect the fear in it.

"Ah, now the pig will explain. That's always the case."

"You were right, Diana," the blond woman replied,"the trap was almost too simple."

"Say, Ian, what the hell is going on over there?"

 "Secure the airlock against entry, Stasz!" Ian shouted,but before he could say another word the
cold-eyed womanheld a small box against his neck. A numbing shockknocked him over. He was still
conscious, but incapableof moving.

"Thank you, sister, I've been waiting for this liberationever since I was assigned to these men. Please let
me knock the other one down."

 Ian recognized the last speaker as Ellen! Well, of allthe gratitude, he thought sadly as two women hauled
himaway. At least, he thought philosophically, I'm still con-scious and capable of enjoying the view.



"How long do you think it's been?" Ian asked.

 "Don't know—a day, maybe a day and a half," Richardreplied wearily. "Their time measurement is
radically dif-ferent from ours, so it's hard to tell."

 "I wish they'd give my clothes back." Ian felt ridicu-lous sitting naked in a bare cubicle alongside the
equallyoverweight and equally naked doctor.

Richard started to chuckle.

"Damn it, I don't see anything funny! What the hellare you laughing at?"

 "I never thought the two of us would be paraded beforeten thousand naked women and extolled as
examples ofmanhood. Think of it, Ian, ten thousand women seeing aman for the first time, and it had to
be us. Imagine whatfantasies they'll have about us afterward."

 "Fantasies my bare ass," Ian grumbled as a key clickedin the door. It was time for another examination
session.
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"Sisters, our two specimens here are evidence of justhow degenerate the male of the species truly is.
Thankour grandsisters for liberating us from that." Diana pointedwith contempt at Ian and Richard.
Murmurs of agreementarose from the several hundred women gathered in thelecture hall to attend what
Diana said would be an "in-teractive examination of the subspecies male."

 As Diana gazed at him in contempt, Richard tried aweak smile. Ian scanned the audience and found to
hisamazement that after several days of seeing naked femaleflesh in every form and shape, the initial
excitement waswearing thin. Oh, to be sure, an occasional woman caughthis eye, but given his current
situation, tied and spread-eagled on an examination table, he felt it best not to lethis gaze linger on any
particular attraction.

 But he did notice Ellen and Shelley sitting in the frontrow and made eye contact with both of them.
Taking a closer look at Ellen, he almost started to laugh as shepositioned her body in a desperate attempt
to cover allareas of interest. But Shelley was another story. She sat back in what could only be
considered an attempt at dis-play and regarded him with a cool look of playful invitation. In desperation
he quickly looked away. Good lord,that woman was torturing him!

 "Sisters," Diana said, interrupting his thoughts, "we'vehad our opportunity to examine these creatures
bothphysically and mentally. Now, in yet another demonstra-tion of our liberated society, I think it is only
correct that we allow them to show their own masculine weaknessesby giving them the opportunity to
question us in turn.

"Go ahead, ask us anything," Diana said with scorn,"anything at all,"

Ian and Richard were silent.

"Are you afraid, too?"

"Understand I am a doctor," Richard said, attemptingto sound authoritative, "so this is only a question
out ofmy professional curiosity."

"Go on, Doctor," Diana hissed. "We already saw adisplay of your professional interest in Sister Carrie."
Shenodded toward the willowy blonde from their first en-counter.

"All right then. As I understand it, you are a feministgroup that holds all men in contempt."

"Correct, and in fact the only logical thing any normalwoman would do."

"Second, in the thousand years since you've left Earthyou've used only X-chromosome sperm to create
more women."

"As is only proper, you see, Doctor. With our hugebank of edited sperm we've eliminated the need for
menand for that—how shall I say?—function you once pro- vided."

"I see." Richard was trying to look professional, and Ian almost found himself laughing at the naked
doctor trying to stare down his disdainful audience.

"Then what do you do for, ah, recreation?"

"Do you mean sexual gratification, Doctor?"
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"Yes. I mean, after all, ladies, without any menaround..." And his voice trailed off.

Angry mutterings could be heard in the crowd.

"Why doctor, I'll satisfy your disgusting prurient in-terest, which we realize all men naturally harbor.
Doctor, we simply find our necessary gratification in each other."

"Good lord, I've died and gone to heaven," Richardmuttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing at all.

 "Now, I'm a healthy man, not past my prime," Richardsaid in reply. "Don't you think some of you
ladies—sayyou, Carrie, or even you, Diana—aren't you curious justto see what it might be like with a
man?"

 The audience chamber exploded in outraged shouts ofdisgust. A torrent of abuse showered down on the
two,so that for some minutes Ian feared that they were aboutto be lynched by a thoroughly incensed
mob.

"Keep your damn mouth shut," Ian hissed, "or so helpme..."

"So help you, what?"

"I don't know, but so help me something."

 Suddenly Ellen was up and pointing at Richard. "That'swhat I've had to put up with," she shouted. "It's
still thatway back on Earth! Thank you, oh, thank you for savingme." She started to cry, and Carrie
hurried to embraceher.

"Traitor!" Richard shouted. "You didn't act exploitedwhen you were trying to get into Stasz's pants."

Outraged howls roared over the crowd as, sobbing hys-terically, Ellen was escorted from the room by
Carrie.

"Just shut up, Richard," Ian begged, "otherwise I'llstrangle you the first chance I get."

"See, sisters, see the natural aggressiveness comingout, even between two so-called friends."

The two prisoners fell silent, and eventually the out-raged women calmed down.

"You, Lacklin," Diana asked, "do you have any ques-tions?"

In spite of his sense of absurdity, Ian couldn't help butapproach the situation as an historian. He felt that
hemight even have been participating in a historical first—the first interview by a historian in deep space
while nakedin front of three hundred naked women.

"Just a minor question first. Why no clothes?"
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 "Why not?" Diana replied. "Clothing was exploitive and designed by men to enslave us. Here we are
sisters,and free of such things. And besides, the climate is com-pletely controlled."

"Do you understand your historical roots?"

 "Oh, quite well. Our memory systems have survivedintact, and our leaders, who first created our society
athousand years ago, live yet in those memories. Through their inspired guidance we re-learn daily of our
ansisters' exploitation by your gender. Each generation that is bornhere learns it as well from our teaching
library."

 That would explain their almost perfectly preserved twenty-first-century pre-Holocaust speech, Ian
suddenlyrealized. The vocabulary and pronunciation would belearned from an unchanging source,
thereby guiding thelanguage and arresting it at a particular point. A philologistwould be fascinated with
their society—it's a living ex-ample of a language long altered on Earth.

It was fascinating, as well, since the founding philos-ophy had survived, unlike the Friends of the Light
whohad quickly evolved into something beyond the wildest imaginings of their founders.

"So you artificially inseminate out of your frozen bankand then train your children through the library."

"Not artificially" came a voice from the audience. "Oursis the natural way; yours the abomination."

"Have you ever tried it?" Richard shouted back. "It'snot so bad."

"God damn it, Richard," Ian shouted before the uproarswept over them, "are you trying to get us killed?"

"We'd prefer if you didn't take Her name in vain,"Diana said coldly. "And as for getting killed, you might
not be too far off the mark."

Richard looked at Diana with a weak smile. "May I ask one or two other questions?"

Diana nodded an affirmative.

"How do you administer your system?" Ian said beforeRichard could ask another question.

"We have a system of support groups."

"I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with that term. What is a support group?"

Several of the women laughed.

"We are all organized into groups of ten sisters whoprovide support and encouragement to each other.
Fromeach such group one is selected who, with nine others selected by their groups, participates in the
next level of administration. So the structure progresses up to the Sister Eldest, the position I now hold."

"It sounds like a logical management system," Ian re-plied, trying to smile in a friendly fashion.

"Watch it, sisters," Diana said sarcastically, "he's ap-pearing to support us, but we all know that
underneath he still wishes to exploit."

"Okay." He hesitated for a second, unsure if "okay" signaled agreement or expression of anger. They
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didn'tshow any stronger hostility so he assumed his colloqui-alism had been correct.

He tried for another. "I can relate to that and to yourstruggle."

"Don't patronize us!" several dozen shouted.

He wasn't sure of that term either, but the tone of theresponse was enough. "Let me make this a more
personalquestion then. It's obvious you don't like us, I can acceptthat. So why not return our clothes and
Richard and Iwill be on our way. And if our two sisters desire, theycan head out, as well. Is that okay?"

 Diana's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why? So youcan run back to your male-dominated world and give
themthe word as to where we are?"

 Diana turned away from Ian and faced the audience."Sister Ellen has already told me that you can make
avoyage of a thousand years in just a matter of months.No thank you. We don't want you running home
and thenbringing back your contemptible breed to gawk and ex-ploit. We know a pig named Stasz is
hiding in your ship.Sisters, once we figure out the way, we'll break into thepigs' ship and take it for
ourselves!"

 The women cheered while Ian looked at Richard and grimaced. The women were serious, and there
would beno turning on the charm and talking their way out. Ianlooked appealingly at Shelley, hoping that
she would speakout. She looked him straight in the eye then brushed her hair back off her small rounded
breasts, so that he couldsee them more clearly. She favored him with a tiny smirk.

"So, what are you going to do with us?"

Diana smiled at his question.

 "The Primary Council support group has debated thatquestion and we've come up with a proper
answer.

 "Our frozen sperm is a thousand years old, and in-creasing numbers of samples are flawed after the
extendeddeep freeze. Sister Ellen has assured me that your medicalbackgrounds are adequate, even if
your physical appear-ance is substandard.

"Therefore," Diana continued, "we propose to use youto resupply our bank."

"Suppose we won't cooperate," Ian snapped back, his dignity insulted by the mere thought of what she
wassuggesting.

"We've thought of that, as well. We understand that you men find the watching of the sexual act between
women to be particularly exciting. Perhaps after severalsuch voyeuristic experiences you'll be willing to,
how shall I say, give us a hand."

"Oh, God, I've died and gone to heaven," Richardmoaned.



The doorway slipped open and Shelley signaled themto be silent. Ian had half suspected it all along, but
know-ing it was true caused him to kiss her with relief.
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"Let's go," Shelley whispered. Ian nudged Richardawake. Richard looked at him bleary-eyed and
groaned.He had been taken out hours before for a "session," orat least that's what Diana had said, and
must have beenreturned when Ian was already asleep.

Ian pointed to the door where Ellen and Shelley stood.

"Is this an escape?" Richard asked. "Well, if so, countme out, you'll never make it."

"Come on, asshole," Ellen commanded, "we're going."

"Leave without me, this setup isn't so bad. At leastlet me offer a couple more samples first."

 Ellen slipped into the room and pulled out a stun prodlike the one Diana used. "If you don't get your ass
upand moving," Ellen hissed, "I'm going to put it on yourbutt and jolt your backside clear across this
room. Nowmove!"

"All right, damn it." Richard cursed wearily and gotto his feet. Ellen fell in behind him and Shelley led the
way. Twice they encountered a "sister," and in both casesShelley managed to drop them with a stunner.
And inboth cases Richard had to be dragged away from his at-tempt to "make sure there was no lasting
damage."

Finally they reached the airlock entry and a brief scuf-fle ensued as they fought their way past half a
dozenguards then finally managed to secure themselves insidethe airlock.

"Now let's hope Stasz didn't decide to abandon ushere," Ian said.

"Not to worry," Ellen replied. "I managed to lift theradio out of my suit and I stayed in touch with him."
Shepulled the unit out of the pouch hanging from her shoulder,which was the only stitch of clothing she
had on.

"We're in the airlock, Stasz."

"How the hell do I know it's you?" The fear in hisvoice was obvious.

"Listen, you drunken idiot," Richard replied, "I knowyou've already snatched two of my bottles and
hidden them under your bunk since we left Earth. God knowshow many more you've taken while I've
been away. Infact, that's the only damn reason I've come back—"

The airlock hatch opened.

 "Blast my eyes with a nova," Stasz muttered as Ellenand Shelley drifted past. Shelley even stopped for a
mo-ment, leaned up and kissed Stasz on the cheek, then pushedoff and floated away to the main
cabin—the three menlooking after her.

 "What happened?" Stasz asked, as he looked mock-ingly at his two now slightly self-conscious
companions.

"Paradise," Richard replied.
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 "Docking unlatched," Shelley said, her eyes on themain instrument board. She was back in a light
coverall, and Ian found himself looking at her and imagining whathe had seen earlier.

There was a faint tug of gravity as the maneuveringthrusters turned them out and away from the torus.

"My compliments, Ellen," Ian said softly.

She looked back at him and smiled. "It was Shelley,as well. She had come across a description of the
unit in the library banks some weeks back. She pointed it out tome and we both had a good laugh
wondering what it wouldbe like if we ever came across them. The moment I sawCarrie I knew what we
had hit into, and realized that Ihad to play along and wait for a chance to escape."

"Just how far did you play along?" Stasz asked leeringly. "Yeah, the doc told me about what them girls
didto each other back there."

Ellen fell strangely silent.

 "You seemed to enjoy yourself," Richard said, direct-ing his comment to Shelley. "I swear you loved
everyminute of teasing poor old Ian and me."

She smiled knowingly and without comment lookedback to the board.

"Did they torture you at all?" Stasz asked, alreadyimagining all sorts of exquisite possibilities.

"Ahh, what torture," Richard said softly.

 "Just think about this for torture," Ellen said suddenly,with a malicious gleam in her eye. "I was thinking of
letting it ride for another couple of days, but then I found out what they had planned for you two so I
took the extrarisk and tried the breakout at once. It seems they foundthe old way of taking sperm
samples to be rather repug-nant. So, my dear doctor, their medical people came upwith a suggestion that
Diana approved of right after theyhad their first specimen-gathering session for you."

 "Oh, I can just imagine what delights they had planned,"Richard said smoothly, "though to beat that first
sessionwould have been darn near impossible. Ian, my old com-rade, you should have been there to see
it. Why, it wasa true delight. You really missed something while youwere asleep. And then these damn
women here came anddragged us away before you had a chance."

Ian gave the two girls a look of reproach.

"You could have let me have one session," Ian replied,"before liberating us."

 "Maybe we should have, you ungrateful slug," Ellenresponded, her face aglow with a malevolent smile,
"butmy dear sister Shelley talked me out of waiting. You see,my fine chauvinistic friends, the medical
team suggested to Diana that a simple operation could cut off the part ofyour body that they needed; it
could have been rigged toa bio support unit to produce all the sperm they'd everneed. They just did that
little show for you to get a sample,so they could check out if you were viable and worth the effort.

"If the operation had worked, they planned the samefor you, my dear Ian."

Not another word was said as the three men went aft to drink.
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                                              CHAPTER 10

Colonial Unit 13

First Completion Date: 2023

Primary Function:Cosmos Society. Organization of pro-space activists. One of the first units to
demonstratethe feasibility of the O'Neill Cylinder design.

Overall Design:Single cylinder, 1400 meters by 350 me-ters.

Propulsion: Matter/Antimatter.

Course:SETI Anomaly One. Galactic Core.

 Political/Social Orientation:Multinational Japanese,Russian, English. Cited by Beaulieu as "a colonialunit
of exceptional promise, showing the possibilitiesof international harmony through peaceful coopera- tion
in space." With the coming of the Holocaust thecitizens of13 voted to evacuate rather than be turned
against each other by their less-civilized ancestorsbelow.



"Jesus, what the hell is this!"

The jump-down from light speed was complete, but Ian was ignoring Stasz's shouted questions because
hewas still nauseated from the transition.

"Get on the board, Ian."

Convinced for the moment that dinner wasn't going tocome rushing back up, Ian pushed forward to
hover be-hind Stasz's shoulder.

 "I'm getting a lot of debris," Shelley called from the Co's position. "I've locked onto a beacon two
thousand klicks ahead, declination five degrees off. But there are no significant mass readings."

"Ian, look at this!" Shelley dialed the CRT up to ahigher magnification.

A human body was at screen-center slowly tumblingthrough space.
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"I'm picking up more, Ian, dozens of them. Do you want to look?"

He shook his head and turned away.

 Within minutes Stasz was maneuvering the Discovery through a nightmarish jumble of debris—the
twisted rem-nants of what had once been a vessel of several hundredthousand tons. On a number of
occasions hard maneu-vering was required to avoid torn hunks of metal and, in one case, a mummified
fragment that had once been hu-man.

 "As near as I can estimate," Stasz reported, "a thincloud of debris is traveling outward from Delta Sag at
avelocity of just over 230 miles per second."

 Delta Sag was straight ahead of them and outshiningall the other stars in the heavens. Another half hour's
run would have jumped them within twenty A.U. of the star. But the signal beacon had caused them to
stop and jumpdown into a floating funeral.

Ian scanned the trajectory backplot and passed it overto Stasz.

Stasz punched in the data and within seconds had aresponse. "Approximately fifty-two years, six months
outward bound from Delta Sag," Stasz reported, "assum-ing constant velocity."

"I have the beacon source on visual," Shelley an-nounced.

 The five of them huddled around the primary screen as the image came up. It was a nondescript hulk of
in-terstellar flotsam slowly tumbling end over end.

 "Approximately a hundred meters long by fifty wide,"Stasz reported. "It looks like the reactor core. It's
stillhot, I'm picking up some trace readings."

