The Traffic Controller gave Hutch a choice. "If you can get out at 0810, it's a go." That gave them fifteen minutes. "Otherwise, we don't have another post until 1630 hours." That wouldn't be much better than the original departure time.

"We'll be ready," she said. "Put us on the log."

Maggie turned toward Hutch. "Have my bags arrived yet?"

She saw no activity in the luggage chute. "No."

"You may have to leave them," said Carson.

"You're kidding." Maggie's expression changed, but it did not grow dour, as Hutch had expected. Instead, it took on an impish quality. "I'll be a little short of clothes." She showed them the overnight case.

"We've got plenty of coveralls on board," said Hutch. "Several sizes."

Maggie did not object, but looked ruefully at the over-nighter. "I didn't realize we were in that much of a hurry. Don't we have several hours yet?"

"They're trying to cancel the mission," said Carson.

"Hutchins," she said, "can you determine when my luggage will get here?"

Not this side of Christmas, honey, I hope. "It's still in the sorter," she reported gravely. Too bad. Have to do without.

Maggie looked for sympathy. "Any possibility we can wait?"

"First contact in the nude," Janet said, grinning.

"It's in the pipe," said Hutch. "There isn't anything we can do to hurry it along."

Carson looked uncomfortable. "How long?" he asked Hutch.

"Maybe a half hour."

"Have to do without, then," said Carson.

The console chimed. "Preflights check out." Hutch said. "We have permission to depart."

Maggie took a long deep breath. "Let's go," she said, turning toward Janet. "You're close to my size. A little hefty, maybe. But if we take your stuff in a bit, we should do fine. Right?"

They rode outward from the sun. Winckelmann & twin Hazeltine engines were fully charged, and she could have made the insertion into transdimensional space at any time, but regulations set minimum standards to avoid backwash. Her flight plan called for a jump in twenty hours.

Carson sat with Hutch on the bridge. He was an odd mix that day: delighted that they were finally on their way, fearful that the recall might come, uneasy about the nature of the mission itself. "It's hard to plan for," he said. "I hate going into a situation blind."

"That's what makes it interesting," said Hutch. The atmosphere was thick. They had both been glancing frequently at the communications console. "Maybe we ought to take out some insurance against getting canceled."

"How can we do that?"

"We should probably have a communication malfunction." She checked the time. "We're due to file a movement report in a few minutes. I'll garble it. That'll establish the problem for official purposes. After that, we don't respond to anything. Once we're in hyper they can't talk to us in any event. When we get to Beta Pac, we can effect repairs, or not, depending on events."

"Do it," he said.

"Okay. Now I have a question for you. If we get positive results from this trip, is it likely to help get Henry off the hook?"

Carson didn't think so. "It can't hurt. But the Academy is in a comer. If they don't act against him, then they're in effect condoning his action. They can't afford to do that. No.

Maybe history will do right by him. The Academy won't. And the media won't." He looked at her, and she could read the pain in his eyes. "And maybe they're right. He is responsible."

He fell silent, took out his notepad, and drifted away from her. After a while, he began writing. Hutch had detected a change in Frank Carson since the Temple. Like Henry, he seemed to have aged. He was more reflective, less optimistic. Despite the bravado talk about going beyond the mission parameters, she sensed he would be more cautious than he might have been a few months earlier.

She caught a glimpse of a title in his notebook, and smiled: CARSON AT BETA PAC. It sounded like Napoleon in Egypt, Schliemann at Troy, Costikan at Pinnacle. / hope you make it, Frank.

She turned her attention to the movement report, brought it up on her screen, and garbled the back half of it. No way they could misunderstand: Wink has a communications problem. She hit the Transmit button.

The response was almost immediate.

WINCKELMANN: SAY AGAIN YOUR MR08.

Okay, she thought. We're in business.

A few hours later, while Hutch was making final enhancements for the transdimensional insertion, the message board chimed again. Hutch assumed it would be another request for a communication status check. But this was altogether different:

WINCKELMANN FROM ACADEMY: ABORT MISSION AND RETURN. ABORT REPEAT ABORT. PLS ACKNOWLEDGE. HORNER.

She cleared the screen and switched on the ship's intercom. "We'll be making our jump in eleven minutes. Everybody belt down. Please respond to the bridge."

She showed the message to Carson. "We never received it." he said.

Still, they both felt better when the stars went out and the fog closed around the ship.

That evening, after dinner, Carson held a general briefing. The first question: What was known about Beta Pac? "Not much," he admitted. "No survey ship has visited it, or been anywhere close for that matter. Class G star, about three billion years older than the Sun. Located along the edge of the Void."

"So we have no idea," said Janet, "what's waiting for us?"

"None," said Carson.

Maggie pressed her fingers together. "This signal," she asked, "started on its way at about the beginning of the twentieth century. Have we made any attempt to find out whether the source is still active? Did we check with any other stations?"

Carson nodded. "We asked Nok to try to get a reading for us, and the Ashley Tee, which is our closest survey ship. Neither heard anything, but that could be because they're out of effective range for their receivers. The signal the Tindle picked up wasn't much more than a whisper."

"Three centuries is not a long time," said George, "if these are the people who built Oz eleven thousand years ago."

"So what's the plan?" asked Janet. "What do we do when we get there?"

Carson was all business. "We're homing on the signal. We're going to make the jump back into standard space as close to the source as we can. It's hard to formulate a strategy beyond that. We've been directed not to make contact, if they're there. And not to allow ourselves to be seen. But we want to find out who's home. And bring back whatever details we can. To that end, by the way, we will make no transmissions while we are in the Beta Pac system."

Maggie leaned forward attentively. They were gathered around a table. "Let me play devil's advocate for a moment. We may be talking about a civilization with twenty thousand years of development. Possibly a lot more. Does anyone really believe we can sneak in, take a look, and leave undetected?"

"We don't know they've had twenty thousand years of development," said Janet. "They could be frozen in place. Or in a dark age."

Carson agreed. "We can imagine all kinds of possibilities. Let's just take normal precautions. And play the rest by ear."

Maggie looked annoyed. "Why would an advanced race care whether we wandered in or not? That seems a trifle arrogant to me. I suggest we sail right up to the front door, and show the flag. No pussyfooting around. That might get their respect right off the bat."

"You could be right, but that's a direct violation of my instructions. We won't do it that way."

Hutch was not officially a member of the expedition, and consequently not entitled to express an opinion. Still, she was responsible for the safety of the ship. "I think," she said, "we should take the possibility of hostile response seriously."