Another group was clumped beneath the full-size model of the Voyager spacecraft. They had to be scientists, because most of them were men and they all wore suits. A couple of the sciencefiction writers stood with them, more like colleagues than press. No reporters did that. Would that make an interesting angle? The sci-fi people didn’t pretend to be neutral. They were enthusiasts and didn’t care who knew it, while the reporters tried to put on this smug air of impartiality.

The briefing began. The Program Director talked about the spacecraft. Mission details, spacecraft performing well. Some data lost because it was raining in Spain where the high-gain antennae were located — was that a joke? No, nobody was laughing.

“Three billion miles away, and they’re getting pictures,” somebody said on his right. A pretty girl, long legs, slim ankles, short bobbed hair. Badge said Jeri Wilson, some geological magazine. Wedding ring, but that didn’t always mean anything. Maybe she’d be here the rest of the week. She seemed to be alone.

The mission planning people left the podium and the scientists, Brad Smith and Ed Stone and Carl Sagan, came up to tell what they thought they were learning. Roger listened, and tried to think of an interesting question. In a situation like this, the important thing was get yourself noticed, for future reference, then try for an exclusive. He jotted useful phrases:

“New moons are going to get dull pretty soon.”

“Not dozens of rings. Hundreds. We’re still counting.” Long pause. “Some of them are eccentric.”

“What does that mean?” someone whispered.

The sci-fi man in the khaki bush jacket answered in what he probably thought was a whisper. “The rings are supposed to be perfect circles with Saturn at the center. All the theory says they have to be. Now they’ve found some that aren’t circles, they’re ellipses.”

Other scientists spoke:

“May be the largest crater in the solar system in relation to the body it’s on …”

“There isn’t any Janus. There are two moons where we thought Janus was. They share the same orbit, and they change places every time they pass. Oh, yes, we’ve known for some time those orbits were possible. It’s a textbook exam question in celestial mechanics. It’s just that we never found anything like it in the real universe.”

Brooks jotted down details on that one; it was definitely worth a mention. Janus was the moon named for the two-faced god of beginnings—

He whispered that to Linda, and got an appreciative nod. The Wilson girl wrote something too.

“The radial spokes in the rings seem to be caused by very tiny particles, around the size of a wavelength of light. Also the process seems to be going on above the ring, not in it.”

Radial spokes in the rings! They ought to disappear as the rings turned, because the inner rings were moving faster than the outer rings. They didn’t disappear. Weird news from everywhere in Saturn system. Some of Brooks’ colleagues would understand the explanations, when they came…

Yet the press conference offered more than Brooks had expected. He had interviewed scientists before. It was the lack of answers that was interesting here.

“We don’t know what that means.”

“We wouldn’t like to say yet.”

“The more we learn from Voyager, the less we know about rings.”

“If we fiddle with the numbers a little we can pretty well explain why Cassini’s Divide is so much bigger than it ought to be.” Dramatic pause. “Of course that doesn’t explain why there are five faint rings inside it!”

“If I’d had to make a long list of things we wouldn’t see, eccentric rings would have been the first item.”

“Brad, what about braided rings?”

“That would have been off the top of the paper.”

Everyone up there looked happy, Brooks noted. Fun things were going on here. If Brooks didn’t have the background to appreciate them, who did?

A newsperson asked, “Have you got any more on the radial spokes? I’d have thought that violated the laws of physics.”

David Morrison from Hawaii answered, “I’m sure the rings are doing everything right. We just don’t understand it yet.” Brooks jotted it down. “Where I want to be,” Roger said, “is in a motel room with you.” They were walking the grounds of JPL: lawn, fountains, vaguely oriental rock gardens, a bridge, all very nice.

“That was years ago,” Linda said. “And it’s all over.”

“Sure?”

“Yes, Roger, I’m sure. Now be good. You promised you would. Don’t make me sorry I came with you.”

“No, of course I won’t,” Roger said. “It really is good to see you again. And I’m glad you’re happy with Edmund.”

Are you? Linda wondered. And am I? Of course I am. I’m very happy with Edmund. It’s when he goes off and leaves me to take care of everything and I’m alone all the time and I see these goddam romantic perfume ads and things like that that I get unhappy about Major Edmund Gillespie. I wonder if the feminists did us any favors, letting us admit we get horny just like men!

She grinned broadly.

“Yeah?” Roger demanded.

“Nothing.” Nothing I’d tell you. But it’s nice to see I could have some company if I wanted.

Lunch was in the JPL cafeteria. Roger and Linda were made welcome at the science-fiction writers’ table, but the writers didn’t know any more than Roger did. They were having fun with not knowing.

Someone passed a cartoon down the table. It showed hanging off to one side, either the Star Wars Death Star or Saturn’s moon Mimas, Saturn huge across the background. In the foreground a spacecraft used mechanical arms to twist the F-ring into a braid. The caption: “You’ve a wicked sense of humor, Darth Vader!”

Another writer looked up and yawned. “Oh. It’s just another goddam spectacular picture of Saturn.” That earned him appreciative laughter.

But no one knew, which made it a frustrating lunch. Saturn had secrets, maybe, but he wasn’t telling them, and the writers didn’t have any logical guesses about the strange pictures.

Halfway through the lunch Linda called to someone. “Wes. We didn’t expect to see you here!”

He was a trim athletic man in a faded baseball cap. Linda introduced him around the table. “Wes married Carlotta,” she told Roger. “You remember Carlotta. She was my best friend in school.”

“Sure,” Roger said. “How are you?”

One of the writers looked thoughtful. “Wes Dawson… You’re running for Craig Hosmer’s old seat.”

“Right.”

“Wes has always been for the space program,” Linda said. “Maybe you fellows will vote for him?”

“Not our district,” Wade Curtis said. “We live north of there. But maybe we can help. We’re always interested in people who’ll promote space.”

It was late afternoon when they got back to the house. Roger pulled into the driveway.

“You might as well come in and meet Jenny,” Linda said. “Remember her?”

“Sure I remember The Brat. I had to bribe her to leave us alone!”

“Well, she’s grown a bit now.” Linda led the way to the house and unlocked the door. It was strangely silent inside. She went to the kitchen and found a note held to the refrigerator by a tomato-shaped magnet. Roger was standing behind her, scanning over her shoulder, as she read it.

“She’s a freshman at Long Beach State . Anthropology. But she took up scuba diving in a big way. Her curient boyfriend is at Scripps.” Linda shook her head in dismay. “Mother will kill me if she finds out I let her go to an all-night party.”

Roger shook his head. “The Brat’s in college? Jeez, Linda, she can’t be more than, what, fifteen?”

“Seventeen.”

Roger sighed. “I guess it’s been longer than I thought.”

“Yes, it has been. Want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

She got out the filters and put water on. Roger hadn’t said anything, hadn’t done anything, but she could feel the vibes. Had Jenny planned this? But no, she didn’t know Roger was in/town, and she wouldn’t if she had. She’d always liked Roger, but she liked Edmund more. No, Jenny wouldn’t have deliberately ananged to leave her alone with a lover from the past.