 Even as Stasz spoke, the Discovery lurched slightly as it weaved past a large fragment that its shields
could notvaporize. Stasz guided the vessel back onto an intercept course and before the hour was over
he was fine-tuningthe final approach that would bring them up alongside thereactor unit.

"This is a waste, Ian," Ellen said, "whatever colonyunit this was, it's been blasted beyond recognition."

 The others murmured their agreement. They were flyingformation with a drifting junk-yard—torn metal,
shreddedshielding, shards of glass, and mummified bodies.

"I need to find out more," Ian replied coldly. "We startedout aimless, but with each step farther out, the
path seemedto point us into this direction, and to that star." He pointedat Delta. "Now, damn it, we're
only a fraction of a light-year out from it and we find this. I've got to know why.Was this an accident or
was it something else?"

"You mean Smith's colony?" Richard asked.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"By my hairy butt," Stasz shouted. "There's someone aboard that hulk!"

They crowded forward to see where he was pointing.
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 "There, in that window, I saw a light flashing. Look,it will roll into view again in another couple of
seconds.There, there it is!"

 As the window came into view, a strobe flashed once,then again and again in rapid succession, and in
the flash-ing light Ian thought he saw a figure waving.

 After half a dozen passes they were convinced thatthere was somebody alive in there. But how to get at
him?



Twelve hours later they were still debating the ques-tion.

"Look," Stasz repeated yet again, as if they were ig-norant children. "First, there's no docking port."

"But there does seem to be an airlock."

 "We're not sure its functional," Stasz replied. "Second, there's only one person in here who's had
experience withan EVA propulsion device, and that's me. And if you thinkI'm going out into that floating
junkyard, you're crazy.Remember, comrades, if I buy it, who the hell is going tofly you back home?"

 None of them liked to be reminded of that. Stasz wasall they had, and as such, he was treated with
special carewhen it came to dockings and explorations.

"So, who wants to go?" Shelley asked again, and allwere silent.

 "We could always tie a tether line to someone, he couldpush out, and if he runs into a problem we could
reel himback in."

 "Well, sister," Richard said reproachfully, "what doyou mean 'him'? I thought after that dose of liberation
at our last visit, you would be more than eager to proveyourself yet again."

"Just remember, buster, it was I who saved you froman operation that might have improved your
personality."

 "And you never did tell us, sister Ellen, just how sis-terly you and Carrie got. My, my, I would have
loved tohave seen that show."

 "You rotten son of a bitch!" Ellen stood up with such vigor that she tumbled from her seat and catapulted
clearinto the forward cabin.

Her shrieks filled the air and it was some seconds before the rest of them realized that the shrieks were
notscreams of rage but of terror.

 They pushed forward and Ian felt his heart skip overinto a near palpitation as he looked toward the
forwardwindow. A mummified face was looking in the windowfrom the outside. But this mummy was
grinning and its eyes were rolling. It brought up a space-suited hand andwaved.

 "Guess that settles the question of whether we go tothe neighbors or the neighbors come here," Richard
said."I better get a bottle, it looks like he needs a drink."
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"Crack one for me, as well," Ellen said hoarsely. "I need it."



 "Elijah, they called me Elijah Crump." He spoke slowly,each word formed distinctly and with effort, as if
every syllable was a physical form that had to be worked overbefore expelled.

With quiet ceremony Richard drifted forward and of-fered a drink container, but first he shook it lightly.
The tinkle of ice could be heard.

"Richard, should you?" Ellen asked.

Elijah looked at him, a glint of suspicion in his eyes.

"Are you from Sagit?"

"Sagit?" Ian asked.

"He must mean Delta Sagittarius," Shelley interjected,and pointed back to the front of the ship where the
onestar now dominated the sky before them.

"Yes, Delta Sagittarius." He stumbled over Sagittariusbut they knew what he had said. "Curious name,
whatdoes it mean? We never did know."

 Ian wrestled with so many questions. He had almostleaped upon Elijah the moment he had cleared the
airlock,so eager was he to find out why. Why? There were somany whys, but he had to be patient. Elijah
was not thetypical image of what one expected to come floating in for a friendly visit.

First off, his suit was downright dangerous. It was of an ancient pattern, last seen in Earth environment a
mil-lennium ago. Patched and repatched in a crazy-quilt pat-tern that looked like the efforts of a
hallucinatingseamstress. He was clothed in a set of coveralls that had been worked on in the same way,
worn and threadbarefrom a thousand cleanings, matching the appearance ofthe man who wore them.

 Elijah was lean, gaunt, and stretched out thin, his fin-gers long and sensitive, his high forehead fringed
with athin wisp of snow-white hair that matched the long flowingbeard framing his face. Eagerly his eyes
darted from oneto the other of them, drinking in the sight of them; yethis look was also one of suspicion
and fear.

"I haven't spoken to anyone in, how long is it?..."He lapsed into silence again, then noticed the drink still
being offered by Richard.

Tentatively he took the container in his hand and broughtthe straw to his lips.

Tears came to his eyes.

"Bless you," he whispered. "I remember now, it's... it's called alcohol."

"Gin, my man," Richard replied cheerfully, "and thebest to be had in this part of the cosmos."

"You were saying that you hadn't spoken to anyone,"Ian interjected, fearful that Richard would start in
on acomparative study of alcohol that would drag their guestinto a numbing oblivion. "How long has it
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been?"

Elijah nodded his head slowly, took another sip andsavored it.

 "I remember a name for it, we called it godt. I had achronometer aboard, back there." He gestured
vaguelyback toward the airlock. "It broke after measuring fifty-one godt."

"That's Old Russian for years," Ian whispered in quiet amazement.

 Elijah took another sip and smiled gravely at them. "Ihave survived upon that hulk alone. The other
survivorsdied within the first year, and I was left alone. Alone afterthe destruction. It's been at least fifty
years," he whis-pered, "since I have talked to another man."Elijah started to laugh.



"Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide, wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony."



Ian sat enrapt, but it was Shelley who interrupted.

"I've heard a fragment of that."

"Coleridge,The Ancient Mariner ."

"We've only a fragment," she continued. "The rest isbelieved lost."

 "I know it all, right in here," Elijah said, pointing tohis head. His voice rose up with a deep sonorous tone
that echoed through the ship.




"I closed my lids, and kept them close,
And the balls like pulses beat;
For the sky and the sea, and the sea, and the sky
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet."



He stopped and looked at them.

 "I'm sorry, I was alone, you see. Never a voice torespond, never a soul to listen as I shouted my words
tothe universe."

Ian could hardly respond, stunned by the magnitudeof what he was observing. Fifty years alone, lost in
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theendless reaches of the universe! "What happened?" heasked tentatively.

Elijah took another sip and there was a wild glint inhis eye.

" 'For I alone have lived to tell thee this tale!' "

"What?"

 "You don't realize, my friends, that I've waited twoscore and ten years to utter those simple words, 'for I
alone have lived to tell thee this tale,' can't you see? Can't you see what this means?" His voice broke and
he startedto sob.

Ian looked across at Richard and the others.

"Not now, Ian, don't push him yet. It can wait," Rich-ard said softly. "It can wait, let him have his drink."

Richard gently took Elijah by the arm and led him astern.

 "A nation, no, a race," he shouted, "and down fromacross the millennium I am all that is left of my world,
for I am Lazarus returned from the realm of the dead to tell thee all!"



 "I was working in the backup reactor housing when they hit us." Ian turned with a start of fear. It was his
watch, and as the others slept he had settled back towatch Elijah's slowly tumbling realm and the sharp,
coldlight of Delta Sag. He had never heard Elijah's quiet approach.

 Ian beckoned for Elijah to join him in the Co's chair.He was no longer wearing the bizarrely patched
coveralls, and he was freshly shaved and washed. Elijah looked atIan and smiled softly. Ian was shocked
to notice that mostof his teeth were missing.

Elijah looked out the starboard window and stared atthe slowly turning reactor unit.

 "That was my entire world, nay, my entire universe.Main corridor eighty-three meters, fifty-two point
onecentimeters from main bulkhead to bulkhead. Shall I tellyou how many tiles were set in the floor?
How many werecracked and what each crack looked like? How about screws securing each air vent? I
spent eternity floating,nameless, voiceless, eternally alone. Ah, such will be myeternity in Hell for having
endlessly cursed the name ofGod in my madness."

 Elijah looked back to Ian and smiled again. "I'm notmad, Ian Lacklin, not mad at all. Perhaps I am saner
thanany man alive, for I have learned the power of waiting,but I shall not make you wait. First I will tell
you all, then you can tell me what I desire. Will you tell me ofthe paradise of my grandsires, where you
walk upon theoutside of your world and all is green and blue skies above?But first I will tell you."

 Ian nodded and smiled encouragingly. He was half afraidthat Elijah was tottering on the edge of a
complete break-down, and when that came, his message would be lostforever.

"As I was saying, I was working on the backup reactorwhen they came."

"Who?"
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"Ah, yes. From Delta Sagit, the followers of the Fa-ther."

"The Father?"

"Ah, yes, forgive me. You don't know. My world...I believe you call them colonies, had at last made
SunFall. I was, let's see, sixteen that year, and already provenon the reactors and bio support."

Ian looked at him in amazement. Sun Fall he called it.A journey of a thousand years and at last they
make SunFall. What it must have been like, arriving in a new realm.

 "I can remember it. Our world was indeed desperatewhen we arrived. Across the millennium of the
voyagesome systems had failed, others had gradually been de-pleted, and we needed what our science
people called agas giant with hard-surfaced satellites, so that necessaryresources could be mined.
Coming in on Delta Sagit also gave us a new energy source, which we had already beenexploiting
through the use of parabolic mirrors.

"There are five gas giants around Delta Sagit and wewent into, how do you say—" He waved his hands
vaguelyin a circular motion.

"Orbit?" Ian prompted.

"Yes, orbit, that's the word, around the second farthestfrom the sun. Even as we arrived, they were
waiting forus."

"Who? Was the Father's name Franklin Smith?" Ian ventured.

Elijah looked at him with incredulous eyes. "How didyou know?"

"We've been following his path since the beginning."

"They said he was a great prophet," Elijah said, "whospoke of the Satan that had driven them into the
Hegira.

"Our beacon was on as we approached. For five years before orbit we had intercepted some of their
broadcasts,and they were aware of us, as well."

"Who are they?" Ian asked.

"They are followers of the Father," Elijah repeated ina vague singsong manner.

"You say they met you?"

"Remember, Ian Lacklin, I was not even of one scoreyears. We of my age and station had no word of
ourleader's decisions, you see, our society was ruled by a philosophos."

"I don't recognize that..."

"From Plato, at least that's what I remember. I onlysaw the Father's delegation once, when they first
dockedwith us. They were tall men and women, proud in theirbearing, with dark faces and eyes that
bespoke some innervision. At least, that is how I remember, but you knowthe tricks that memory plays
with an old man."
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 Ian nodded, trying to envision the encounter betweentwo alien cultures separated by a thousand years
from thecommon cradle of their birth.

"Our philosophos then told us that we were leaving.He said that they desired of us what we would not
giveand told us to do what we would refuse. Therefore, we would leave. We had but one month to stock
up enoughraw material for the replicator machines, and then we left."

"You had replicator machines?" Ian asked.

"Yes, a replicator. We always had them, don't you?"

 Ian shook his head. "According to Beaulieu, they wereonly legend, machines that could be programmed
to makewhatever was desired, as long as enough raw materialwas fed in from the other end. Before the
Holocaust someninth-generation devices were used to mass-produce elements for the colonial
development, but true replicators,capable of producing just about anything, including modelsof
themselves, were only in the developmental stage whenthe war came. At least, so Beaulieu thought."

"Ah, so I see," Elijah said pityingly.

"What was it they wanted?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Have you ever been sixteen and in love? Her namewas Rachel..."

 Ian nodded and understood. In the reality of sixteen-year-olds, there were some things even more
importantthan the destiny of worlds.

 "So we left. For six months we accelerated up andaway, using the hydrogen mined from the gas giants
alongwith matter/antimatter drives. And then there came theday."

His voice broke and he looked out the window at theship.

"You know, she's over there still," Elijah said softly.

"Who?"

 "My beloved Rachel. You realize I couldn't send her out with the rest. I found her a year or so after the
darkday." He stopped for a minute, as if trying to controlhimself, and then pushed on. "I found her
floating in the wreckage and brought her back. A room in my area hadbeen ripped open to space. I tied
my love in there witha cable, so she wouldn't float away. You know, I went tovisit her every day and
looked through the window at her.I said good-bye to her before coming. I asked her if she wanted to
come with me but she said no, she wanted tostay with our world, forever sixteen. I said good-bye toher
and she said good-bye to me and said she would missme...



"My love she sleeps,
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And may her sleep,
As it is lasting so be deep,
Soft may the worms about her creep."



His voice started to rise and crackle like old parchmentbeing mishandled.

"It's all right, old boy." Ian turned with a start, andthere was Richard smiling at the two of them, drink in
hand. Ian sighed with relief.

"She understands, my good man, she understands,"Richard said soothingly. "Here, have a little bracer."
And he offered a chilled drink container.

Elijah snatched the container and took a long, deeppull.

 "You were talking about the day," Ian asked softly. Richard gave him a look of reproach, but he decided
topush ahead anyhow.

"I was working on the reactor, changing a fuel rod.Routine sort of thing. Suddenly it was as if my world
hadslammed into a solid rock. I thought we had taken a—what's the word?"

"Meteor... asteroid?"

 "Yes, asteroid hit. I had heard of such things. We had a collision drill once a year. In fact, it was such a
ritual that it was a festival day, The last one was the first timeRachel andI..."Elijah suddenly looked at
them withcold clear eyes. "But that is gone forever."

 His voice now took on a clipped urgency, as if he were making some official report that had waited half
a centuryto be given.

 "The first salvo hit the torus in sections one throughtwenty. I went to the primary observation port and
sawentire sections going up, exploding outward in flashes oflight, tumbling debris, and shattered bodies. I
saw it, I saw it! My God, that was my family, my mother and father! Damn you, damn you bastards
forever!"

Richard placed a hand on his shoulder and Elijah lookedat him with a haunted expression.

"Maybe you shouldn't," Richard said.

 Elijah gave him a weak smile. "You know, I never sawthem—I mean, who it was that did it. I saw the
flash ofthe beams, but nothing else. I knew at once that somehowthe followers of the Father had caught
up with us. The beam weapons slashed out, again and again, with such neat surgical precision, slicing out
section after section.The imbalance of the cylinder now started its own actions,ripping it apart from the
central core that I was in.

"We screamed in impotent rage as the beam finallycaught us out and slashed the core wide open.

"The section that I was in separated, cut from the main.'Subreactor one and agro research and
development sec-tion one, reporting in. Is there anyone there, is thereanyone there?'"
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He looked again at the hulk then turned back to them.

"Ten of us with air. We had thrown enough emergencylocks to seal the section off. Six of them were
badly in-jured, mostly from a radiation spill in the containmentarea.

 "We fought for weeks. Patching leaks, stabilizing the research lab, and creating an environmental support
sys-tem. We alone had survived. We found a couple of suits and rigged up an airlock, and thus started
my scavengingoperations. I would crawl through the corridors, pushing past the bodies. You know, a
body can make excellentfertilizer. Oh, you'll do it if there's need enough. Youknow, you can do
something else, as well. They're frozendry, all you have to do is add a little water and the meat'salmost as
tasty as fresh," Elijah whispered.

Ian was unable to respond.

 "The others couldn't stand it. I watched them go, oneby one. They'd crawl into the airlock, some of them
crying,others praying. One was laughing. They'd pop the doorand take the leap. The Big Leap, that's
what we calledit. I'd watch them struggle out there, and later I'd go outafter 'em. After all, they were
fresh..."

Ian was stunned.

"There was nothing else you could have done," Rich-ard said, his voice soft and soothing. "There was
nothingelse for you, it was necessary in order to survive."

 Elijah looked at him and smiled. "Conservation, re-cycling, that was the world, the world of my
forefathers.So I lived, I salvaged and lived, forever alone, in a worldof floating death. Anyhow, it tasted
quite good. Still does,you know."

 He smiled at Richard. "If you want, I'll go out and getyou one. I've got a whole stockpile of legs. Only
the bestfor my friends."

"No, that's quite all right, quite all right, my friend,"Richard replied, making a supreme effort not to show
hisemotions. Ian floated in the corner and tried not to gag.

 "Rachel and I..." Elijah continued. "My poor, dearRachel who floated in an airless room. And the one
book,treasured in the museum. A book from before the GreatSailing. I found it floating in the wreckage.
Literature ofthe English-Speaking People. Oh, I know it by heart, I do. I know it all by heart, for I read
it to Rachel everyday, and I shouted it to the heavens my entire life as Ifloated with my dinner in that
corridor—eighty-two me-ters, fifty-two point one centimeters."

He looked over at the hulk again.

" 'Let us fly these troubled waters, Ahab, let us come hard about.' "

He turned back to them with imploring eyes.

" 'For I alone have lived to tell thee this tale.' Please, for God sake, take me away from here."

Elijah looked at Ian slyly and reached into his pocket.

"In payment Ian, in payment I'll give you this and yetanother legend to pursue. But it's our secret." And
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sosaying, he gave a paranoid look at Richard. "Only one,there's only one and I can't share."

Ian hesitated for a moment, fearful of some horror, butRichard came up to lan's side and whispered.

