Monchar, Garuth’s second-in-command, was visibly tense when Garuth arrived in response to the emergency call to the Shapieron’s Command Deck. "There’s something we’ve never seen before affecting the stress field around the ship," he said in answer to Garuth’s unvoiced question. "Some kind of external bias is interfering with the longitudinal node pattern and degrading the geodesic manifolds. The gridbase is going out of balance, and ZORAC can’t make sense of it. It’s trying to recompute the transforms now."
Garuth turned to Shiohin, the mission’s chief scientist, who was in the center of a small group of her staff, taking in the information appearing on a battery of screens arrayed around them. "What’s happening?" he asked.
She shook her head helplessly. "I’ve never heard of anything like this. We’re entering some kind of spacetime asymmetry with coordinates transforming inversely into an exponential frame. The whole structure of the region of space that we’re in is breaking down."
"Can we maneuver?"
"Nothing seems to work. The divertors are ineffective, and the longitudinal equalizers can’t compensate even at full gain."
"ZORAC, what’s your report?" Garuth called in a louder voice.
"Impossible to construct a gridbase that couples consistently into normal space," the computer replied. "In other words I’m lost, don’t know where we are, where we’re going, or even if we’re going anywhere, and don’t have control anyway. Otherwise everything’s fine."
"System status?" Garuth inquired.
"All sensors, channels, and subsystems checked and working normally. No—I’m not sick, and I’m not imagining it."
Garuth stood nonplussed. Every face on the Command Deck was watching and waiting for his orders, but what order could he give when he had no idea what was happening and what, if anything, could be done about it. "Call all stations to emergency readiness and alert them to stand by for further instructions," he said, more to satisfy expectations than for any definite reason. A crewman to one side acknowledged and turned toward a panel to relay the order.
"Total stress-field dislocation," Shilohin murmured, taking in the latest updates on the screens. "We’re dissociated from any identifiable reference." The scientists around her were looking grim. Monchar nervously gripped the edge of a nearby console.
Then ZORAC’s voice sounded again. "The trends reported have begun reversing rapidly. Coupling and translation functions are reintegrating to a new gridbase. References are rotating back into balance."
"We might be coming out of it," Shilohin said quietly. Hopeful mutterings broke out all around. She studied the displays again and appeared to relax somewhat.
"Stress field not returning to normal," ZORAC advised. "The field is being externally suppressed, forcing reversion to subgravitic velocity. Full spatial reintegration unavoidable and imminent." Something was slowing the ship down and forcing it to resume contact with the rest of the universe. "Reintegration complete. We’re in touch with the universe again . . ." An unusually long pause followed. "But I don’t know which part. We seem to have changed our position in space." A spherical display in the middle of the floor illuminated to show the starfield surrounding the ship. It was nothing like that visible from the vicinity of the solar system, which should not have altered beyond recognition since the Shapieron’s departure from Earth.
"Several large, artificial constructions are approaching us," ZORAC announced after a short pause. "The designs are not familiar, but they are obviously the products of intelligence. Implications: we have been intercepted deliberately by a means unknown, for a purpose unknown, and transferred to a place unknown by a form of intelligence unknown. Apart from the unknowns, everything is obvious."
"Show us the constructions," Garuth commanded.
Three screens around the Command Deck displayed views obtained in different directions of a number of immense craft, the like of which Garuth had never seen, moving slowly inward from the background of stars. Garuth and his officers could only stand and stare in silent awe. Before anybody could find words, ZORAC informed them, "We have communications from the unidentified craft. They are using our standard high-spectrum format. I’m putting it on the main monitor." Seconds later, the large screen overlooking the floor presented a picture. Every Ganymean in the Command Deck froze, stupefied by what they saw.
"My name is Calazar," the face said. "Greetings to you who went to Iscaris long ago. Soon you will arrive at our new home. Be patient, and all will be explained."
