THEY MET WITH the journalists in a briefing room. Hutch strolled in, queen of the world, shook hands with many of them who, by now, had become friends. Or at least, acquaintances. A woman waiting at the door wished Antonio luck, adding, “Don’t bring anything back,” a not-quite-joking reference to the widely held fears that the Mordecai mission was not a good idea.

Everybody was there, Goldman from the Black Cat, Shaw from Worldwide, Messenger from the London Times. All the biggies. And a lot of people he didn’t know.

Rudy moderated the press conference, fielding questions, standing aside for his colleagues. Some were even directed at Antonio. He’d violated the cardinal rule of journalism, had gone from covering the story to being the story. What do you expect to find out there, Antonio? How does it feel, making the ultimate trip? Do you have anything you’d like to say to the world before you leave?

They were the usual dumb questions, like the ones he’d been asking for years, but what else was there? He told them he was proud to be going, that he’d get everything down on the chip and bring it all back. “Don’t know yet what it’ll be,” he told them, “but it’ll be big.”

When they went down to the launch area, everybody followed.

Rudy was already there. He invited the newsmen inside the Preston. Goldman asked a couple of questions about the galactic core, then wondered who was riding in which ship.

“Antonio and I are on this one,” Rudy said. “Hutch is the pilot.”

She came in from somewhere, posed for pictures, then excused herself. “Have to do an inventory.”

“What do you have to inventory?” Messenger asked. “Doesn’t the AI take care of all that?”

Hutch flashed that luminous smile. “We’re talking about food, water, and air,” she said. “I feel more comfortable when I’ve checked it myself.”

“Is it true,” asked Shaw, “that you’ve got weapons on board?” He was a huge man, thick mustache, gray hair, and a world-weariness that lent gravitas to his questions.

“Hand weapons, yes. We also have extra go-packs and e-suits. And some lightbenders.”

Lightbenders made people invisible. Shaw sniffed and rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why?”

“It’s strictly precautionary. We may go groundside at Makai, the chindi site, or at Sigma.” She ducked through a hatch. “Excuse me. Been a pleasure.”

Abe Koestler, from the Washington Post, asked how long it would take to get to the first stop? To Makai?

“It’s about seven thousand five hundred light-years out,” said Antonio, who had done his homework. “That’s pretty much our limit on a single jump. In fact, it might be a little bit more. It’s possible we’ll come up short and have to do it in two stages. But it looks like about a month to get there.”

Koestler shook his head. Not an assignment he’d want. He was a dumpy little middle-aged guy who always looked as if he’d slept in his clothes. “You bring a good book?”

EVENTUALLY, IT WAS time. Matt and Jon left to go to the McAdams. Antonio told the newsmen that anyone who didn’t want to go with them should consider leaving. They trooped out after a last round of handshakes, Hutch closed the hatch behind them, and suddenly everything was deathly silent. “Are we ready to go?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Rudy.

Antonio was trying to look blasé, but he didn’t think it was working. His heartbeat had picked up. He wasn’t having second thoughts, but there was a part of him that would have liked to be outside with his colleagues.

“Relax, guys,” Hutch said. “You’ll enjoy this.”

ARCHIVE

Sisters and brothers in Jesus: While we gather here, two ships are making a leap into the dark that reminds us of the Pacific islanders who, a thousand years ago, rode fragile boats across unknown waters to see what lay beyond the horizon. We are once again reaching into a vast outer darkness. Let us take a moment and pray that the Lord will be with them, to guide their way.

—Bishop Mary Siler, opening remarks at the

112th Methodist Conference on Tarawa,

Sunday, November 18

chapter 23

RUDY TOOK HIS seat beside Antonio and the harness locked him in. The murmur of electronics in the walls—the bulkheads, to use the right terminology—rose a notch, and Hutch’s voice came over the allcom: “Outward bound, gentlemen.”

There were clicks and beeps. He could feel power moving through circuits. Something popped, and the ship began to move. Sidewise, but it was moving.

Antonio reached over and shook his hand. “Here we go, Rudy,” he said.

Rudy found himself humming Brad Wilkins’s “Savannah Express” as they pulled out. Through the night, rolling, rolling, the Savannah Express carries me home to you…

He’d prided himself on the notion that his passion for the interstellars was purely selfless. That he was content to stay behind while others moved out among the stars. He’d always felt that spiritually he’d been with them. He’d studied the reports that came back, had looked down from orbit on hundreds of distant worlds, had cruised past the giant suns. As long as there was a human presence out there, he rode along. But he knew that sitting in a VR tank wasn’t the same as actually being there.

As the Preston moved slowly from its dock and turned her prow toward the exit lock, toward the stars, he recalled Audrey Cleaver’s comment from TX Cancri: The day would come when he’d give almost anything to repeat the experience. And he understood what she had meant.

The monitor blinked on, and the interior of the station began to slide past, the docks, the working offices, the long viewports provided for the general public. Most of the docks were empty.

The common wisdom was that Union was on its way to becoming a museum, a monument to a dead age. But the Preston might change all that.

The picture on the monitor provided a forward view. They eased out through the exit doors. The sound of the engines, which had been barely discernible, picked up, and picked up some more, and eventually became a full-throated roar. The acceleration pushed him into his seat. It was a glorious moment. Up front, Hutch was talking to the AI.

The monitor switched to a rear view, and he watched the station falling away.

AFTER SHE’D CUT the engines and announced they could release their harnesses, Hutch came back for a minute to see how they were doing. “Matt’s just launching,” she said. “We’ll give him time to catch up, then I suspect we’ll be ready to go.”

Rudy made an inane comment about the Preston still being a reliable ship. Hutch smiled politely and said she hoped so.

“How’s it feel,” asked Antonio, “taking a ship out again after all this time?” He was still a journalist, hoping for a pithy reply.

“Good,” she said. “It’s always felt good.”

The stars were so bright. What was Homer’s comment? The campfires of a vast army? But the sky itself looked quiet. No moving lights anywhere. “Any other traffic?” Rudy asked.

“No,” she said. “Nothing other than Matt.”

“Was it always like this?” he persisted.

“Pretty much. Occasionally you’d see somebody coming or going. But not often.”

Behind them, near the station, a set of lights blinked on. “That’ll be him now,” she said. Phyl increased the mag, and they watched as the McAdams turned toward them.

THEY WERE ACCELERATING again as the other ship moved alongside. It was the bigger of the two vehicles. He couldn’t see its viewports because of the shielding. Hutch was talking to them, putting everything on the allcom so he and Antonio could listen. Much of the exchange meant nothing to him.