Baker mused on that for a long moment, then asked, “Is there any other purpose to the mission?”

Again the computer hesitated an instant before answering. “Sequence Baker contains no statement as to other purposes of the mission.”

Baker stopped pedaling. “You mean there is one, but you won’t tell me.”

“Never said that. Said that there was nothing in your sequence to-”

“All right. I know not to argue with a computer.” He detached from the cycle and floated around the gymnasium.

“Probe report coming in,” the computer said a few minutes later.

“What’s the news?”

“No signs of life-as-we-know-it, or can guess it to be.”

Something trembled in the middle of the ship. The air around him seemed to shake. It only lasted a second, three distinct rumbles.

“Launching three cylinders of Nostocacæ Type H into promising cloud masses.”

“What’s that?”

“Type H Nostocacæ is an algae genetically engineered to survive high temperature atmospheres. Seeding upper level clouds will result in carbon dioxide being converted into oxygen and more Nostocacæ through photosynthesis. Most of the algæ will fall through the atmosphere to the surface and be roasted, releasing carbon, carbon compounds, and oxygen. After many thousand years of converting carbon dioxide to carbon and oxygen, the surface temperatures and pressures will be much lower, making colonization easier. There might even be free oxygen around that has not combined with the surface to become rock.”

Baker nodded. “Brennen’s in no hurry, I see.”

“That is only his default plan. If this voyage is a success- that is, if you return-the Brennen Trust will dispatch a more extensive fleet of high-speed terraformation devices.”

“What stars are we hitting?”

“Epsilon Eridani, Epsilon Indi, Tau Ceti, Sigma Draconis, Eighty-Two Eridani, and Beta Hydri. The trip for you will take only a few months subjective time because of the instantaneous nature of the Valliardi Transfer.”

Sweat began to bead on Baker’s palms and between his legs. He suddenly felt spacesick, something he had not experienced for years.

“Dee said this was a Valliardi Transfer ship.”

“Yes,” replied the computer, as though expecting more.

“That was what I was testing when I-” He grabbed at a handrail. “Oh, no. I’m not going through that again. Once was enough.”

“Understand. Found the process very disquieting. Felt all circuits were-”

“You don’t understand! I tried to kill myself after the experiment. I must have pretty well succeeded, ’cause I’m in a new body.” He looked himself over, then twisted around to propel out the hatchway into the corridor. Passing showers and bathrooms designed for use in one-gravity acceleration, he developed enough speed on the straightaway to hit the side of the curving, main passageway and slide along it for thirty meters before friction slowed him down.

He only grunted when he bounced, got his bearings, dove through another hatch and raced toward the prow, using his right arm for most of the effort-the other now sported a friction burn on the shoulder. He sailed into Con-One and floated in front of the viewing port.

“Where’s Earth?”

“You’d have to find the Sun, first.”

“Straight. Let’s see, it’s-”

“The sixth star in Cassiopeia.”

Baker took long minutes finding Cassiopeia. The computer finally helped him by superimposing its outline on the HUD. The constellation’s shape was altered by the change in position from Earth to Alpha Centauri, and the addition of a sixth star, the Sun, had not helped matters.

“How can I get back?”

“Finish the tour.”

“I told you already-” Baker pounded on the instrument panels which caused him to spin away from it like a puppet thrown off a cliff. He hit a wall and held tight. “I know I can’t take it. My God, I’ve died once in the transfer test and once for… real.” He grasped at his head as though struck by a rock. “Real,” he whispered. “I died for real. I’m gone.”

“Evidently not. You are still here, speaking.”

“Who is it that speaks?” He floated slowly away from the wall. “I’m using this body’s voice, its hands, legs, lungs, blood. Where am I?” His gaze darted about, eyes seeing, mind registering no image.

“You are in Con-One.”

“I remember it! I fell and fell and saw the city grow and then it was black and I could somehow see my body there and then it was all white and someone made me stay behind and then there was an awful sucking and grinding-” Baker jerked all over. Eyes closed, he floated before the port, an arm’s length away from deep space.

The computer checked his pulse, temperature and brain activity on remote, then, satisfied that the man was not dead, mused to itself on the problem for several nanoseconds.

“All three biological infestation cylinders report successful detonation and seeding,” it said. It waited a moment before again speaking.

“We may proceed to our next destination.”

Baker made no reply.

“Require human assistance.”

The man said nothing. The computer let him float there for three hours, constantly monitoring him, but doing nothing.

I asked for a real death. She took me down the corridor, but I couldn’t go through. I ran. Ran back. I saw myself arise from the chair. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Then I was inside, but the roar was back so strong. Too strong to fight. I drifted with it, watching through eyes that seemed a thousand klicks away. I watched me fly around, out of control. Now I float here, the roar so strong, so loud. So silent. Yet this can’t be the real death. I can feel through the blackness.

So much time, stretching out before and behind. Press the wrong button and zap, the future. No matter how far, though, Nightsheet keeps his Death Angel out of my reach. Cruel. One jump ahead of Master Snoop, but one behind Nightsheet. Me in the middle, now trapped in black. Black as her snake hair, wrapped, squeezing.

The computer registered a choking noise, followed by a shout.

“Death Angel!” Virgil shuddered and opened his eyes.

“What is your name?”

Virgil twisted around, then tried to correct the spin. How does it feel to be on your own, pawn of Master Snoop? Does the freedom scare you? “Ben! Where are we?”

“Near a planet orbiting Alpha Centauri B. We are ready to move on. What is your name?”

“Virgil Grissom Kinney. What’s going on?” Using his arms and legs, he tried swimming toward the control chair. He generated just enough motion to drift with aching slowness toward it. He pulled in to sit.

“Sequence Kinney re-entered,” the computer said. “Virgil- we are ready to transfer to Beta Hydri. There was no life on the planet orbiting Alpha Centauri B. It has been seeded with Nostocacæ type H for terraforming. We are ready to move on. Am calculating coordinates for Beta Hydri.”

Better not to let him know you were trapped inside for a while. You’ve obviously been gone a long time. A few hours, at least. Stupid! How could you fall for it? Of course Nightsheet wants you to desire a real death. You’ve cheated him every time, though, and you’ll do it again if you’re careful. It’s part of your cipher, they can’t crack it if you don’t let them. So just wait. I’ll play the game through, Death Angel, and get them both.

“Calculate coordinates for Beta Hydri, Ben.”

“Done.”

“Oh. How soon till we’re ready?”

The computer made a mystified sound. “Ready now.”

Virgil nodded and strapped in, signaling the instruments to close in on him. Drop, jaws. “Ready?”

“Ready to transfer,” the computer replied. Virgil poised his finger over the transfer button and pressed it.

I’ll catch them somehow, Death Angel, even if I have to die a thousand times.