“We have a maximum range of about seven thousand light-years on a jump,” Jon explained. “Maybe a bit more. Again, it’s hard to be certain until we try. That means we’ll have to make some stops. We could just go in a straight line, or we could do some sightseeing en route.”

Sightseeing. That caught Rudy’s attention. “What did you have in mind?”

“We thought maybe the Wild Duck Cluster,” said Matt. “Lot of stars, jammed together. The skies would be spectacular.”

Jon nodded. “There’s a microquasar, too. It’s a little bit out of the way, but it might be interesting, up close.”

Rudy chuckled. “I don’t think you’d want to get too close.” He glanced at Hutch. “What about you, Priscilla?”

“Me?” She smiled. “There is a place I’d like to visit.”

“And where’s that?”

“It’s not out of the way.”

“Okay,” said Matt, inviting her to finish.

“It would be an opportunity to solve a mystery.”

“What mystery?” asked Matt.

“The chindi.”

“Oh, yes. You were part of that, too, weren’t you?”

She tried to look modest. “I’m still limping from that one.” The chindi was an automated sublight ship that moved from system to system, apparently looking for civilizations and God knew what else. Where it found a target, it left stealth satellites to observe and record. The ship itself was enormous, far and away the largest artificial object she’d seen (unless you counted omega clouds as being artificial). As well as constructing a vast communications network, it also collected artifacts and served as a traveling museum.

While they’d been examining it, the ship had taken off, with Tor on board, for a white class-F star whose catalog number ended in 97. She remembered that much. It was still en route to that same star, and was expected to arrive in about 170 years. “I don’t know whether you’ve kept up with this,” she said, “but the radio signals from the chindi satellites were tracked to a star near the Eagle.”

Rudy pressed a finger against his display. “Makai 4417,” he said.

“I vote we take a look,” said Hutch.

Rudy nodded. “I was going to suggest that myself.”

Matt shrugged. “Okay. Sure.”

“Where else do we want to go?” asked Jon.

Rudy was looking down at his notes. “There’s another old mystery out there.”

“What’s that?” asked Matt.

Rudy indicated one of the pictures on the wall. It looked like a university building, two stories, lots of glass, well-kept grounds. “This is the Drake Center, in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. Circa 2188.”

“SETI,” said Matt.

“The only place ever to receive a confirmed signal.” He was wearing a broad smile. “I think the guy in charge at the time was also named Hutchins.”

Matt and Jon looked her way.

“My father,” she said.

“Really?” Matt shook his head. Would wonders never cease? “No wonder you took up piloting.”

“He disapproved. But that’s another story.

“The signal came from Sigma 2711. Roughly fourteen thousand light-years out.”

“And they never heard it again,” said Matt.

“It came in sporadically,” Rudy continued, “for about fifteen years. Then it went quiet. We were able to translate it. Hello, Neighbor. That sort of thing.

“Sigma 2711 is a class-G star, somewhat older than the sun, and a bit larger. Even when FTL became available, it was still much too far to allow a mission. But we sent a reply. Hello, out there. We received your message.” He shook his head. “It’ll get there in about fourteen thousand years.”

Her father had always been an optimist.

“Okay.” Jon was enjoying himself. “Yes. Absolutely.”

That gave them two stops. They needed one more. Something at a range of about twenty-two thousand light-years.

“There’s a black hole.” Jon got up and showed them on one of the charts. “It’s about six thousand light-years out from the core.”

“Tenareif,” said Rudy.

“Why would you want to go to a black hole?” asked Matt.

Rudy was so excited he could scarcely contain himself. “I’ve always wanted to see one.”

Hutch couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Why?”

“Because I’ve never been able to make sense of the pictures. What’s it like when you’re actually there? I mean, what does it feel like? Does it really look like a hole in space?”

“Okay.” Jon sat back down. “Are we all agreed?”

“Sounds like a hell of a flight,” said Matt.

AFTER SHE’D LOST Tor, Hutch had gone into a funk for a time. There was always somebody at one of her presentations trying to connect with her. But she was emotionally played out. Maureen lectured her, told her she’d become antisocial, and wondered when she’d stop hiding under the bed.

Eventually, she began to go out again. Nothing serious. Dinner and a show. Occasionally she’d take one of her companions into her bed. But it was all more or less academic. She went through a period in which she was actively looking for another Tor, but finally concluded it wasn’t going to happen. Dinner and a show. And maybe a night over. That was what her life had become.

As they moved into the final two weeks before departure, there were three guys more or less in her life. David, Dave, and Harry. She amused herself thinking how she might have encouraged the advances of Dave Calistrano, an executive of some sort at the Smithsonian. That would have given her three guys named Dave. It would have summed up nicely her current status.

She called each and explained she would be gone a long time. (Odd how she described the length of the mission, which would extend into the summer, as short to Maureen and Charlie. Back before you know it. But long, my God, we’ll be out there forever, to Harry and the two Daves.)

They took it well. All three said they’d known it was coming, and they’d be here when she got back.

God, she missed Tor.

IN EARLY NOVEMBER, she recruited a specialist and visited Union to inspect the work that was being done on the shielding. You wouldn’t have been able to recognize the Preston. Save for the exhaust tubes, the ship was effectively inside a rectangular container. Sensors, scopes, and navigation lights had all been transferred from the hull to the shielding. Someone had even taken time to imprint the port side with PROMETHEUS FOUNDATION. Rudy would be proud to see that.

The specialist, whose name was Lou, looked at the paperwork, examined the ships, and pronounced everything acceptable. He was a tall, thin, reedy individual with a remarkably high voice. Difficult to listen to, but he came highly recommended by people she trusted.

“It’ll be adequate,” he said. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. But you won’t be going any closer to the core than it says here, right?”

“That’s correct. But you’d prefer to see more shielding?”

“Technologically, this is about as effective as you can get.” They were standing at a viewport. “Once you’re there, you won’t be able to leave the ship, of course. Not even for a short time.”

“Okay. But the shielding will be sufficient?”

“Yes. The proper term, by the way, is armor. It will protect you.”

“All right.”

The prow of the McAdams was flat. The bridge viewports, buried in the armor, looked reptilian. “They can all be covered, closed off, and you must do that before you make your jump out there.”

“Okay.” She shook her head. “It looks like a shoe box.” With exhaust tubes sticking out of it. God help them if they got close to an omega.

Lou was all business. “Yes. They’ve armored the engines, too, so you can get to them if you have a problem.” He checked his notebook. “You’re aware they’ve been replaced.”

“Yes. I knew it would be necessary. Now I can see why.”

“Sure. With all that armor, the ship’s carrying too much mass for the original units. You have K-87s now. They have a lot more kick. In fact, you’ll get a smoother—and quicker—acceleration than you could before.”