"It's all right, it means he trusts you, if it's a piece of meat just pocket it, thank him, and leave. It's a
bondinggift."

 Richard smiled at Ian, nodded at Elijah, and floatedout of the room, leaving the two of them alone. Ian
smileduncomfortably at Elijah and cleared his throat. If this is a piece of meat, Ian thought, I'll get sick, I
know it, andhe braced himself.

 Elijah drew out his hand and opened it. A slender metalrod six inches long and the diameter of a straw
floatedup. A small blue button jutted from one end. The strangeshimmer to the metal caught lan's eye and
he drew closer. It could have been a swizzle stick from Richard's drinkingkit.

"What the hell?..."

"It scared the hell out of me," Elijah said softly.

"What?"

"The thing that owned that rod."

"What thing?" Ian suddenly noticed his heart was rac-ing.

"The thing."

Ian gulped. "Do you mean an alien?"

 He snatched the rod out of the air and nervously ex-amined it. It was cool to the touch and a minuscule
flowingscript curled around the length of the shaft. He had neverseen such writing before and with that
realization his handsstarted to shake.

"How did you get this?"

"Promise you won't tell, the others might get mad at me, 'cause I didn't save any. You're the leader so I
haveto tell you but not the others." There was a pleading whineto his voice.

 Ian nodded in agreement, not really paying attention to the words, as if he was listening to the fearful
chatterof a little child.

"All right then." Elijah drew closer.

 "It knocked on my door, it did. Honest, I heard a knockon the airlock. I looked out the window and
there it was, a ship docked to mine. So I popped the door and, sweetholy of holies." His voice rose to a
near shriek and Ianhad to reach out to calm him down.

"What was it like?" Ian begged.

Elijah looked at him and smiled.
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"Lucky I had some garlic and artificial butter," he whis-pered.

"Oh, no. You didn't..."

"He sure did look like a giant snail to me. Tell me, Ian,have you ever had a hundred-kilo escargot?"



"By heavens, Ian, he's sick."

Ian looked across at Ellen and nodded in affirmation."But that's not the question we're dealing with,
Ellen."

 "I don't give a good god damn what you think we'redealing with, I think we should put him under
sedation, turn about, and head for home. And another thing, weshould let the Exploration Board come
back out here and figure out what the hell is going on with this Father, or whatever it is those people over
there are worshiping."Ellen waved her hand off in the direction of Delta Sag.

"First off, I'm not going to sedate Elijah as long as hisbehavior is reasonable."

"Reasonable, my ass, that madman came up to me and asked if we had any fresh meat. He even pinched
my leg.Good Lord, Ian, he gives me the creeps."

"Reasonable, my ass," Richard whispered sotto voceto Stasz. "I'd like to see him take a bite out of her
buns, she might enjoy it."

"Shut up, pig! Remember I saved your butt from theIFF."

"And I remember in some detail what yours lookedlike. Stasz, you should have seen it, a little heavy
perhaps,but still worth a—"

."Shut up, all of you," Ian shouted. "We've got to makea decision, damn it!"

 "Look, Ian," Ellen interjected, "this was originallyconceived of as a way for the Chancellor to get rid of
some nonconformist or incompetent faculty members."

 "Yes indeed," Richard interrupted. "But do speak foryourself, Ellen dearest, when deciding which of the
two."

"Give her a chance, will you?" Ian replied, amazed athimself for defending Ellen against Richard's barbs.

Choosing to ignore his comments, she continued.

"I was also going to say that this is an academic mis-sion. We were to establish contact if possible with
one ormore colonies and find out what happened. Look, Ian,we can't even gather any more data. Our
memory banksare crammed to capacity, to enter even one more itemrequires us to dump something else.
There's enough datain there to keep our respective professions busy for thenext century. Ian, we can go
back home, we can go backas heroes, and screw the Chancellor."

Ian shot Richard a glance to suppress the obvious re-tort.
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"I know you want to get back home, too," Ian said,looking at Richard.

Richard merely shook his head and smiled. "I want tosee how this argument turns out."

"And you, Stasz?"

"They've got beam weapons—look what they did tothat out there." He pointed at the wreckage that
drifted just outside their forward viewport.

"So that means you'd prefer to turn back?"

 "Look, Ian, it's been run. I've racked up six monthsof translight time. By the time we get back, I figure I
cantake standard retirement plus ten percent. Do you thinkI want to blow my retirement checks just to
go visit thefollowers of a crazy man dead for the last thousand years?"

"But your curiosity is there, isn't it?"

 Stasz shifted uncomfortably, so that he floated out ofhis couch. "Don't ruin the image of indifference that
I'vetried to cultivate."

"And, Richard, what do you have to say?" Ian asked,turning away from Stasz.

"The arguments for turning back are obvious. Smith'speople are armed and have twice proven their
madness. Confrontation with them is something I think is totallybeyond our capacity. We already have a
valuable cargoof data, which I think should take precedence at this stageof the mission."

Ellen gave an audible sigh of relief.

"But..." It was Richard who was prompting.

 "Yes, the but," Ian replied. "There're two buts here.We can go back home and turn over this
investigation tothe bureaucracy. I want you to think about that. Thinkabout our beloved Chancellor. For
that matter, think aboutmost any bureaucrat you've ever known. When presentedwith a problem like this,
what will they do? For that matter, what does any bureaucrat excel at?"

"They'll screw it up," Stasz replied.

 "That's my point," Ian said softly. "Out toward DeltaSag there is one hell of a mystery, and I fear what
someonelike the Chancellor and his kind would do to that situation. I'd rather have a group of half-assed
intellectuals likeourselves in the driver's seat. And this might sound strangecoming from old Ian Lacklin,
but damn me, I'm just plaincurious. This journey has scared me from day one. It's still scaring me, but I
guess I'm getting used to it. We'vecome this far, I think it's worth the risk to take the finalstep. The
historian in me is dying to know just what reallyhappened to Franklin Smith's people."

"Let's hope you don't die finding out," Stasz replied.

 The others fell silent; Ian nodded to each and floatedout of the room to his small retreat in the aft storage
area. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the rod that Elijahhad given him. He couldn't tell any of them
the real reasonthat he wanted the expedition to continue, at least notyet.

Even more than finding out about Smith, he now wantedto find out about the alien who came for dinner.
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If one alien was in the area, there might be another. Ian only hoped that he found them before Smith did.
Elijah had been unable to enter the alien's ship, which apparentlydisappeared while its pilot was becoming
dinner for one. Ian thought it might have been launched by a dead-manswitch hidden in the alien's
equipment or by a timing circuit in the autopilot. The only thing to survive theirfirst encounter was the
small cylinder Elijah said had beencarried in a metal holster on the alien's carapace. Ian didn't want to
consider the possible consequences ofSmith's people having the first contact with another civ-ilization.
First contact, that is, if one didn't consider Eli-jah. But how would Smith react to the visitors from Earth?
... Ian again examined the strange artifact in his hand. Itdid look somewhat like a swizzle stick with a blue
button on top, but he had yet to work up the nerve to press downon that button. Considering where they
would be in amatter of hours, he suddenly realized that the only evi-dence of intelligent nonhuman
civilization should be safelystored away. And he knew the perfect place. While the arguments continued
up forward, he poked around inRichard's affects and placed the object in his comrade'sportable drinking
kit. The artifact fitted in like it had beenmade to match.



"Ready for translight," Stasz called.

 "'And who will turn back from the greatest hunt ofall,'" Elijah shouted as the faint tremor of the overdrive
system began.

 Ian opened his eyes for a moment to look forward.Delta Sag was straight ahead, its Doppler shift
alreadynoticeable. Soon the jump would kick in completely and radical distort would slide its light
through the visiblespectrum. The jump would be a short one, then their destination would no longer be a
mere pinpoint of light, a distant star. For the first time in over half a year, their cabin would again be
flooded with the light of a sun.

 The jump shifted up with Stasz's shouted reminder ofthe chance of breakup. Ian leaned forward, his
stomachrebelling in protest.




                                              CHAPTER 11

Automated Archival Unit 2

First Completion Date:2087

 Primary Function:Archival. A farsighted effort institutedby the United Nations Historical Preservation
Organ-ization. Having evaluated the prospects for war, amultinational team set out to provide as
completea record as possible of the history of mankind onEarth. Replicas of all major works of art were
pro-duced, all major libraries were copied. The data wasplaced aboard four units, two of which were
suc-cessfully launched from Earth orbit only days beforethe first nuclear exchange of the Holocaust War.
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Evacuation Date:August 1, 2087.

 Overall Design:O'Neill Cylinder, 400 meters by 100 me-ters. Minimal life-support systems. Design was
to belargely self-sustaining and self-navigating.

Propulsion:Plasma Drive.

Course:SETI Anomaly One.Political/Social Orientation:None.




"We've locked onto that signal, Ian. It's just come outof occultation by a gas giant, four A.U. ahead.
There's strong background interference from a number of radiosources closer in to Delta."

"Shelley, which unit is the beacon from?"

 "Ian, it'sArchival 2 !" The tone of her voice causedthe others to turn and look in her direction. Ian was
al-ready pushing forward to peer over her shoulder at the display screen.

"The jackpot!"

Ian and Shelley started to hug each other, and in herenthusiasm Shelley planted a long kiss on Ian that
hadthe others clapping and cheering.

 "All right, all right," Richard said, his curiosity nolonger capable of being contained, "what'sArchival 2 ?
Isit Smith's unit?"

 "No, it's just the mother lode of a historical dream.It's the archive ship, launched just before the war. It
con-tains everything, Richard. Everything you could imagine.The only complete record of everything from
before the war. Good lord, Beaulieu will kiss my feet just for thechance to look at it, just to touch it for
one minute. We'llbe blowing our noses on honorary doctorates for this!" Ian floated out of the room
weeping with joy.

"I guess that means we go toArchival 2 ," Stasz saidquietly with an attempt at understatement.

"Stasz, you said you were picking up a lot of back-ground interference. What is it?"

"Oh, only a broad spectrum of interference from a large number of radio frequencies—what you'd pick
up in near-Earth space. You know, a first-class civilization, billion-plus-people level of communication..."
His voice trailedoff.

"I think we better tell Ian," Ellen replied, her anxietynow obvious.

"You'll get an argument over it," Stasz responded. "Thatmad historian wants his archival unit first."

"Where are the signals centered?" Richard asked.
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 "In toward Delta Sag. Initial printout indicates a small planetary body; it all seems to be coming primarily
fromthat one source."

"Anything from the region ofArchival 2 ?"

"Nothing."

 "Fine then," Richard replied. "Originally we hadplanned to stay out here and monitor them for several
weeks before we made the move. But let's get intoAr-chival 2instead. He'll see the wealth of information
there,the historian in him will want to preserve it at all costs,and, I daresay, we'll be hauling back to Earth
with thenews within a day—this Franklin Smith adventure for-gotten. So, let's go on in."

Stasz gave a grunt of assertion, and even Shelley seemedsatisfied with Richard's conclusion.

 Elijah sat in the back of the cabin, silent, staring at theball of light whose heavily filtered globe now filled
themonitor.



"Hard dock."

Ian was out of his seat and pushing off for the airlock,calling for the others to follow.

 Within minutes he was suited up and urging on Shelleyand Ellen, acting like a little boy whose parents
refuse toget out of bed on Christmas morning.

Stasz came back to join them, and from a small attachecase he produced three stun pistols.

"Ian, you better take these along, just in case."

"Stasz, there hasn't been anyone aboard that vessel since it launched a thousand years ago."

 "Bull. This thing's in orbit when it should be headingfor the galactic core, that beacon is in perfect
workingorder, and we've picked up strong transmissions fromonly ten A.U. away. They've been here,
Ian, they mightbe in there now."

"Well, if that's the case, I guess we'll just have to talkit out when we meet them."

"They didn't talk it out when I met them," Elijah said.

Ian looked around at the rest of the crew.

 "Look, I know you're not too thrilled about this. I'm just going in to confirm what's in there. If it really is
Archival 2, I think that information takes higher prece-dence over anything else. We'll see what we can
takeback with us, then we get the hell out of here. Does thatsatisfy everybody?"

The rest were silent.

"Give me the damn guns and let's get going."
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And then he thought again of Smith. "I'll be with youin a moment, I forgot something."

"Come on, Ian," Shelley called, "this isn't the time togo to the bathroom."

But he was already out of the chamber. Several minuteslater he reappeared, and without another word
he mo-tioned them into the airlock.

 If Smith did board them, Ian hoped he had now pro-vided the insurance policy. He had pushed five of
the sixactivation switches on the thermomine. If they were threatened with boarding, simply pushing down
on thesixth and pulling it back up would finish the job.

 The inner airlock to the unit opened effortlessly, andIan, followed by Ellen, Shelley, and Richard, floated
intoan open expanse of corridor.

"Oxygen check looks good, Ian," Shelley reported."No toxicity readings."

With a sigh of relief he pulled off his helmet. He hadalways hated the claustrophobic things anyhow.

"Look, Ian, that plaque."

 He pushed off gently and came up against a plaque ofgold set into the far wall; reaching out with his
suctionholders, he clamped onto the wall like a spider.

He started to tremble as he read the first line in OldEnglish.



Automated Archival Unit 2

Launch Date 2087

"So that only the best of our world may be remem-bered."



The same phrase was repeated in half a dozen other languages, beneath that was a small directory and
mapgiving directions to the vast interior storage areas.

"This is it, Shelley, this is it!"

 "It looks like the catalog directory is over this way,"Ellen called, her apprehensions momentarily
forgotten inthe enthusiasm for what they had found.

 The other three followed her as she floated along thedocking corridor and stepped into a slowly rotating
stair-well that led down to the rotating mass of the cylinder.

 At first they simply let themselves drop down the shaft,but with the gradual increase in acceleration, they
soongrabbed hold of the handrailings to break what could havedeveloped into a disastrous fall.

Another gold plaque pointed them into a dimly lit cor-ridor that was lined with racks of filing cards.
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 "Now that's curious," Ellen whispered. "It's the pre-computer method of filing data. I remember reading
aboutit. Seems awfully cumbersome."

 "Logical though," Ian replied. "They must have a com-puter master, but this was included in case of a
total powerfailure. Look over there."

He pointed to a brightly painted circle where severaldozen large books were laid out side by side.

 Ian approached the books and stared at them with ea-ger anticipation, the way some people approach a
gourmetmeal or the first night with a new lover.

"Ian, come over here and look at this," Shelley cried."Good Lord, just look at what they have!"

Shelley was waving a small filing card over her head,which she had, in her enthusiasm, plucked out of
one of the filing cabinets.

Ian came over to her side and examined her find. "Iremember you talking about the old Apollo
missions,"she shouted, "so I saw this cabinet withAp-As listed onit. Here's a card that lists anApollo 8 .
Level Three, Room224, File 203-090-112-130. Ian, they don't have one Apollocard in there, they have
half a hundred!"

The four of them looked at each other and within sec-onds they were all busy digging into the files, each
onelooking for his or her favorite topic, exploring the answerto a question from the world of the past that
had forever puzzled them.

Ian was overwhelmed. He thought the discovery of thelibrary aboard the longevity unit had been the find
oflifetime, but this was simply beyond his comprehension.In simple awe of it all, he started to weep. He
had foundthe Valhalla of historians at last!



 Hours later he staggered back to the filing area, leavingthe others to the enthusiastic examination of the
finds.There was enough sense still about him to realize thatthis unit had not been vacant for the last
millennium. Firstoff, something had altered its course from the originalroute into the galactic core. Second,
something had pro-vided the data to this vessel and had guided it into orbit.Finally, there was significant
evidence of repair and main-tenance.

He was drawn back at last to the books set off in the white circle. They were obviously set there to
draw avisitor's attention. Not sure what to anticipate, Ian reachedover and opened the first book.

He suddenly realized that Shelley had come up to hisside.

"What is it?"

 "I think it's a translator. Look, the pictographs for aman and a woman. Here's a diagram of our solar
systemand a map giving our location in relationship to the rest of the galaxy. That's it—these books are a
translator foranyone, or anything, for that matter, who might find this ship."

"Ian? Stasz here."

There was a note of anxiety in his voice.
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"Go on."

"Ian, I've just picked up a high-energy burst from theforward antenna ofArchival 2 . Damn near blew
me outof my couch."

 "I think we just hit the doorbell," Ian said softly. "Rich-ard, Ellen, did you hear that? Meet me back in the
catalogarea before we head out."

Within the minute Stasz was back with more news.

"I've just locked on to several incoming energy sources,I can't tell what they are yet, but they were in
high orbitaround this planet. They're accelerating like mad. Damnit, you people better hurry!"

A doorway at the far end of the corridor slid open andEllen burst through it panting for breath. "Where's
Rich-ard, I want to get moving!"

 "Richard, how long before you get back here?" Iantried to sound calm, but he knew his nervousness was
showing.

"Another five minutes, at least, Ian. I'm way the hellat the other end of this ship."

Damn it! Ian silently cursed himself. He had screwedup. He should have had everybody stay together.
He gotso carried away by the honey pot that he had not thoughtof the consequences.

"Ian. Look, why don't you people head on out withoutme? Ahh, I mean you'll stand a better chance that
way."

"What is this, Richard, a god-damn video drama? Cutthe garbage and move your fat butt up here."

He could hear the audible sigh of relief.

"I hoped you'd say that, but at least my offer soundedgood."

