He filed the proposals, secured his patent, and informed everyone he’d get back to them shortly.

THEY SENT THE lander out a third time, forty-five billion miles, a thirty-second ride, into the Oort Cloud with a chimp on board. The chimp did fine. Henry took him on a cometary tour, took pictures, and returned him to the inner system, where the lander was retrieved by the Preston.

And finally it was time to make a run with somebody in the pilot’s seat. Hutch maybe. “You think she’d be willing to do it?” he asked Matt. “Does she keep her license current?”

“I have no idea,” said Matt. He was in a taxi.

“Okay. I’ll give her a call and find out. Keep your fingers crossed.”

“There’s another option.”

“What’s that, Matt?”

“I’m current.”

“Well, yes, I know that. But I thought you might be a little reluctant about deep-space flight. That’s not like bouncing around North Carolina. I mean, with real estate and all, it’s been a long time.”

Matt looked offended. “I’d be happy to do it. If you want to take your chances with a guy who specializes in professional buildings and three-story walk-ups.”

Dumb. “You know what I mean, Matt.” The taxi was passing through cloud banks.

“Sure.” He grinned, and they both laughed.

“Pay’s not much,” Jon added.

IT WAS, FOR Matt, a magnificent moment. A month or so later, on Tuesday, August 21, 2255, he and Jon, aboard the MacElroy High School lander, which was now world-famous, rode out toward Neptune. The passage took only a few seconds. There was no sign of the planet, which was elsewhere along its orbit. But Henry showed them a dim sun, little more than a bright star at that range, and assured them they’d arrived in the target area. They shook hands and came home. Once again, Rudy and the Preston picked them up.

That night they all celebrated in a small, out-of-the-way Georgetown restaurant.

Matt had made the biggest sale of his career a week earlier. It had transferred a large professional building from a collapsing corporation into the hands of a private buyer, and it brought more than six million dollars into the Stern & Hopkins coffers. In addition the buyer was in a position to refurbish the place and turn it into a decent property again. It was the sort of transaction that used to give him a sense of satisfaction, a feeling he’d done something other than turn a buck. But all he could do was laugh at himself. “I’m moving real estate,” he told Rudy. “But on weekends I help Jon Silvestri move the world.”

The following day, Jon and Matt met for lunch. Jon’s treat. “The money’s rolling in,” he said.

“How?”

“Speaking engagements. Endorsements. Who’d ever have thought anybody would want to pay a physicist to say nice things about sneakers. And a book deal. I don’t even have to write the book.” They were both still in a giddy mood. “I think it’s time to decide what we want to do next.”

“Something spectacular,” said Matt. “But we still don’t have a ship. There’s only so much you can do with a lander.”

Jon grinned. There was nothing he couldn’t control now. “I think it’s time we gave the lander back to the school.” He leaned closer. “Listen, Matt, I don’t think there’s any question Rudy would be more than willing now to reconfigure the Preston.”

“Yeah. I’m sure you’re right, Jon.”

“Of course I’m right.”

“So you’re asking me where I’d like to see the next flight go?”

“Yes, I am. What do you think?”

“Jon, that’s really your call. My part in all this is over. You don’t need me anymore. Unless, of course, you’d want me to pilot the ship.”

“You’d be willing to do that?”

Matt had not been entirely serious when he made the offer. “It’s time to do the heavy lifting, Jon. You might want a professional at this point.”

“You telling me you don’t think you could do the job?”

“I’m telling you I’ve been away from it for a long time.”

“Okay.” Jon shrugged. “Your call. If you want me to get someone else, I will.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Make up your mind, Matt.”

Matt’s eyes grew intense. “Yes,” he said. “I’d like to do it.”

The bot picked that moment to show up and ask if they wanted anything to drink. “Champagne,” said Jon.

The bot bowed. “I’m sorry. We don’t serve alcoholic beverages.”

“I know,” said Jon. “Matt, what’ll you have?”

THERE WERE NO women in Jon’s life. At least, none to whom he was emotionally attached. He’d left none behind in Locarno, and had been too busy since he’d arrived in the DC area. The last few months had been dominated by his efforts to make Henry’s system work. And by God, it did. He had met his obligation to his mentor, and his only regret was that Henry Barber would never know it.

For the first time since he’d decided that Henry was on the right track, that he had an obligation to finish the research, to make it work, nothing was hanging over his head. He’d never really doubted himself, yet he was finding it hard to believe that it was finally finished. Now there was nothing to do but sit back and enjoy the victory.

He was riding a taxi over the Potomac, knowing life would never be better. He had a speaking engagement almost every day, and this one had been no exception. He’d appeared at the Baltimore Rotary, where everyone was his friend. People asked him how the drive worked and glazed over when he tried to explain. (He’d developed a simple explanation using a house with multiple corridors as an illustration, but it didn’t seem to matter.) They told him he was brilliant. It was a great feeling. Hard to stay humble through all this. But he tried, and he wandered through the crowd at the end of each evening, signing autographs and reveling in the attention. People insisted on buying him drinks. They introduced him to their friends. Told him how they’d always thought star travel was too slow. Not that they’d ever been out there themselves, understand. But it was about time somebody had picked up the pace. Interesting women were everywhere. Too many for him to become attached to any single one. So he seldom went home alone, but he could not get past the feeling that, through it all, something was missing.

The Potomac Islands were lit up, and boats rode the river. The taxi let him off at the Franklin Walkway, and he strolled out onto the pier. Retailers were doing a hefty business, selling souvenirs and sandwiches and balloons.

He found an unoccupied bench, sat down, and put his feet up on the guardrail. He owed it all to Henry. And, to a lesser degree, to Matt and Priscilla. He’d already been able to return the favor to Matt. He should find a way to say thanks to Hutchins, as well.

And Rudy.

He stared out at the Potomac.

Everybody wanted to provide a ship now. He had a fleet at his disposal if he needed it.

IN THE MORNING, he called Rudy. “I wanted to run something by you,” he said.

“Sure.” Rudy looked uncomfortable. He would know that Jon had been swamped by offers. He probably thought the Foundation was out of the bidding now. “What can I do for you, Jon?”

“Matt and I were talking about the next step. Does the Foundation want to be included?”

“Yes.” No screwing around here. “Absolutely. What did you have in mind?”

“We’re talking about a long-range flight. Sirius or someplace. So we need a ship.”

Rudy was in his office, soft piano music playing in the background. “You’re welcome to the Preston if you want it.”

“I’d like very much to have it.”

“Seriously? The corporates could do better by you.”

“Are you going to try to talk me into accepting one of their offers, Rudy?”

“No, no,” he said. “Nothing like that. Yes, sure. The Preston is yours. But I think I told you we don’t have a pilot.”