It was a Ganymean—a slightly modified Ganymean, but a Ganymean sure enough. Elation and joy mixed with disbelief surged in the confused emotions exploding in Garuth’s head. It could only mean that. . . . the signal that the Earthmen had beamed outward from their Moon had been received. Suddenly his heart went out to the impetuous, irrepressible, unquenchable Earthmen. They had been right after all. He loved them, every one.
Gasps of wonder were erupting on every side as one by one the others realized what was happening. Monchar was turning circles and waving his arms in the air in an uncontrollable release of emotion, while Shilohin had sunk into an empty seat and was just gaping wide-eyed and speechless up at the screen.
Then ZORAC confirmed what they already knew. "I’ve matched the starfield with extrapolations from records and fixed our location. Don’t ask me how, but it seems that the voyage is over. We’re at the Giants’ Star."
Less than an hour later, Garuth led the first party of Ganymeans out of the lock of one of the Shapieron’s daughter vessels and into a brilliantly lit reception bay in one of the craft from Thurien. They approached the line of figures that were waiting silently, and went through a short welcoming ritual in which the dam finally broke and all the pent-up anguish and hope that the wanderers had carried with them burst forth in a flood of laughter and not a few tears. It was over. The long exile was over, and the exiles were finally home.
Afterward the new arrivals were conducted to a side chamber and required to recline on couches for a few minutes. The purpose of this was not explained. The Ganymeans experienced a strange sequence of sensory disturbances, after which all was normal again. They were then told that the process was complete. Minutes later, Garuth left the side chamber with his party to reenter the area where the Thuriens were assembled . . . and suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes popping in disbelief.
Slightly ahead of the Thuriens, grinning unashamedly at the Ganymeans’ total bemusement, stood a small group of familiar pink dwarves. Garuth’s mouth fell open, hung limply for a moment, and then closed again without making any sound. For the two figures moving toward him, ahead of the other humans, were none other than—
"What kept you, Garuth?" Hunt asked cheerfully. "Did you miss a sign somewhere along the way?"
"Do forgive my amusement at your expense," Danchekker said, unable to suppress a chuckle. "But I’m afraid the expression on your face is irresistibly provocative."
Behind them Garuth could see another familiar figure—stocky and broad, with wiry hair streaked with gray and deeply etched features; it was Hunt’s superior from Houston, and next to him was the red-haired girl who also worked there. Beside them were another man and woman, neither of whom he recognized. Garuth forced his feet to move again, and through his daze saw that Hunt was extending a hand in the customary manner of greeting of Earth. Garuth shook hands with him warmly, then with the others. They were not optical images of some kind; they were real. The Thuriens must have brought them from Earth for this occasion by methods unknown at the time of Minerva.
As he stood back to allow his companions to surge forward toward the Terrans, Garuth spoke quietly into the throat microphone that still connected him with the Shapieron, riding not far away from the Thurien vessel. "ZORAC, I am not dreaming? This is really happening?" ZORAC could monitor visual scenes via the miniaturized TV-camera headbands that Ganymeans from the ship wore most of the time.
"I don’t know what you mean," ZORAC’s voice replied in the earpiece that Garuth was also wearing. "All I can see is a ceiling. You’re all lying in chairs of some kind in there, and you haven’t moved for almost ten minutes."
Garuth was at a loss. He looked around and saw Hunt and Calazar making their way toward him through the throng of Ganymeans and Terrans. "Can’t you see them?" he asked, mystified.
"See who?"
Before Garuth could answer, another voice said, "Actually that wasn’t ZORAC. It was me, repeating and imitating ZORAC. Allow me to introduce myself—my name is VISAR. Perhaps it’s time we explained a few things."
"But not in the lobby," Hunt said. "Let’s go on through into the ship. There’s quite a lot that needs explaining." Garuth was even more perplexed. Hunt had heard and understood the exchange even though he was not wearing communications accessories and the exchange had been in Ganymean.
Calazar stood waiting until the rest of the welcomes and introductions had been completed. Then he beckoned and led the mixed group of Ganymeans and Terrans into the body of the huge spacecraft from Thurien, now only a matter of hours away.