"You'd never have made it if I was in command," Ellenmuttered.



"Ian, you have two minutes. They've already startedto decelerate. For God's sake, get moving!"

Richard finally burst through the far door, gasping for breath and looking as if he was on the verge of an
apo-plectic fit.

"Let's go!"

Ellen took off at a run, while Shelley and Ian fell in on either side of the exhausted physician.

 Reaching the stairway, they pushed Richard ahead ofthem while he cursed them and begged pitifully for
a mo-ment to regain his breath.

"Ian, I've got them on visual, there's three of them.They're about our size but look like they're armed, a
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couple of old-style missiles slung under each of them."

"Stasz, can we punch through to translight from astanding start?"

 "Increases the breakup possibilities by a factor of ten. I must remind you that you never liked the odds to
startwith."

"Screw the odds; power the damn thing up."

"One of them is swinging into the opposite dockingport, Ian. This doesn't look good at all..." There was
a high-pitched shriek of static and then nothing.

"Do you think they hit him?" Shelley cried.

"If they had, we would have felt the vibration runthrough the ship. I think they're just jamming him. Come
on, Richard, move it!"

 They were rapidly moving into the low-gravity regionand finally, in exasperation, Ian braced himself on
theladder and leaned onto Richard's backside, giving him atremendous shove.

 Richard arched up and away like a champagne corkpopping out of a bottle. With a crash he slammed
into the bulkhead on the other side of the stairwell and ricochetedout into the main zero-gravity corridor.
Ian and Shelleywere right behind him.

 They pushed off for the opposite end, where their owndocking port was located. Ellen was already there
andwaving them on.

Just another twenty meters to go and suddenly Ian felta slight shifting in the air, as if a distant doorway
had beenopened. Grabbing a handrail, he looked back the way theyhad come. Another docking port
was open. A shadowyfigure filled the bay, and Ian felt a tremor of fear. Theyhad lost the race.

Trying to smile, he raised his hand and tossed the stunpistol away. The figure he was facing had some far
heavier artillery.

"Ahh, greetings, friend," he said in a high, squeakyvoice. "Ahh... We've come in peace for all mankind.
How's that?"

The blast knocked him over backward, slamming himinto darkness.




                                              CHAPTER 12
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Exile Base 11; Alpha/Omega

First Completion Date: 2078

 Primary Function:Adopting an old Russian concept, the United States started exiling political dissidents
to spacein 2068. On the eve of the Holocaust War severalhundred thousand "political unreliables,
conscientiousobjectors, and disarmament activists," led by Dr.Franklin Smith, were exiled to space.

 Evacuation Date:Believed to be August 7, 2087, the re-corded date of the primary exchange between
the ThirdWorld powers versus the United States and Soviet Re-publics.

 Overall Design:O'Neill Cylinder. Four kilometers by 800 meters. All exile bases were populated far
more denselythan the maximum potential carrying capabilities. Thusthe units were dependent on Earth for
life support. It is believed by Beaulieu that no exile unit could havesurvived longer than six months after
departure fromnear-Earth, due to depletion of resources.

Propulsion: Ion Drive with nuclear pulse backup.

Course: SETI Anomaly One.

Political/Social Orientation:Penal system, largely self-governing, but managed by USNSC (United States
NearSpace Council). Departure in fact was hoped for andencouraged by Earthside government as a
means ofeliminating political dissent without having actually tokill the opposition.




"I'd prefer if you moved that thing from the back ofmy head. You can see I've brought you where you
wanted."

 Stasz's words echoed through lan's consciousness, eachsyllable like a hammer on an anvil. He wasn't
sure yet if he wanted to open his eyes, since he was still debating ifhe was dead or alive.

"Croce, you fat slob, we should have left you behind,"Ellen said in a shrill voice. "We could have jumped
outin time, but, oh no, Ian had to be the hero, so now we'reall stuck."

If he was dead, then he must be in Hell. He openedhis eyes and looked around.

 "Well, our fearless historian is wide awake at last,"Richard said, offering him a tumbler. He chortled
softlythen beckoned for Ian to look forward. Ian gladly ac-cepted.

 The couch normally occupied by Shelley was now heldby a stranger. From the back, Ian saw broad
shouldersand an erect carriage. His hair was tied back in a simplequeue that hung over the back of the
couch—the colorof it nearly matching his dark, full features. In his lefthand was a pistol, which he held to
the back of Stasz'shead.

 "Two more of his buddies are in the back checking,"Richard cautioned, "so I wouldn't suggest trying
any-thing."
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"For God sake, Ian, don't try anything," Shelley whis-pered. "They hit you with a stunner. But this guy's
gotan old-fashioned powder-driven pistol. Don't get him mad,for God's sake!"

"Where's Elijah?"

 "I sedated him," Richard replied. "After they hit you,Ellen, Shelley, and I kind of thought it best to go
alongpeaceful like. We let them into our ship and Elijah nearlywent wild. I was afraid they'd kill him, so I
just came up and jabbed him one from behind. He'll be out for anothercouple of hours."

"Where are they taking us?"

The guard turned back and looked at Ian with an almostpleasant smile. "Just for a little talk. The priests
of theFather will want to hear your story."

To Ian the language sounded like modified Old English."The Father?" he asked cautiously.

 The guard smiled, but this time with a sinister light inhis eyes. "When you say 'the Father,' be sure to say
it with the proper respect."

"Oh yes, of course, but of course."

"Coming up on jump-down," Stasz announced evenly."Remember, friend, you might get sick, but don't
blameme."

"Ten seconds, five..."



 "Will you look at that!" Stasz pointed ahead and thento the left and the right. For the moment he had
forgottenthat his life was held by a stranger in the couch next tohim.

 To his surprise Ian found that his stomach had managedto survive jump-down intact. Perhaps it had
something todo with the short duration of the jump, but that questionwas pushed from his mind as he
looked out the forwardviewing ports. It took him several seconds to grasp theperspective and scale of
what he was seeing.

"It must be a hundred kilometers long," Ian whispered.

"Yes, kilometers," their guard said. "The one forwardis large, but you wish to go to that one there." And
hepointed to what looked like an old, familiar design. An O'Neill cylinder, probably the original, but it
was simply dwarfed by the hundreds of others that filled the heavensin every direction.

 They were in high orbit above a deeply pitted surface, and as Ian examined it, he realized that a
significant por-tion of the planet was scarred and torn, as if a giant hadgnawed on it.

"Each one of those units could provide for well overa million people," Shelley said softly.

Good heavens, Ian thought, the population must num-ber in the billions.

Following the guard's directions, Stasz guided Discov-ery through ever-increasing traffic. Finally, taking
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thecontrol headset, the guard called for docking clearance.Within minutes theDiscovery was lined up for
final ap- proach.

 For the moment Ian had forgotten his fears as he con-templated the myriad designs of the shipping
around him. He felt as if he had arrived at an odd Sargasso Sea, whereships of every conceivable design
had collected. As theDiscoveryturned in on final, the ship slowly rotated onits X-axis so that a full sweep
of local space was given tothe travelers, and all were overawed by the sheer sizesand numbers.

 "Our biggest is nearly a hundred and fifty kilometers in length," the guard said, his pride in such an
accom-plishment obvious. But it was the only information he would volunteer to them.

"We've got a hard dock," Stasz said as the faint vi-bration of contact ran through the vessel.

"Very good. I'm glad I was not forced to kill you." Theguard smiled and bolstered his pistol.

"So am I," Stasz replied weakly.

"You see," the guard said mockingly, "I wouldn't knowhow to pilot this ship." Laughing uproariously, he
made his way aft, beckoning for them to follow.

"Maybe they all have a sense of humor," Shelley saidhopefully.

"Ask Elijah about that," Ian replied.

 The guard stopped by the airlock door and, turning, faced his prisoners. "Go get the crazy one and bring
himwith you."

 Taking a still-wobbly Elijah in tow, they went throughthe first airlock and waited for the door to the other
shipto open.

"Bear yourselves with dignity," the guard said evenly,"for you walk upon sacred ground."

The doorway closed behind them.

"Sounds like we're going to church," Richard said sar-castically.

"Shut up," Ian said. "To these people, I think it is."



 The doorway slid open to a tunnel of darkness. A singlehooded form awaited them. "Follow me," it
commanded.

Ian shrugged, pushed off, keeping Elijah in tow,, andthe others followed.

 The hooded form drifted down a darkened corridor,his long black robes billowing out around him so
that hehad the appearance of a dark ghost, drifting weightlesslythrough the night. Reaching the end of the
corridor, the ghostly guide pointed toward an open elevator. The six went into the cubicle and their guide
came in after them. It was impossible to make out his features beneath thehooded robe, and their guide
was silent as he beckonedfor them to grasp the handholds as the elevator droppedaway underneath
them. Within seconds the first wispypull of gravity took hold, and their feet drifted to the floor.Ian judged
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that they were in, at best, a quarter-gravityzone. When the elevator stopped, its doors opened intoa
large, softly lit chamber that appeared to be an audiencehall.

"Go forward and wait," the guide commanded in acold, mechanical voice.

They meekly obeyed. Elijah was starting to awakenfrom his drugged state, and Richard urgently
whispereda plea for him to keep his mouth shut and not to makeany sudden moves.

 As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, they saw thata low dais rose at the far end of the chamber. In the
centerof the dais a single chair was occupied by yet anotherhooded form.

 "In the name of the Father, come forward." This one'stone was not threatening but it held a definite air of
com-mand.

 As they drew closer, Ian realized that their host wasnot alone. Several dozen others were sitting on the
floorbefore and to either side of the dais.

 Ian was, of all things, reminded of several prints hehad seen of ancient Japanese warriors sitting
cross-leggedin front of their warlord. As he drew closer, the compar-ison took on even more similarity;
to his amazement mostof the hooded forms had swords that were laid on thefloor in front of them. All
were wearing the same darkflowing robes that their guide aboard the ship had worn. There was no
ornamentation, no design or emblem to beseen, except for the one who sat upon the low, backless chair
in the center—his robe was of a soft, shimmeringwhite that contrasted with the black robes of those who
sat before him.

 There was a soft, gentle sound in the darkness thatreminded Ian of wind chimes. The sound brought
backfor a moment sharp clear memories of summer evenings, and the memory hurt with a piercing blow.
Ian half won-dered if these people had somehow read into his memoryand used that sound to provoke
such thoughts.

 Ian and his comrades approached to the edge of thedais and, as if by instinct, Ian knew that it would be
an insult for them to step upon it. He stopped and the othersdrew up around him. He prayed fervently
that Elijah wouldkeep still, for he half suspected that they would leave theroom in only one of two
conditions, and he had no desireto fall into the second category.

Farthest to the right, a hooded form stood, belted hissword, and walked to the center of the dais.
Bowing tothe white-robed figure, the form pulled back its hood andturned to face them.

"Where are you from?"

 Ian was surprised to hear her high, clear voice, and he was struck by her uncommon beauty—dark
ebony skin,sharply chiseled features, and long flowing hair.

He hesitated for a second.

"Do I take your hesitation as an unwillingness to an-swer?"

He better act quickly. "Ahh, no... I'm not sure of yourdialect, that's all."

"Your language roots are Old American," Ellen inter-rupted, "the same as ours, but its pronunciations are
dif-ferent from ours. But we'll learn soon enough."
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Ian was glad for the momentary interruption. He hadto think out his answer.

"Then I repeat, where are you from?"

"Your ancestral home, the Earth."

"You've mastered faster-than-light?"

"That's right," Ian replied. "We have faster-than-light capability."

There was a faint murmur from the others. He realizedthat most of them were male, but there was a fair
pro-portion of females, as well.

"How long ago did you leave Earth?"

"I'm not sure of our mutual time measurements. Do you still measure things in what are called years?"

 She pondered this for a moment and then nodded her head. "Yes, years. I understand what that is. I am
thirty-one years."

"It took us one-half a year to arrive here, with nearlya month of stopovers at other places."

The excitement was evident—the others turned oneto the other and Ian felt as if a basic law of decorum
hadbeen broken by this display of emotions.

Another dark-robed figure stood up, sword in hand,and the hall fell silent.

"You are born of the Earth?" he said with a deep,resonant voice.

"Yes, you see, we've come..." Ian looked at Richardand let the ridiculous words die.

"Then you are unclean. You are born of those whopersecuted us, you are born of those against whom
wehave declared jihad by the will of the Father. You are bornof those who cursed and abandoned us.
Your blood shallbe spilled, your carcasses abandoned in the night."

He took another step forward and unsheathed his sword."Cleanse this place of their filth, their sacrilege!"
heshouted, bringing the blade back in preparation for a two-handed blow.

Ian jumped backward in a desperate attempt to avoidthe flashing blade.

 "Fire and Hell, what's wrong with ye?" Elijah called.He stepped forward and confronted the swordsman.
"Strike, but 'for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee!'"

There was a murmur of approval from the others, andthe swordsman, turning his wrath from Ian, now
preparedto swing a decapitating blow at Elijah.

"Nara." The white-robed form was out of his seat, andthe others turned to look at him.

"Nara, be still. Sit. You disgrace yourself with suchshow."
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Nara turned, his whole form trembling.

"Gregor, so what if the Father is awakening. He knowsnot the situation now; I do, and so do others.
Even you know and wonder why he must be awakened."

 "Be still!" Gregor screamed. He looked to the othersand saw that most of them were nodding in
response toNara's words.

"Let the Father speak for the Father. They are unclean,yes, but to kill them"—he swept them with a gaze
ofcontempt—"that can wait."

Ian was suddenly aware that Shelley was clinging tohis arm.

 Nara stood with blade drawn, his gaze now fixed onthe white-robed master. With a blinding flash he
swungthe blade in a backhanded swing that whisked within afraction of Elijah's face, and sheathed his
blade. With alow bow to Gregor, he strode out of the room. And again there was a murmur from the rest
of the assembly. Gregorturned to his right and nodded to the two sitting closestto him.

"Go and help his honor," he said softly. And wordlesslythey stood and left the room.

"You, fat one. Are you so typical of those who wethought were so fearless?"

 Ian had a hard time finding his voice, and he suddenly realized that his body was covered in a cold
sweat. "Yes."

"This bears great thought. Next—is it truth that you have the ability to go beyond light?"

Ian could merely nod.

"Don't tell him anything," Elijah hissed.

"Silence! I could kill you with a word."

 "You killed me fifty years ago. I am arisen from thatsilent death. You cannot kill me ever again, for I am
al-ready dead."

"A holy fool," someone muttered from the shadows."It is written then that he should be spaced."

"He will be spaced when I command," Gregor replied."Now, you who are called Ian, do you understand
howthis vessel can do such a thing?"

"Ahh, well, to be honest, no."

Gregor drew closer. "If I think that you lie, I'll slit yourthroat and then cut out your tongue and jam it
down your windpipe."

Ian was aware that a puddle was forming around hisshoes. "I don't know how it works."

"Then tell me which of you knows how it does."

"No, I'll not betray a friend."
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Gregor looked him in the eye and held his gaze.

 "You have more courage than it appears," Gregorsnapped. "The mystery of your coming requires more
examination, for I see the dream of our jihad come to fruition at last with such a device that you now
possess.This requires far more decision than I am capable of. Youshall live, for the moment."

Gregor turned away.

There was a murmur of angry voices in the room.

 "Silence. I like it not, but the Father is already awak-ening. I cannot exceed my mandate, even if I wish
it. Hemust be awakened."

 "But, Gregor," came a voice from the back of the room,"take the burden yourself this time and let him
return to sleep."

"Speak not or I shall force upon you what Nara hasearned."

Suddenly the two men who had followed Nara returnedto the room and walked to his side.

"Did Nara keep his honor?" Gregor asked.

One of the two held up his blade for all to see—a dark substance dripped from the tip of the weapon.
The othersmurmured their approval.

 "He had already cut himself open by the time we ar-rived. I ended for him as second, so he would not
cry outand thus be shamed. Nara's honor was preserved."

The others expressed their approval and, to lan's ears,sounded happy.

 "Then it is time to take communion with Nara's honor,"Gregor intoned ceremonially. "Let these others be
takento a place of waiting, for the Father must be prayed to:A decision must be made."

They were led away by their female interrogator, andas he watched them while leaving the room, Ian
had abad feeling about what a "communion with Nara's honor"really meant.

Ian looked over to Elijah and saw that he was smilinghungrily.



"Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten us into,Ian," Ellen said wearily.

Ian looked up at Ellen and smiled weakly.

"Can't you lay off him for a little while?" Stasz inter-jected.

"Why are you defending him all of a sudden?"

"Because I have a feeling all our butts are going to be fried in this one, and in spite of his screw-up in
bringingus here, I have to say he really hasn't done all that bad."
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Ian looked up at Stasz and nodded his thanks.

 Richard and Shelley were asleep on a low cot set intothe far corner of the room. His heavy arm was
drapedprotectively over Shelley's shoulder, but she didn't seemto mind and had drifted off to sleep hours
ago.

 How long they had been in the holding cell was only a guess. It had already been indicated to them that
their respective roles had easily been ascertained by a searchof the Discovery, and after that one bit of
communication,not another word of information had been exchanged.

 Much to lan's surprise, they had been allowed theirpersonal possessions, so he had his pocket computer
and the alien artifact, which he had quickly explained as areligious medallion.

 Only Elijah seemed unperturbed by the situation. Hewas explaining that "to be locked up with even one
otherperson is my idea of paradise," when the door to theircell opened noiselessly. Only a single guard
stood there—the white-robed one they had called Gregor. He pointed to Ian then beckoned for him to
follow.

 Ian suddenly felt as if the decision over their fate hadbeen made. They must have discovered by now the
op-erational and repair manuals stored in the ship's com-puters. With just a little research work they
should beable to replicate the Discovery; therefore there was no need any longer for the Earthmen's
"unclean" bodies tobe kept alive.

 Ian stood up and attempted to maintain his dignity. Hegently shook hands with Stasz and Elijah and
lightlytouched Ellen on the shoulder.

"Should I wake up Richard and Shelley?" Ellen asked.There was a choke in her voice.

He shook his head. "I don't think I could handle theupset; you better not. If I don't come back, tell
Shelley I really regret not sleeping with her. It's been hard notto, but tell her I fought down the nearly
overwhelming desire because I didn't want to create any friction aboardship." He tried to chuckle.

Ian looked at Ellen and smiled. "Maybe I should havemade a pass at you, as well."

"Go on, get out of here." She turned away.

Ian walked out of the room and Gregor beckoned forhim to proceed down the corridor.

"Are you going to kill me?" Ian suddenly asked.

"We all die. Death is an illusion, only honor and nameremain. When you die, Ian Lacklin, try to leave
morebehind than a puddle on the floor."

 Suspecting that Gregor was laughing, Ian looked backover his shoulder, but his features were solemn
and Ianrealized that he had been perfectly serious.

"I do not hate you, Ian Lacklin, but I would not gain honor by slaying thee. I know that there is honor in
you,in spite of what your outward appearance might tell. Gainhonor and then the slaying of you would be
worthy forone such as myself."
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 What the hell is this guy talking about? Ian wondered.If gaining honor is the ticket to this man's sword,
thenforget it.

 "I know what you are thinking, Ian Lacklin, but I be-lieve that you will understand, as well, and will in
the endembrace your honor and die for it."

Gregor touched Ian on the shoulder and motioned forhim to stop.

 The chimelike sound that Ian had heard in the audiencehall was drifting on the edge of hearing, but his
attention was diverted by the procession coming his way from theother end of the corridor. Gregor
backed to the wall andIan followed his example to let the procession pass. They numbered nearly a
hundred, each of them robed. Somewere dark as ebony, others paler, a few had Gregor'sAsiatic
features. It seemed as if half a dozen races hadbeen blended together during the millennium and a com-
posite of all had been melded into one, with the blackhaving a slight dominance. They walked with a
certain assured grace, male and female alike. Not one lookedsidelong at him, so perfect was their
discipline.

After the procession's passage Gregor again pointedforward, and Ian tried to somehow emulate those
whohad just passed by—walking to his death without a whine.

Finally they stopped at the audience chamber whereIan had been received earlier. He looked at Gregor
ques-tioningly. Was his death then to be a spectacle before anaudience?

Gregor pointed to the door, which slid open as if guidedby unseen hands.

"Is this to be my end?"

Like an angel of death, Gregor silently pointed, his robed and hooded figure surreal and nightmarish.

"Answer me, at least let me know. Am I to die in there?"

Still there was no response.

"Well, then I have one thing to say if that's the case."

Again Gregor beckoned for him to go.

 Ian screwed up his courage, trying to remember hisbest Old English, hoping that the words still meant
the same even in this culture.

"Well then, if that's the case, then fuck you!"

Turning on his heels, he strode through the doorway.



"Marvelous, absolutely marvelous." The voice wasdeep and melodious.

 The door slid closed behind Ian, and in the semidark-ness he could make out but one figure on the dais.
Ian strode closer, and the figure stood up as if in greeting.
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"I haven't heard it said that way in nearly a thousandyears. And with just the right inflection!"

Ian stopped in front of the dais and looked up.

"Yes, Ian Lacklin. My name is Dr. Franklin Smith."




                                                 CHAPTER 13




 Nearly six and a half feet tall, he towered over Ianand beneath his simple robe was a powerful build. His
chocolate features were wreathed in a salt-and-pepperbeard that matched his bushy hair.

 Smith stepped closer to Ian and gave him a hard, ap-praising stare that seemed to slice into his soul. Ian
triedto hold Smith's gaze, but after a brief painful struggle, hebroke off the one-sided contest of wills.

 "Ah, yes." Smith turned away from Ian and walkedback up to the dais, regaining the seat occupied in the
last interview by Gregor. Smith pointed to the far cornerof the dais.

"There's a chair over there. Fetch it and come sit be-fore me."

"Should I kneel first or something like that?"

 "Very good, Ian, very good. But if any of my peopleheard that comment in that tone, you'd be dead
beforeeven I could stop them." He paused for a moment then stared him straight in the eye. "So don't be
a wise-ass,or your shit will be cooked."

Ian grabbed the chair and sat down.

Smith was silent for some minutes, and Ian thought it best to let him take the lead in whatever it was that
wasgoing to happen.

 Still staring straight into his eyes, Smith finally started."You're a historian, are you not? That's what the
ship'srecords indicate."

"Yes, I'm a historian."

"Then as a historian I know you have a million ques-tions. I have my questions, too, but perhaps they
will beanswered better if I see what path it is that you choose."
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Smith stretched and mumbled a quiet curse while rub-bing his back. "Go ahead, historian, ask."

 As the fullness of his opportunity washed over him,for a moment Ian was struck speechless. The past
wasbut a dream, a dream lived more richly by any goodhistorian, but still a dream. He thought for a
moment that he had touched it with the life-extension colony,but that had turned to the ashes of senility.
Yet here satFranklin Smith, someone out of a past as distant anddead as Ssu-ma Zhung, Hitler,
Napoleon, or Clarke. He had read of Smith, had charted his activities during thedays leading up to the
Holocaust and studied his in-strumental role in the grand conspiracy of the coloniesto escape disaster.
And now he sat across from him. Was it really even him at all? he suddenly wondered, growing
suspicious.

"How?"

 "How. Ah, yes, how am I here; not forgotten ashes,nor half-remembered legend." He stretched again
andleaned forward. "You know, Ian, I suspected that wouldbe your first question. The others"—he
waved vaguely,as if indicating the entire universe—"take it as a miracle. But it was nothing more than a
damn good research pro-gram at U.S.C. Have you heard of U.S.C.?"

Ian shook his head.

"Not a great school—the Chinese research programswere far better at that point—but still not bad.
Well, theyhad isolated a number of the properties of hibernation. It was on the eve of the war..." His
voice trailed off for amoment and he was silent.

 He suddenly looked up at Ian with a start. "Just re-membering, you see, it really wasn't that long ago for
me.Before the war, an old professor of mine who was in onthe project was exiled to the life-extension
colony. I lookedhim up afterward. I heard that your records indicate avisit there, as well?"

Ian nodded but said nothing.

"He gave me a number of doses and the antidote for it, in consideration for a favor of mine."

"Such as not destroying the life-extension colony theway you did a couple of the others?"

 Smith was silent again, and Ian wondered if he hadgone too far. Smith smiled as if in warning, then
contin-ued.

 "Through the accident of being scheduled in one of hisclasses while still an undergraduate, and a later
chancemeeting, I can sit here today, a millennium hence. Whilehe..." His voice trailed off again for a
moment. "Well,while he, if unfortunate enough to survive what happened,has long ago been taken by the
inevitable thief of life andgone into the darkness.

 "So, with such a simple turn of fate, I am injected withthe drug and fall into a deep dreamless sleep. It
can befor a day, or it can, as in one case, last for over a century— as long as I am occasionally given an
intravenous injectionand my unsensing limbs are manipulated so that they donot atrophy. A century, I
said, and to my body not a monthhas passed. When there is need for me, I am wakened bythe antidote.
And so it was that Gregor, whose grandfatherhad once so served me, decided that I should be called,so
that I might judge for myself what it is that you bringto me."

"And the passage of the centuries is nothing then to you?"
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 "The leave-taking, the war, the first months of madnessare not two years past for me. A millennium, Ian
Lacklin,is as if only yesterday. This long inexorable journey buta brief flicker in time. Your wondrous
machine, Ian Lack-lin, which has taken the journey of over fifty generationsand compressed it into a
moment, does in some wayscompare with the journey that I have taken, as well. Youremember Earth as
it is today. And I, I have memoriesjust as fresh, but of an Earth now gone for a thousandyears."

He chuckled sadly in that rich, full voice.

"Only one question answered so far, Ian Lacklin. Theremust be yet ten thousand more."

He was right, and Ian wondered for a moment if theconversation could just continue forever, postponing
whathe feared was the inevitable order for his death.

"I know that you've had contact with several colonies from Earth, but you haven't run into anything else?
Youknow, contact of some kind?"

"You mean an alien civilization?"

Ian nodded.

"We've picked up some signals, most from the originalSETI point. I was told there was one quite close
not ageneration ago, but so far, Ian, nothing. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, just curious, that's all."

Smith looked at Ian closely, as if he suspected some-thing, so Ian quickly pushed ahead with another
question.

"I know the how of your cheating death and time. But why?"

"Wouldn't you cheat it? Think for a moment, Ian Lack-lin. How long does the average man now live on
Earth?"

"Three score is pretty good."

 "Ah, yes, I imagine the aftereffects of the war. Before that madness came, we were averaging a full
century onEarth. Some aboard the geriatric units were approachinga century and a half."

"On the life-extension unit many have passed the mil-lennium mark," Ian replied, "but it wasn't a very
pretty sight."

 "Yes, yes, I can imagine. But as I was saying, suppose you could be given the chance to go to sleep and
awakenfor one or two days in each of the centuries to come—down through the ages, forever seeing
what new and won-drous things would await us in our future. Wouldn't youtake it?"

 Ian could only agree, but underneath it all he imaginedthat it would be exciting and terribly empty—to
awakeneach time in a world where he knew no one. He sensedsomething else; a faint glimmer of
excitement shone inSmith's eyes that wasn't there before.

"But there is another reason, isn't there?"
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Franklin smiled. And the smile to Ian was one of threat.

 "There is my mission, as well." His voice increased inpower, as if he was suddenly addressing a multitude
ratherthan one nervous historian.

"Your mission, you say?"

"Yes, but another time for that, Ian Lacklin. You'lllearn soon enough."

Ian sensed that a door had just been closed on a pos-sible line of questioning, at least for the present, so
hegathered in his thoughts for a moment and struck out ina new direction.

 "According to Beaulieu, you were one of the key fig-ures of the secretive Alpha Psi Council, the group
thatwas instrumental in organizing the plan to evacuate allcolonial units."

"Who is this Beaulieu?"

"One of the greatest historians alive today. It was Beaulieu who proved that man first landed on the
Moon duringthe rule of Truman."

"Close enough," Smith muttered.

"He's leading the dig at Base Seven on Mars. TheCopernican dig, the one that uncovered all the records
ofthe Great Migration, was initiated by him, as well."

"I knew we should have blown that base as we movedout," Smith said evenly.

Ian didn't bother to follow up on that either but decidedto wait for an answer. He could see that Smith
was en-joying himself. In a strange way Ian was a contemporary of the near-mythical man, perhaps one
of the few peoplealive who could understand the ramifications and intri-cacies of Smith's time and place.

 "Yes, the Psi Council, as we called it," Smith contin-ued. "I think, Ian, you understand the time and its
events.My grandsires had made the Great Leap forward intospace—that realm with all its promise and
dreams. Thenthere was my generation, a generation taught to believe that we were the ones who would
unbind ourselves for-ever from the confines of Earth.

 "I was born in space,Unit 333 , my mother a Nigerianlinguist, my father an American mission
coordinator fora Powersat unit."

 Ian was having a hard time understanding some ofSmith's monolog but he didn't interrupt. Smith was
warm-ing to his subject, his full voice rising and falling as if hewere telling a story to a group of young
children who werefascinated by every word he said. Ian had his first sus-picions that Smith was slightly
mad.

 "I was sent Earthside and, of all things, it was phi-losophy that took me. And with it came an Earthside
position teaching. Those were hard times, Ian, ripe with a promise. Man could have gone far. But the
darknesswas already overwhelming us in a world of haves andhave-nots. The great rivals of the previous
century bandedtogether out of fear of those whom they now had tosuppress. The world was carrying a
burden of twelvebillion souls, Ian. Twelve billion. Once we had dreamedthat space could take them. But
faster than we couldtake them off-planet, more were born—and so the mad-ness came.
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 "I was banished from Earth in seventy-eight, after theSecond Arizonan Incident. I had become a leader
in adisarmament drive; I and a hundred thousand others,mostly from the southwestern part of our
country, werebanished to a penal colony. This place here—" He shoutedout the words and slammed the
arm of the chair that hewas sitting in. "One hundred thousand in a unit that couldnot sustain more than
twenty-five thousand in closed-system regime."

He stopped, then smiled softly, like an old man whois concerned that he has just frightened the child he
wastalking to. Ian smiled back wanly and Smith continued.

 "I could see what was coming. The darkness descend-ing. All the nations of Earth would call upon their
coloniesto join in the nationalistic madness of their mother coun-tries. And such madness! We had been
living in space fornearly a century. We of space, from a dozen differentnations, had far more in common
with each other than with those mad fools below. It had been the same with America when at last her
people had realized they wereno longer Europeans. And so it was with us. Why shouldwe slaughter each
other for the sake of those madmenwho were of a dying breed—the last generations ofHomosapiens?"

He said "Homo sapiens" with a disdain that was fright-ening.

 "We were of the next generation of man!" Smithshouted. "And I knew that in the end it would come
downnot to a confrontation between the petty nationalistic statesbut a confrontation between those below
and those of us above.

 "But we were too weak yet. It would be a hundredyears, perhaps a millennium before we would be
ready.

 "Security at the penal colony was lax, especially forone such as myself who already had a name and was
widely known on Earth. A few well-placed bribes and Iwas allowed a class-one visa for space-to-space
flight. Justas long as I did not return below. It was thus that I startedto meet with those from the other
units and formed thenetwork you call Alpha Psi. It was an open secret—thegovernments of Earth knew
what we were planning fromthe start. But they needed us, our products, the energywe beamed down, so
they did not attempt to stop us fromplanning and stockpiling the necessary systems that wouldget us out
of there. No one on Earth wanted to force theconfrontation. And they assumed, as well, that no unitwas
one hundred percent self-contained. To the seconddecimal of the ninety-ninth percentile, yes—but there
werestill some few items that we needed from Earth on aregular basis. And as you know, a unit is only
self-containedto the degree of its first perishable life-sustaining sub-stance.

"But we labored on that, as well. That was our true secret, while we openly prepared in other ways.
That iswhere we pushed our research, and soon we could im-prove self-sufficiency by a factor of ten.
Then the Exodusbegan. One unit left, and then another, finally it was inthe dozens, and then the hundreds.
The men of Earthcouldn't stop us without forcing a major confrontation.Finally when they worked up the
nerve to do it, the endwas already upon them."

He smiled sadly and looked off into the distance, as ifrecalling a half-forgotten dream.

 "The Soviet-Pakistani Incident precipitated the firstexchange. Even from fifty thousand miles out, we
couldsee the flashes and firestorms. We made our moves asplanned—before we ourselves would be
dragged into theconflagration—and abandoned Earth to the fate createdby those who were too inferior
to understand.

"Yes, Ian, I was an Alpha Psi leader. I was the phi-losopher who motivated the others. We evacuated,
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Ian Lacklin, but it came far too soon for our unit. I want youto contemplate this, Ian Lacklin. We had one
hundredthousand aboard, of which we calculated only twenty-five thousand could be supported by the
ecosystem. Con-template what that meant to us, contemplate what thatdid to a philosophy professor
who was now the appointedleader of a colony doomed to die from overpopulation. Icursed them all. I
cursed those who destroyed what mighthave been, and set me upon this Hegira."

"I'm not sure I understand. What is a hegira?"

 "Ah, yes, but of course you wouldn't understand. I amweary, Ian, and shall soon leave you. But don't
-worry.This conversation shall continue, for I do find it amusing. Yes, the Hegira. When Muhammad the
Prophet was not recognized by the fools and unbelievers of Mecca, he andhis followers were driven out
of the city into exile. Thatis the time that the True Believers date their calendarfrom, the Hegira or exile of
the Prophet. And so we were driven out, as well, Ian Lacklin—a hegira that has lastedeleven centuries."

 Franklin Smith stood up, stretched slowly, and walkedpast Ian and out toward the far door, his silken
robesrustling lightly with his passage.

 "My Hegira—which I as the Father have lived throughfrom the beginning. And which now, thanks to you
andthe present you bring, will soon end with fire and sword."



Ian was alone for three days, as near as he could es-timate, before he was allowed to rejoin the others.

Surprisingly their captors had allowed some of theirfamiliar items to be brought back from the
Discovery, andRichard greeted Ian with a tumbler and a sad lament.

 "I had two cases left, two cases, and the bastards only let me take this one bottle off." And he held up
the lastprecious container, now three-quarters of the way toempty.

"Take it as a great honor and sign of my friendship,"Richard said melodramatically, "that I saved this final
drink for you." He poured the rest of the contents intothe tumbler and offered it to Ian.

"What did they do to the ship?" Ian asked.

 Stasz drew closer. "It seems our messiah friend is alittle nervous about his catch," he whispered softly.
"Wewere allowed to take off some personal items, but then the ship was sealed."

"Any cargo removed?"

 "Nothing that I could see, " Stasz replied. "They diddetect the radiation in that old thermomine in the aft
stor-age compartment. That really set them off, and they puta secure lock on the door and left it there."

 Ian smiled at this information and reached into hispocket to hold the alien cylinder, as if it were a talisman
to ward off evil.

 Shelley came to lan's's side and wrapped her armsaround him. For a second he regretted his earlier
confes-sion, but he went ahead anyhow and kissed her lightly onthe forehead.

"We thought maybe you weren't coming back," Ellensaid, a note of concern in her voice.
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 "We saw him, we did. Saw their great dark Father,"Elijah proclaimed. "He invited me to their
communion ofhonor for you. I can hardly wait."

Still not used to Elijah's predilections, Ian backed away from him.

 So the friends talked quietly among themselves. Eachhad met with Smith. With Stasz the talk was
technicaland dealt with the operation of an overdrive ship. From Stasz's descriptions they all realized he
had lied to thepoint of absurdity with Smith when discussing the defenses of Earth and the limitless fleets
of overdrive shipsthat swarmed the galaxy.

 Ian smiled as Richard described their comparisons ofmedical technology and shook his head sadly. Here
wasan old friend, lost four-score light-years from home,brought to an early end by his mismanagement.
lan's eyesstarted to fill, and he looked away.

 Ellen said they had spoken of language and culture. She had even asked to use one of her precious
surveyforms, which she had saved for just such a moment. Smithhad laughed and said he would consider
it. With Shelleyhe reminisced about his days as a graduate student.

Only Elijah would not speak of their conversation and,when asked, would only mumble snatches of
verse.

 Ian knew that each of them was being judged andweighed for the slaughter. He knew that for the
momentSmith was using them as a means of entertainment, a wayof looking into the past. But that would
soon change, hewas sure of it.



 They came for Ian while the others were asleep, and he quietly slipped away, not wishing to create
anotheremotional scene. Smith was waiting for him in the same chamber but led Ian away through a side
corridor and up into the docking bays. Not a single person did they meet,and Ian finally asked why.

 "This whole unit is a shrine. If the ship of Columbus could be found, do you think we would sail it and
use it?The same is true of this vessel—this once-crowded penal colony. Only my priests and priestesses
live here, to over-see my needs."

"Your priests and priestesses?" He knew the tone of disdain couldn't be concealed.

Smith looked at him and smiled. "Come and gaze uponmy power."

 Smith led the way to the zero-gravity docking section.Passing Discovery's port, the two boarded a small
vesseland strapped into side-by-side couches. Smith activateda command screen then quickly rattled off
a statementinto the console mike. The shuttlecraft was activated, andthey were off.

"Voice-activated commands?" Ian asked, impressedwith the technology.

"Yes, I was rather amazed at the primitive pilotingsystems of your own vessel."

 They traced a parabolic arc away from the main ship,and as they came up on the opposite side of the
vessel,Ian couldn't help but gasp in amazement. In the harshblue-white light of Delta Sag, hundreds of
ships hung sus- pended in high orbit like fiery diamonds of light.
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 "What was once above Earth at the height of her powerin space pales to insignificance when compared
to this.Gregor says that there are now over ten thousand homevessels, from small ones such as the relic I
now live into giants, one hundred and fifty kilometers in length. Mostare in orbit around this once-dead
airless planet, which is so rich in the resources that we desire.

 "When we arrived here nearly three hundred yearsago, there were but twenty-five thousand of us. We
fashioned crude landing vessels for the surface belowand finally managed to gain a toehold. Those were
ex-citing times, Ian Lacklin. Heroic times. Within severalyears the first mass-drivers were throwing up
desperately needed supplies of silicon, iron, hydrogen, and oxygen, locked beneath the surface. Then we
built the skyhooks,the powersats, and the first new habitation units. Thattook us fifty years. And then I
approved the growth.Yes, the growth, where a mother could have more thantwo children. I now
encouraged my people to have as many as possible. Since that time we've doubled ourpopulation every
eighteen years."

Ian tried some quick mental arithmetic but Smith hadalready guessed his goal.

"According to Gregor, there are over one billion peopleliving in space. If we continue for another two
hundredyears at this rate of growth, we'll have over a trillion souls. One trillion souls. And that small
planet down below shalldisappear from our insatiable need. Think of that, IanLacklin. One trillion souls."

There was a sudden connection, and Ian couldn't helpbut ask.

"Why do they call you the Father?"

"Ah, yes." He chuckled softly with an obvious noteof pride. "Simple, Ian Lacklin. Of that first generation
ofgrowth, I was the father of at least one child from every mother."

Ian looked at him and couldn't help but smile.

"You from the Outside, you can smile in my presence,but not in front of the others. That could be
deadly.

 "I know what you're thinking, that it must have beena laborious task. Some were done in, how shall I
say, 'the traditional way,' but the vast majority were per-formed through artificial techniques. Of the next
gen-eration the same was done again, and again thereafterand thereafter. The genealogies are watched of
course and the males of my community sire children, as well,but ultimately they all trace themselves back
to me. So you see, Ian Lacklin, by now all one billion alive todayare my descendents in one degree or
another. It's strange,Ian, to meet a man twice my age, bent over with time, and to realize that I am his
father or grandfather. Soonfor me, only a matter of months from now in my lifespan, there will be a trillion
who are descendents frommy loins." .

He said it with the pride of a biblical patriarch. Onebillion to date, Ian thought.

"I almost had the same arrangement myself," Ian saidmatter of factly.

"Oh, what happened?"

"The details of the contract didn't work out." And hewouldn't say another word on the subject.

 They sat in silence for several minutes and Ian hoped that Smith would be duly impressed by that little
reve-lation about the IFF and that there would be no morequestions in that vein.
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 So, they were all descendents of Smith. The sociolog-ical implications were fabulous, and he wished that
Ellen was with them at this moment. Smith had taken the prim-itive concept of the clan, with its family
bondings, andraised it to the level of an entire civilization. He was Adam incarnate, master of an entire
star system—and how muchof a master, Ian would soon see.

Ian watched as Smith guided them on their trajectorytoward one end of a cylinder that must have been a
hundredkilometers in length.

 Smith called out several approach commands and theirshuttle swung in on the final run that was only a
coupleof hundred meters above a rotating surface so big thatIan felt he was orbiting a planet. His
curiosity was arousedas to the mass of this ship and the gravitational field thatit created.

 As they approached the end of the cylinder, the shut-tlecraft started to decelerate and Ian was surprised
at the sudden realization that Smith's people had mastered in-ertia dampening for a sublight vessel.

 Clearing the end of the man-made planet, the shuttlefinally docked at the very center, in the zero-gravity
area.

"This will only take a couple of minutes. Would youcare to come along?"

How could he refuse? Ian eagerly followed behindSmith.

Their docking port was devoid of people, and it seemedto be encased, floors, walls, and ceilings, in
gold. They floated into a small golden room with a single circulardoorway at the other end.

 "I shall go first, of course," Smith said. "I'd appreciateit if you would stay behind me. If you should drift
along-side of me or in front of me, I'm afraid that wouldn'tfollow protocol at all. I'd be forced to kill you."
He smiled."Do we understand each other?"

Ian nodded.

 "Good then." Smith pushed off and floated toward the door. At his approach it slid open, a sudden roar
engulfedthem, as if a storm-tossed sea was breaking outside thegolden room.

 Smith grabbed hold of a circular railing of gold, stop-ping his forward momentum. He stood there
surroundedby thunder.

Ian cautiously slipped up to the doorway and peakedout. "My God, it's full of people," he whispered.

 He was looking out into a vast cylinder-shaped audi-ence chamber: a kilometer or more in diameter, its
lengthten kilometers back up into the vessel. The entire popu-lation of the one habitat—millions of
them—had gatheredin this one place.

"O my children," Smith shouted, and his amplifiedvoice rose above the thunderous roar.

"For you are the Father of us all!" ten millions an-swered in return.

"Our promise shall be fulfilled, our glory magnified athousandfold. Our revenge shall be just."

"For so you have promised!"
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"Our Hegira shall come to an end in the gardens ofParadise!"

Smith reached to his belt and with a dramatic flourish drew a sword that glinted in the harsh blue sunlight
pour-ing in through the windows that surrounded the dockingport like a beaded halo.

 Ian gasped with amazement as, like a field of steely wheat, a wavering shimmer of metal rippled up over
themultitude. Until all human forms were blotted out beneathten million upraised swords.

"Father, Father, Father..."

Smith pushed off from the golden ring and reentered the golden room.

"That is power, Ian Lacklin," he said with a cold glim-mer of menace. "Think of that power when, in
vengeancefor what we suffered, I unleash it across the world thatso cruelly drove us out into the night."



Ian was silent as together they reboarded the shuttle.




                                               CHAPTER 14

 Not a word was said between the two as the sameperformance was repeated at half a dozen other
colonies.

Ian knew he had been invited to the ritual display tobe impressed. But for what purpose? Part of it, he
guessed,was to judge his reaction. But by the informal way thathe was treated, Ian suspected that Smith
was looking fora contact that was not filled with ritual, nor blood kin, for that matter.

Finally a question almost anthropological in naturebroke the silence.

 "Why the swords? I mean, I've been observing yourtechnological level and it's simply astounding. Why
thisanachronism? Now, don't take offense, but in my eyesswords are rather ridiculous in a technological
level any- where beyond the Napoleonic. It's even stranger when Ican't trace any useful cultural lineage
out of it. I mean, swords were never used in space in your time, at least, not in anything above a poorly
written video thriller."

 "But there is a cultural lineage," Smith replied. "There'sa direct historical linkage that centers our society
aroundthe sword and the mystique of the warrior. One more stop, Ian Lacklin, and then I shall explain."

 The adulation seemed to have put Franklin Smith in a jovial mood, and he laughed as he entered through
theairlock into yet another golden room. Ian sat in the shuttleand waited as the waves of noise washed
the interior. Forseveral minutes he looked across the star-studded night,the familiar formations now
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changed, with some brighter,and others dimmed, or lost altogether. Finally he foundthe one he was
looking for, almost lost in the harsh glare of Delta.

The chanting would soon be heard there, as well, Ian realized, and he, more than anyone else alive,
would bethe one responsible for the devastation to come. He, ahistorian, a studier of others, a
bookworm lost in fantasies of the heroic past would be the cause. Ian suddenly re-alized that in this
movement he might very well be theprime ingredient in the fate of an entire world.

 As his eyes scanned the shuttle, Ian recognized thesuperior technology. Hell, they had a thousand-year
headstart, a thousand years without the long night, the plagues,the convulsive wars that followed. Only in
the last two hundred years had Earth reemerged into the enlightenment. For all practical purposes the
only technologicaladvantage his people had was the translight capability. Inall others, they were sadly
lacking. So now, thanks to hisdamnable curiosity, Earth's one small advantage wouldallow Smith to cross
space in a matter of months—bring-ing with him the fire and sword of vengeance.

 The chants were still thundering as Smith slipped intothe seat next to him, closed the airlocks, and broke
freeand away.

 "The day we left Earth orbit," Smith suddenly stated, picking up on a question that Ian had already half
for-gotten, "we numbered just over one hundred thousand.The bastards who started the wars knew that
we weretrapped—we who were on that colony. Even if we madethe engines, produced the sails, or
deployed our ion packs,we were still trapped."

"Why?"

 "Because the Earthside government forced one hundredthousand people aboard a colony designed for
twenty-five thousand. It was such a crude analogy. Earth withher twelve billion had exceeded her
carrying capacity, andthose of us who protested and tried to alter that equation without resorting to war
were forced onto a colony thathad far exceeded its closed eco-capacity, as well. Theyknew we could
only stay alive through massive trans-shipments from Earth. Those bastards reasoned that ifthey were
defeated, they could still destroy us outrightor leave us in space to linger a slow death until we finally
destroyed ourselves.

"I remember one of their leaders laughing at me when we had just reached solar system escape velocity.
He saidhe would enjoy contemplating the ways that we woulduse to kill each other."

 Smith stopped for a moment and looked straight in thedirection of Sol and the Earth that he had
escaped.

"I outlived you, you bastards!" Smith screamed. "Youlaughed at me and I beat you all. And I'll be back
withbillions to seek revenge."

 "The sword," Ian asked, trying to divert Smith awayfrom what appeared to be a potentially violent
tirade.

"Yes, the sword, your question about the sword," Smithreplied absently.

 He looked off into space, as if searching for some dis-tant, painful memory. "Consider this problem, Ian
Lacklin. You are acknowledged as the great leader of a group. Be it through cunning, political stealth,
charismatic awe,or, in the very rare case, through actual ability to rule.You have a closed system, there
are one hundred thou-sand people and you know that only twenty-five thousandwill live. And you, Ian
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Lacklin, you alone can choose. What now would you do?"

 Ian recoiled at the thought of the few possibilities. Theharming of an insect was to him a moral question,
andoften he would catch a fly only to release it outside ratherthan kill it. True, he had played absurd
"survival in the shelter" games while in graduate school, but this wasdifferent. The man before him was
real and had faced thatactual question—and had apparently solved it.

"I think I would have resigned or killed myself."

 "Bullshit!" Smith thundered his response with suchrage that Ian pulled back from him. "You sit here in
yourcomplacency and talk philosophical bullshit. First you absolve yourself of the problem, thereby
attempting tomake yourself morally superior. I hold such people incontempt. Complete contempt!"

 "I'm not trying to show myself superior to you," Ianshouted back. "It's just that my mind rebels at finding
away to kill seventy-five thousand people."

 Smith looked at Ian for a moment then smiled a sad, almost whimsical smile. "If any of my people had
ever dared to speak to me like that, my followers would tearhim apart. You know, I miss this. I truly miss
this." He sighed and looked off into space for a moment. "Too badit will have to end sometime.

 "I still hold the moral whiners in contempt," Smithsaid, drawing the conversation back to its original path,
"for they present an argument, such as nonviolence ordisarmament and peace, while living in the safety of
their sheltered lives. Let them truly be placed on the line, letthem see their children starving in the name of
peace, let them see their families bombed and raped—then see howtheir moral arguments stand.

 "I think, Ian Lacklin, my pudgy, bespectacled, bookishprofessor, I think that if you were suddenly in the
samesituation as I..." His voice trailed away for a moment,as if the images he was arguing over were
wavering before him like phantoms. "I think, Ian, that you, too, wouldfinally learn to decide the fate of
tens of thousands. Learn,at last, just how easy it really is. But back to the answerof your question, my
friend."

 He spoke a couple of quick commands into the navsystem and the shuttle rolled into a different
trajectory,aiming itself toward a close sweep of the small planet thatwas the source of Franklin Smith's
strength. Then he turned back to their conversation.

 "In short, Ian Lacklin, I had to devise a way to killseventy-five thousand of my own people, otherwise all
ofus would die. Our council thought of raiding another col-ony, but we had yet to build the necessary
weapons, andanyhow, the colonies were already destroyed in the open-ing stages of the war or far
ahead of us on their trajec-tories.

 "So we had to take in the following considerationsbefore cutting back on our population. Our ecosystem
was susceptible to sabotage; a small group of malcontentscould seize a key point—the reactor, the
central control system, or one of a hundred other points—and therebyblackmail the rest. Therefore I was
forced to move swiftlyand to create a state of tight control. It had to be harsh,ruthless, and unswerving in
loyalty; and most important,instantaneous to command without thought of personalself.

"I realized, Ian, that a system employing Bushido wasthe key."

"Bushido?"

"An ancient" word. Japanese, meaning a code of war-riors' honor. It suited my needs perfectly. A
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system offeudal overlords with retainers who valued honor morethan life; service to their clan's lord
became the definitionof their life. In short, Ian, it became the only way. I neededto instill discipline and an
acceptance of death to servethe greater whole—a society where death was accept-able."

 He fell silent for a moment and looked away. And Iannoticed a tremor in his jaw, as if he was fighting for
con-trol.

"I had to kill seventy-five thousand so twenty-five thousand could live," he whispered. "And there was
noescaping that trauma. No escape for Dr. Franklin Smith,professor of philosophy from Berkeley.

"Our governmental system had been democratic, butthe ruling body of our unit came to me, knowing
whathad to be done. They knew a democratic system woulddeadlock over the question of who would
die. They fearedsome of the malcontents' taking over, and knowing thatI was the pacifist and
philosopher, they felt comfortable with my becoming the Angel of Death. Oh, they couldwash their hands
of it then—the stigma would be carriedby Smith. Let Smith kill them; afterward we'll deal withhim. I
begged them at first not to nominate me, but in theend I took the position."

 "What did you do then?" Ian asked, realizing why itwas that Smith had spared him. Ian was the cathartic,
theonly one in Smith's universe that he could unburden to.He had for the moment become, like of old, the
confessorto a Pope, the confessor to a god.

 "I was married, you know," Smith replied, his voicebarely a whisper. "Janet... Janet. I told her why and
sheunderstood. Then I killed her."

 He looked away again and started to sob. The planetwas rolling by beneath them, the shuttlecraft
skimming athousand meters above the surface. Pits the size of citiesdotted the landscape, and from them
rose streams of pay-loads propelled upward by the mass-drivers. As they ap-proached the equatorial
band, it seemed as if the planetwere rimmed with the spokes of a wheel soaring upwardto the geosync
points, where processing plants manufac-tured the needs of a billion people. Ian didn't say a wordas the
quiet sobs filled the shuttle. Suddenly Smith stiffened and with a forceful effort turned and looked back at
Ian.

 "With that one death I gained the understanding and,thereby, the control over the others; they listened to
onewho had made the penultimate sacrifice. First, I orderedthat the best and the brightest would be
saved. Thosewith the superior intellect and the superior genetic ca-pabilities would live to breed a
superior race. They wereisolated in a secure portion of the colony. The single door-way into that section
became known as the Portal of Life,for only those chosen could go through it.

 "Next I selected those with unique skills and knowl-edge who had not earlier been selected. I now had
halfthe people that I could save."

"What did the council say to this plan?"

 Smith's expression hardened. "They said nothing. AfterI killed Janet, my first order had been to kill every
member of the council. They gave me the power—Iused it. I killed them, for they all deserved to die.
They would have used me in the end as their scapegoat, theirJudas, and turned against me. For I realized
that only by yielding to the decisions of a wise clan lord couldwe survive, and I would become that lord. I
had alreadyselected my bodyguards, those who would be my firstgeneration of priests, though I knew
that my cult wouldhave to be developed gradually.

"I then created the Order of the Sword, and the systemto exercise it. Hardly anyone had experience with
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swordwork. It was fair, and simple. Our stores of steel wereadequate and we manufactured those first
weapons easilyenough. Crude, they were, but sufficient. And thus forsix months, day by day, the fighting
of pairs became thepath out. And with it, the forcing of obedience to my will,since those who were the
best, those who could take the discipline, gradually became my closest guards and car-riers of my will."

 He chuckled with a deep solemn tone, which Ian foundto be strange after the emotional outbreak of
earlier.

 "Human nature... so strange, so strange. They cameto enjoy it, this warriors' code. The women became
thefiercest at times, especially those who had lost children.Don't look at me that way, Ian, you must have
knownthat when we were exiled we brought our families andchildren with us. It was a penal colony."

"What happened to the children?"

 "Those with superior abilities were sent to the isolationarea until the trials by arms were over. Those over
twelvewho did not make it that way had to fight. Those undertwelve... we put to sleep."

"The children?"

"Don't call upon your moral superiority with me, Ian.If we had left them back on your Earth, they would
havebeen vaporized in the war. Is that superior?"

Ian didn't particularly care for the way he said "yourEarth," but he thought it best not to argue the point.

 "But all those thousands who missed being defined assuperior by only a small fraction, or by several
points inthe tests you once used. Would it not have been wise totry to save them? What about the brutes,
the savage an-imals who would survive by killing, were they worth sav-ing?"

 "If I had not let them think they had a fair chance,they would have overthrown my plan. Can't you see
thebeauty of it? I let them think that they had the advantage.However, it was so simple. I matched brutals
against brutals. Those who might oppose me against those who might oppose me. And those who might
be worth saving, I tried,when possible, to match them against weaker opponentswho were not worth
saving but whom I could not simplyexecute.

 "Through the fights it was so easy to deceive them and to keep them from destroying all of us in a mad
frenzy ofdestruction, as the scum back on Earth had prophesied.

"And so for six long and bloody months, I reduced usstep by step. The bodies were processed for their
valuableresources, my people learned a new code, and we were transformed. And as I watched the
Earth disappear as-tern, fading to a blue speck lost in the glare of a minorsun, I learned control.

"For they had destroyed Paradise!" He shouted thewords, and Ian was tempted to tell him that he was
notpreaching to the multitude, but thought better of it.

 "We saw what was coming, we had spoken out againstit, and for our effort those fools had us exiled. I
learned,Ian Lacklin, what is the nature of power. I could hop toone of my colonies right now, command
ten thousand tokill themselves, and they would do so without questionand consider it an honor. That, Ian
Lacklin, is power—and it rests in my hands.

"Never again shall I ever let happen what those onEarth forced us to do."
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 They finally swung in to the dark side of the planet,and its surface was banded by necklaces of lighting
thatilluminated the planet as if it were day. Ian was amazedat the power being harnessed there. Smith's
people wereliterally tearing the planet apart. As if reading his thoughts,Smith suddenly spoke again.

 "Gregor gave me a report on our progress before you joined me. He said that it was recently calculated
that ifgrowth continues at its current rate, we will totally con-sume the mass of that planet in four hundred
years. Al-ready we are developing five of the moons on the firstgas giant."

"Which one is that?"

"It's called Janet."

 "Of course." Ian said it with such understanding thatSmith suddenly reached out and touched him on the
arm and smiled briefly.

 "But as I was saying, I saw the path. Once the Timeof Blooding had finished, I realized that the warrior
codemust stay. So with the coming of the next generation, Iencouraged its development along with
rigorous training of the mind and total discipline. Ian, I knew that the oddswere still against us. I had set a
course that would takeseven hundred years—fearing that if we went to the closerstars, we would find
ourselves in competition. I knewmany were bound for the galactic core, but space is im-mense. We had
contact with several colonies on the way out, but most we would not reach. Two did make starfallhere at
Delta Sag and we were forced to deal with them,since of course they were not of us."

"I know. I found the results of your actions."

Smith ignored his comment and continued.

"I created a warrior-guard elite, and I acted as a guide to the future so that there would be a continuity
with the past. As least, that is what I told them, but I knew whatwould happen after only several
generations.

 "I was awakened every twenty years, or when therewas a crisis to advise—to give counsel and to plan.
The first time I was greeted like an old friend returning. Thesecond time only a few from the 'Earth Time,'
as theywere calling it, still remembered me. And on the fourth time, there was not one in fifty. And I
started to becomefirst an advisor, then a legend, and finally a god—as Iknew I would."

 He smiled at Ian as he said the words, and a man who had sounded before to be so sane now took on a
differentedge, his powerful appearance and deep rich Voice lendingonly more power to the image of
something almost su-perhuman.

 "My awakening became a religious event, a long-cherished high holy day by which people measured
theirlives. When I knew the time to be right, I laid out thenext step—the bonding of all by one common
blood. It became a most sacred privilege to bear my child, even ifinduced artificially. And it became the
most cherisheddream of a maiden to surrender her virginity to me andthen to bear my child." Smith
looked at Ian and gave aslightly lascivious smile.

"It was easy to keep track of the genetics of it, andwithin a few hundred years every single person
became a descendent of myself. I am, therefore, truly the Fatherof all my people!"

He shouted out the words and laughed as he did so, and then fixed Ian with his gaze.
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 "And I knew one other part of the formula that was necessary for our health and survival. A people must
al-ways have a dream. And I gave them the dream. That wewould increase in number and then return
one day to theparadise that had been fouled by those who are not ofour blood. They would return to the
promised land, ledby their Father—and we would purge the Earth of itsfilth. We would take our revenge
for having been driven out. We would take our revenge for the Blooding Time. And we would then dwell
in the realm of Paradise for-ever!"

 Smith grabbed lan's arm with such force that Ian fearedthe madman's grip would burst right through his
skin andshatter the bone beneath.

 "And you, Ian Lacklin, you gave me the means of myreturn. Your people are weak, your own ship's
computertells me you number not half a billion on the entire planet.You have but a weak central
government controlled byan overgrown bureaucracy. There is no way that you can defy me. We have
searched to transcend light for a mil-lennium, and to think that its discovery would be a mereaccident by
an amateur back on Earth. But now I know.I have the data in your machine to tell me how. And then I
shall return in glory and my people can at last return toParadise!"




                                              CHAPTER 15



 Ian felt a moment of d1sorientation. the darkness wasstrange. Shortly after his return from his meeting, a
mealhad been delivered that outshone anything they had ex-perienced since Earth. In spite of the
circumstances, Ian was enthralled with the dinner plates; each was stamped"Souvenir of the 2064 New
York World's Fair." Ian slippedone of the coffee saucers into his jacket pocket. It nowrested next to the
alien artifact.

 It had already occurred to the crew ofDiscovery thatthis was to be some sort of ceremonial last
supper—and they were suddenly convinced of it when the lights weredimmed. Nervously they sat
together until eventually ex-haustion and the need for a final private moment had sentthem to their own
small areas.

 As if stirred by a distant voice, Ian "awoke from hissleep and looked toward the doorway. A shadow
filledthe dimly lit corridor—Smith. Leaving the others to whathe feared might be a final rest, Ian stood
and followedSmith to the audience chamber.

"Have you decided?"

 "First, I give you permission to sit." And Smith beck-oned for him to sit on the small stool placed before
thedais.

 Smith was dressed in the flowing ceremonial robes ofthe warrior, his sword resting on the floor by his
righthand. The soft lamplight behind him haloed his salt-and-pepper hair and cast darkened shadows that
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hid his beardand ebony features.

 Ian gave him a nod of thanks and settled down ontothe stool. Smith said nothing, and Ian finally broke
thesilence.

"I can't understand one thing."

"Go on."

 Ian drew in his breath and finally committed himself."You have the information that you need from us.
Wetherefore serve no logical purpose by living. You, if any-one, have learned to kill without prejudice or
sentiment.If we do not serve a purpose, then why don't you killus?"

Smith leaned forward and his features emerged from the shadows. "You are correct, Ian Lacklin.
You've sur-mised that you still serve a purpose, and now you ask mewhat it is."

"Yes."

Smith chuckled softly. "Are the universities still the same as when I was there?"

 The change of tack threw Ian off balance for a second,but he quickly picked up on it. "I have a feeling
that it'suniversal and timeless."

"Still the same administrators?" He chuckled softly."You know, I could never figure out how people so
dumband so deceitful ever got into education."

Ian nodded and found himself chuckling, as well.

"And still the same dumb jocks who your dean forcesyou to pass, in spite of their idiocy?"

 "I think I know what jock means, we call them ozone heads. But yes—it is still the same. Most schools
are stillplaces were education is second to the god of sports."

"It's just that I was once a full professor of philosophy,"Smith said sadly, "and I know that you were a
professor of history, specializing in my time."

"I thought that was part of the reason you kept my friends and me alive."

 "But events, Ian Lacklin, will soon force the end ofthis nostalgic interlude. I was a professor, but now I
amsomething entirely different."

 Ian found it remarkable that he was gripped by an icyfeeling of calm. The path was open to him. He
could senseit in Smith's words. The reason he had not heard fromSmith or, for that matter, the reason
they had not yet been eliminated was simply because Smith was not sure of thepath to follow. Smith as
the Angel of Death was poised,but something behind him held him back. Ian now knewthat it rested with
him—an overweight, nearsighted, cer-tifiably incompetent history teacher—to talk the man outof
slaughtering the entire population of the Earth, or hewould die trying.

 He thought about that for a moment. He could die assoon as the session was over. To his surprise his
bowelsdidn't turn to water, and his knees didn't quake at themere thought of it all. His arguments were
already form-ing, and he started.
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 "I guess it's obvious that you intend to use the plansfor our faster-than-light vessel. You'll build a fleet
and inshort order return to Earth."

Smith smiled softly and nodded.

"With fire and sword," his deep voice boomed, "asthey say."

 Ian took a deep breath. "You're a fool!" His voiceechoed in the chamber. And for a moment there was a
look of shock on the face of Smith.

 The sword seemed almost to leap into Smith's handand arc back in a sweep that would culminate in
death.Ian steeled himself for the numbing blow and stilled theterror in his heart. He looked into Smith's
eyes and held him with a challenge.

 Smith held his gaze, and wild desire was mirrored inhis eyes, as if he wrestled with himself. Ian waited,
amazedat the sudden intensity of reality and thought that heldhim. It was as if in a single second he could
clearly con-sider a dozen different thoughts. He was amazed at thealmost ludicrous realization that he
was engaged in a di-plomacy that the world might never know of. He wasamazed, as well, at the
cold-blooded logic that had driven him to insult Smith.

And Ian Lacklin felt a secret pride. He had, for onemoment, at least, transcended; and as an old word
had described, he was no longer a wimp. Ian Lacklin hadequaled, at last, his fabled heroes of old.

 Smith kept the sword poised, and then with a suddenflourish he drove it into the flooring by his side and
re-leased it—so that the handle quivered and swayed as ifit held a trembling life of its own.

"Explain!" Smith barked. And shaking with sup-pressed emotion, he turned away.

"There is no need for me to be pedantic, your educationis better than mine. And as is so very rare, you
do notlet that education hamper you with useless rhetoric. Youtherefore understand the nature of societal
movements.That has been my career. I studied your movements, your age.

 "A society must have a tangible goal, a Utopian dreamof what it can transcend to. It can be, as in the
Middle Ages, a drive to religious oneness and establishment ofthe kingdom of God. To my own
ancestors it was an all-consuming passion to transcend the near-fatal damage ofthe Holocaust and return
us to space. For you it is re-venge."

 "Yes, revenge!" Smith shouted. "You were not there. I was. I saw the light slip out of Janet's eyes, I saw
thebloodied floor of the fighting pits, I carry the blood of thetens of thousands on my soul. And I saw
what they didon Earth. They did it! They did it!" His voice rose to ascream of rage.

 "They are dead a thousand years," Ian whispered inreply. "Franklin Smith, you are nearly the last of your
age; you dream a revenge against those who are dust,their legacies forgotten, their age destroyed in a
Holocaustof their own making. Damn it, Smith, they're nothingexcept your memory."

 He fell silent, waiting for the reply, but there was noresponse. And Smith still kept his back to him. Ian
searchedfor the historical example.
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 "Your logic is the same as if the blacks of your agewere to punish the whites of your South for an
experiencegone two hundred years, or a Jew of my time to punishwhat were once Germans for that first
Holocaust more than a millennium ago."

"But the memories are still here and alive." Smith turnedand pointed to his heart. "Still alive and burning in
here."

 "You've had revenge enough, Franklin Smith, revenge enough. That traveler of mine, Elijah, he said 'For
I alone have lived to tell thee this tale.' You know, you murderedhis entire colony. That poor mad fool
quoting ancient literature is all that is left of an entire world, and that isyour work."

"It was necessary."

"So was what happened to you."

Smith's hand rested again on the sword.

"Go ahead, if that's your answer to what might saveyou, then go ahead and get it over with. I'm tired of
waiting for it."

"Speak then, damn you."

 "The world was tottering toward madness. To an in-sane world the voice of sanity is usually viewed as
insane.You're lucky they didn't kill you on the spot. At least youhad a chance. You're no better than they
are, for you'd have done the same. In fact you have done the same inthe name of saving your society.

 "Think of it, Smith. The madness that seized the world forced over seven hundred colonies and nearly
thirty mil-lion people to flee the Earth. It was violent, in many casesnearly hopeless, and millions died. But
the bonds hadbeen broken. Right now hundreds of civilizations are spreading slowly across this area of
the galaxy. The birthof a child is attended by blood and trauma. So, too, usuallywith a civilization. That
madness, that trauma forced you to flee and, yes, forced the tragedy of your life. But I seehere a billion
people, bonded together in a new civilizationthat you have forged out of your own power and desire.
That has only happened to a handful of men in history.You are the Adam, Abraham, and Moses of a new
civi- lization."

"And now the angel of war," Smith replied.

"Death, you mean. And as I said before, you'd be a fool."

"You're just arguing to save your own life and your own world."

"Of course I am. Only a madman desires death. Onlya madman desires his world to die. But I see the
deathof all in this; your world and mine will die."

 "How so? I've looked at your records; I know yourcapabilities. In ten years I could destroy you
completely.Even if your people learned of my coming, still I wouldoverwhelm them."

 "Yes, even if my people knew. You already outnumberus nearly four to one, and in ten years time it will
be sixto one. Your technology is generations beyond our own, all except for that one small quirk of fate
that caused one of our people to discover the way of circumventing light-speed. That is our only
superiority, and you now have that, as well.
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"But I tell you this, Franklin Smith. Lead your people for a revenge that only you need have, and it will
destroyyou and your civilization in the process."

"Give me your argument then, and be done with it. I am growing weary of this talk."

 "My opening argument is that a civilization needs agoal. You've set up the goal for your people: the
desire for revenge. You've created a perfect machine for thatgoal: a billion people linked together by
common blood,a people trained in what you called Bushido, and a technological level that transcends
Earth's—as if your twenty-first-century world had found a way to wage war on arabble of medieval
knights.

 "But remember that concept about a goal. So you goahead, you build and then you attack. You use
atomicsto blast us and sweep life off the face of the Earth. Youhave triumphed, Franklin Smith. Imagine
that triumph."

 He looked into Smith's eyes expecting the vision he painted to be one that would excite, but to his
surprisethere was nothing, as if Smith could already see the paththat Ian was pointing to.

 "And then what? Damn it, tell me, then what? You'veselected a goal that can be too easily reached. Oh,
it wasa wonderful goal that could bind a people together when they needed binding. You engineered that
superbly well.But now, thanks to me, you can attain that goal. Onceyou've reached it, however, what can
revenge bring?"

"It can still bring a payment here," Smith replied, strik-ing his chest. "Here it will bring a rich reward."

 "A reward of the moment. But a societal revenge, onceit is reached, bears a strange price. Once the goal
hasbeen obtained, then there is no goal—no dream to reach out to. Nothing now to work toward. And
then the oldprophets and the old dreams are cast aside. Think, man, of the contempt' your age felt for the
century-long quest for revenge in the Middle East. They had their revengeand destroyed their foe, taking
back what they called theusurped lands, and think in the end of the bitter retributionthat came—and how
it was created by themselves."

To his surprise Smith nodded his head in response. "Ilost several classmates in that war, I remember
now."

"I could argue this point for hours, Franklin Smith,but that is foolish. You're the philosophy professor,
youshould be able to follow the argument on your own. I ammerely the historical observer.

 "If your society reaches its goal, then it will changeforever—and in a direction you might not have
antici-pated or be able to control. The very factors that bind ittogether, that give it strength and vitality,
will be lost.Your own America was built on a goal of expansion and limitless opportunity. When you
started to listen to the drivel of idiots who said there must be limits to growth and that expansion into
space is wrong, you fell behind.It was nearly fatal, for the Japanese and Chinese neverhad such doubts.

 "Go ahead and make your goal. They'll throw youaside then, Smith. You've already started toward
anothergoal; if you point that way, you can't lose."

"Go ahead," Smith replied sarcastically, "enlighten me,Professor."

"The complete settling of space is the only goal thatcan be sought and yet, ultimately, never obtained.
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With the hibernation drug you could take your people in that direction for ten thousand more years. At
your rate ofgrowth you could be tens of trillions, reaching out acrossthe entire galaxy. That's a hell of an
alternative. Don't goback to Earth, Smith. Go ahead and kill us if need be, but don't go back to Earth.
Revenge isn't worth the cost. You shaped a destiny for your people, continue to do it.In five or six
generations your people could forget thatthe hatred of Earth ever existed—and the dream couldbe
redirected elsewhere."

"But you Earthmen could one day be a threat."

 "That's like- saying a Carthaginian army could havethreatened the America of your twenty-first-century.
Damnit, Smith, you've got such an exponential jump on Earth, it'll never catch up. Besides, our society is
still primarilyplanetbound. We've learned; our society's ethic limits population growth. Less than
one-tenth of one percent of us are space dwellers, and the vast majority of those outthere still look back
down to Earth. We're a people who'velearned to live within our ecosystem, as those aboard anyspace
colony must do. It's pretty boring in a way, butthat's the way I guess we'll always be. We cast off our
seed, and some of us will still go out, but the grim ne-cessities of it have already been done by our
ancestors.

 "Butyour people,your vibrant society is not lookinginward, dependent on a single planet. Your people
are already looking out toward the rest of the universe. The hell with Earth, Franklin Smith, you've got an
entire uni-verse to populate with your descendents."

Ian fell silent. And for several minutes nothing more was said.



 "You know something, Ian, you are neither as dumbnor as wimpish as I first thought. Your argument is
soundand bears thinking. After all, the distant future is only amatter of months for me, but generations for
my people.We have a significant lead on you already, and now, with this light drive, there is nothing to
fear from your people."

 Smith stretched and walked over to rest his hand onthe hilt of the sword. "However, Ian Lacklin, though
it saddens me to say this, I think you should pray to what-ever god it is that you worship, for it is time
that youmeet him."

 "Wait a minute, Doc," Ian said hurriedly, coming to his feet, "I thought that you'd see we weren't a threat,
Imean, you know..."

Smith drew the blade out of the floor and advanced on Ian.

 "Look at it from my perspective, Ian, and try to bereasonable. I still have a touch of the paranoid in me.
IfI let you go there is the slim chance that you could createquite a problem for me some day. Besides, I
have thedesigns for your ship, so there's no need to let othersknow that I have it. Therefore..." He
shrugged his shoul-ders and grimaced as if he were being forced into anunpleasant act.

 "You ask me to be reasonable?" Ian shouted. "Damnit, you're going to cut my head off and you want me
tobe reasonable!"

 "I'm sorry, Ian, I do like you. I promise your passingwill be quick and painless. Now just kneel down so
I won'tmiss my aim and cause you undue suffering."
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 "Bullshit! I've tried to be reasonable, but you wouldn'tlisten. So you've forced me into it." Ian reached
into hispocket.

"Come along now, Ian, we searched you for weapons,and I was good enough to allow you to keep
your personaleffects. Now don't try to threaten me."

"I'm not threatening you," Ian said coldly. "There's athermonuclear mine aboard our ship; your sensing
de-vices should have picked up the radiation signature."

"So what?"

Ian pulled the alien cylinder out of his pocket. "Thisis the trigger."

"Come on, Ian Lacklin, you're bluffing. That's a use-less piece of junk."

 "I thought so, too. But it's a small, alien transmittingdevice. Just before we jumped to this region I rigged
it up to trigger the mine."

Smith was silent, watching Lacklin's eyes for sometelltale clue.

 Ian was actually shaking. "I'm not joking this time, Smith. I didn't want this situation, I had hoped we
couldget along without threats, but you forced me into this."

Ian held the cylinder over his head and touched theend of it with his thumb.

"Take another step and you'll get to see firsthand whatreal eternity is all about. All I need to do is push
downon the end of this cylinder and puff, you and I will begamma rays."

Ian was staring straight into Smith's eyes and a tauntingsmile crossed his face. He was in control!

 "I'll tell you something, Smith," Ian said, his voicereflecting his sense of assurance. "I've listened to you
for some time now, in fact, I've even grown to like you, butthe game is over. So here's what you're going
to do forme. First off, you're going to call the guards off my friends,and then we'll take a nice leisurely
stroll down to thedocking ports."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then we'll see right now if I'm bluffing or not."

Smith still held him with his gaze, but Ian knew he hadthe upper hand.

 "Look, Smith, we pose no threat, we only stir a fearthat should have been buried a millennium ago. Now
if Ipush this button you die, and when you go the civilizationthat is built around your semigodhood dies
with you. Logictherefore dictates that we take that little walk to the dock-ing bay. You can save face by
making sure all your peopleare ordered from the area. Later just tell them that youdecided to let us live.
So you win. And even if I'm bluffing,you'd still win anyhow; we and the Earth pose no threatto you."

Smith started to smile but lan's gaze held steady as hestarted to move his thumb.
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"Stasz, is all secure in there?"

"Engines are powering up, Ian. All secured, just tellme when to close the airlock and let's get the hell out
ofhere."

Ian switched off the comlink and looked at Smith, whofloated on the other side of the airlock.

 "So, what are you waiting for, Ian? I've done as yourequested, I've let you and the others return to your
ship.So go on, get the hell out of here."

"Do you think I'm that dumb?" Ian said, edging his voice with contempt.

Smith's knuckles whitened as he clenched his hands."Don't push it, Lacklin. You're aboard your ship,
nowjust get the hell out of here."

"Before we can jump to light you could vaporize uswith your ship's defenses, or the defenses of any one
ofa hundred of your other ships."

Smith smiled.

"Checkmate. I could force you to come with us," Iansaid.

"Then I'd call your bluff. You'll not take me off this ship to suffer the humiliation of being held hostage."

 "Checkmate," Ian replied sadly. Ian drew a deep breathand stepped out of the airlock. There was no
other wayand he had assumed from the beginning that it would endlike this. He held Smith in control only
as long as thethreat was in front of him.

"Stasz, listen to me."

"Go ahead, boss."

 Boss, Stasz had just called him boss! "Stasz, I wantyou to remove the thermomine from the aft storage
areaand bring it to me in the airlock."

Smith's eyes grew wider and Ian held the cylinder upas a warning not to try anything.

"Ian, what the hell are you doing?" Stasz replied.

"Don't argue with me on this. He'll vaporize us assoon as we pull out. I'm staying behind with the mine as
a guarantee to make sure he doesn't. Now dump that mineand just get the hell out of here."

Afraid that Smith might try a desperate move, Ian held him with his gaze. "An even swap, Smith. They
get awayand I'll surrender the mine and this trigger, then you cando as you see fit."

A flicker of a smile crossed Smith's face.

"Most noble on your part, Doctor."
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Ian felt the airlock open behind him.

 "You sure you want to do this?" Stasz asked. Ian lookedat him from the corner of his eye. Stasz was
floating inthe entry way, the ugly black mine tucked under his arm.

"Just toss it over here, get back on the controls andpunch it the hell out of here."

"Ian?"

"Goddamm it, do it!" Ian shouted.

"Thanks for saving my retirement," Stasz said sadly, "I'll see they put your name on a gold plaque." And
witha reluctant gesture Stasz gave the bomb an underhandtoss.

"Ian, my love, you can't!"

 With a wild shout Shelley barged past Stasz and ric-ocheted off a bulkhead, knocking the slowly
tumblingbomb off course. She came straight at Ian, her arms out-stretched like a distraught lover reaching
for her mate.

 She slammed into Ian even as the bomb drifted pasthim, just out of reach. He could see Smith leaping
fromthe other side, grasping both for the bomb and the alienswizzle stick which had been knocked out of
his hand by the impact of a sobbing Shelley.

"Shelley, let go!"

Floating in the zero gravity, the two men slammed intoeach other—each grappling for a hold.

"Really, Smith," Ian shouted, "two Ph.D.'s should finda better way to settle their disputes." He pulled
back hisright hand for a roundhouse punch.

 lan's entire body was thrown into the blow, and Ianwas amazed to see blood spray even as he recoiled
away.

He slammed up against the opposite wall to be met bya solid blow to his lower back. He had hit the
mine, drivingit into the wall and activating the last switch.

 "Warning, warning, you have preactivated the Clear-ance Assured AB-23A thermomine. We are happy
thatyou have decided to go with the best bang in the universe.And remember to contact our quality
control people ifyou have any problem.

"Warning, Warning..."

 The high-pitched voice, sounding like a video adver-tiser, droned on as Ian finally managed to grab a
handholdand stopped his wild gyrations. Smith was dazed, and floated before him like a damaged ship
that had lost allpower to move or react.

"Ian, let's go!" Shelley's hands were yanking on hisleg; a sudden tug pulled him back toward the airlock.

She pulled him through the airlock door and hit a buttonon the control panel; the door slammed shut.
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"Stasz, punch us the hell out of here," Shelley screamed.

"The artifact," Ian shouted. "Wait, it's the only thingwe have! I've got to go back."

Ian reached over to hit the airlock door release. Therewas a faint shudder as Stasz cut free from the
dockingport. Instantly the prejump acceleration kicked on, push-ing Ian and Shelley against the opposite
wall.



 Reaching out Smith snatched the slowly tumbling mine.Pushing off from the wall, he floated down the
corridorand stopped at a viewing port.

They were already free and accelerating into their jump.

With his left hand Smith touched his nose and wincedwith pain.

Damn it, that little guy broke his nose.

But that little guy would be vapor in fairly short order.

 He reached over to a comlink board and got ready tocall in the command to activate a weapons battery.
The mine kept shrieking out its warning and he suddenly realized that the last thing he needed was for that
warning to be going on in the background. Some of his "priests"were feeling a little uppity this time
around, the way heimagined the pope would feel if God showed up and triedto take over the business.
The last thing he needed wasfor them to think there had been a screw up. First themine, then a couple of
disabling shots.

"Warning, warning..."

"All right, shut up, damn it."

He examined the six numbered levers that were nowin the down position. Simple enough. He grabbed
hold ofthe last one and flicked it up.

 "Congratulations, you have activated the final trigger.If you wish to deactivate it, please check your
service manual at once. To avoid accidents, be sure the manualis the correct one for your model," the
voice said cheer-fully. "We advise that you now leave the area. Ninetyseconds, eighty-nine,
eighty-eight..."

Smith let go of the mine and it hovered in front of him.

"Oh, shit."
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                                              CHAPTER 16




"Earthbound, Ian?"

"How long would it take, Stasz?"

"Six months seventeen days."

Ian did a quick calculation. That would put them inten days before registration for the fall semester.
Perfect!He could throw together a syllabus and be ready to go.Hell, for that matter they might even want
him at NouveauHarvard after his exploits.

 Ian looked around at the others. Smith's system wasten billion kilometers behind them and the initial
euphoriaover their escape was wearing off.

"What's wrong, Shelley? We could be back in time forfall classes."

"Ian, I just remembered something."

"Yeah, what?"

"Did you file for a waiver from the mandatory recertification seminar?"

"The what?"

"Every third year all professors have to be recertifiedwith six credits of education courses. The seminar
was scheduled for the month after we left. You had to filebefore we left."

 "Damn it, Shelley, what are you talking about? Any-how, you're my assistant, you should have taken
care it."

"I tried to tell you before we left. You had to file atthe Provincial Office in person, at the Dean of
Education'soffice."

 "Hell, Shelley, they should allow me the waiver now. I can claim life experience. Damn, with all the data
I'mbringing back, I can finally get published! I might evenmake it on the late-night videos. That should be
worthsix lousy education credits."

 "Sorry, Ian, this seminar was on proper use of formsand the motivation of athletics students. They won't
letyou get a waiver."
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"What the hell do you mean!"

"Ian," Ellen interjected, "remember the Chancellor saidwe all had to follow proper channels."

"And I suppose you did."

"But of course," she said with a self-confident snicker.

"And you never bothered to remind me."

"You should know what's important in education. Yourcertification is your problem, not mine."

He could see the triumph in her eyes.

"Ian, I hate to interrupt, but I'm picking up a faintbeacon. It's way the hell over toward the course for the
galactic core, several light-years out. But damn, is it pow-erful to get this far!"

Stasz turned around in his seat and looked at Ian ex-pectantly.

Ian looked at Richard, but he was already out of it.There was no sense in even asking Elijah.

He looked at Ellen and smiled.

"Well, Miss Certification, looks like you're going tomiss the next semester, as well!"

"Ian, you wouldn't!"

 "I can tell you one thing I've read the paperwork on.According to the grant, I'm in command of this ship
so Ineed not be democratic."

He looked past Ellen and gave a command that he hadlong fantasized about. "Full speed ahead, Stasz."

 "Oh, by the way, Ian," Richard said while stirring fromhis lethargic stupor, "can you explain what the hell
thisis? Shelley said she picked it up in the corridor while youand Smith were wrestling about in such a
deplorable fash-ion. She gave it to me thinking it came from my late lamented drinking kit."

Richard held the alien artifact in his hand. Ian shot aquick look over to Elijah, who sat silent, as if the
objectwere a mystery to him as well.

 "Oh, it just fell out of my pocket," Ian responded lamelyas he rushed over to grab the most valuable
artifact knownto Man.

"Curious looking." Richard held it up for everyone tosee. "What the hell is this blue button for?"

"Don't!"

Too late! With an exclamation of pain Richard droppedthe rod after a flicker of flame shot out the
opposite end.

Ian picked it up and nervously pressed the blue button.An inch or so of bright blue flame shot out the
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oppositeend.

"Ian, what the hell are you doing with a cigarette lighter?" Shelley asked. "You don't even smoke."

"Oh, just saving the Earth with it," Ian said evenly.He turned and walked out of the room.

 A cigarette lighter, he had faked out the most powerfulman in the universe with a goddamn alien cigarette
lighter—and his laughter echoed through the ship.

 Alone in the main cabin, he punched into the ship'scomputer and in fairly short order the first analysis
came in on the beacon. It looked likeL-5 319 !

He remembered that one. Even as he started to callup the data he heard the scuffle of boots on the
deck.

"Come on over, as long as it isn't Ellen."

He didn't look up. He was bent over the screen check-ing the data.

There was a faint smell of perfume. He looked around.

"Oh, hi, Shelley. This is going to be a good one. Thisis a unit I always wanted to meet. It's a bunch of
Tolkienbuffs. Know what that is? Why, they were people who loved a most interesting form of literature
popular in thetwentieth century. Say, Shelley... Shelley."

He turned around. Good lord, she was undressing rightin front of him.

 He tried to stammer a protest, but before he couldform any words she had kicked aside the last of her
cloth-ing to reveal a tight teddy.

"Shelley, w-why don't we talk about319 ?" Ian stam-mered.

"Let's not, Dr. Lacklin," she said softly. And, reachingpast him, she turned the machine off.

Ian thought about the flash they had seen just beforejump out, and wondered if it had taken Smith.

But then Shelley managed to drive that thought away, as well. Suddenly he realized that exciting as the
voyagehad been so far, it was definitely going to get better.




                                         ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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 William R. Forstchen, who makes his home in Oakland, Maine,was born in 1950. Educated by
Benedictine monks, he consideredthe calling of the priesthood but decided instead to pursue a career in
history. Completing his B.A. in education at Rider College, hewent on to do graduate work in the field of
counseling psychology.

 William was a history teacher for eight years and currentlydevotes his time to writing, educational affairs
and the promotionof the peaceful exploration of space. William lives with his wife,Marilyn, their dog, Ilya
Murometz, and Tanya the cat.

He recently led a group of fifty high school students to theSoviet Union which presented a resolution
passed by the MaineState Legislature calling for a Soviet/American manned mission toMars.

 William's interests include iceboating, Hobie Cat racing, sailing,skiing, pinball machines, Zen philosophy,
and participation in CivilWar battle reenactments as a private in the 20th Maine VolunteerInfantry.




A Del Rey Book

Published by Ballantine Books

Copyright © 1986 by William R. Forstchen

 All rights reserved under International and Pan-American CopyrightConventions. Published in the United
States of America byBallantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York,and simultaneously
in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.



Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 86-90934



ISBN 0-345-32426-9



Manufactured in the United States of America



First Edition: October 1986



Cover Art by Don Dixon
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ebook by MOS2 November 2004 accept no immitations