Matt had never been much of a reader. He tried, but the silence in the ship, which was usually broken only when Jon wandered over to get something to eat, or headed for the workout room, was stifling. He didn’t enjoy watching shows alone, so mostly he sat and entertained himself doing puzzles, playing through fantasy football seasons, or simply drifting through the library, hoping something would catch his attention. (Nothing ever did.) Consequently, the stars, when they finally showed up, looked pretty good.

Jon was on the bridge with him when they made the jump. And he, too, was obviously happy to be back.

The globular cluster NCG6440 was a misty swirl in the rear. M28 was too far ahead to look like anything more than simply a dim star. “Jim,” he said, addressing the AI, “any sign of the Preston?”

“Negative, Matt.”

“Ship status?”

“Normal. All systems operating within parameters.”

But where was Sigma? “How about the target? Have we located it yet?”

“Working,” said Jim.

It had been seventy years since the celebrated signal had been picked up. The researchers had tracked it, with a high degree of probability, to Sigma 2711. That meant the transmission had been sent fifteen thousand years ago.

This is our first attempt to communicate beyond our realm.

It must have been a tantalizing time. Who had sent the message? Had they already heard something? Surely it had been directed at relatively nearby targets. But it had traveled on for fifteen thousand years until finally it arrived at Cherry Hill.

He wondered whether anyone else across the broad sweep of the cosmos had picked up the transmission. Whether the senders had ever received a reply.

Respond if you are able. Or blink your lights.

Something very human there. It was a pity they’d been so far.

“I have it,” the AI said. The on-screen starfield approached and expanded as Jim increased magnification. A group of yellow stars appeared, and a cursor marked the target.

“How far, Jim?”

“Forty-four light-years.”

Jon tried to look humble.

“Just down the street,” said Matt. “Let’s go take a look.”

SIGMA 2711 IS located in relatively open space, 3,500 light-years on the far side of NCG6440. It’s a class-F yellow star, almost half again as hot as Sol.

“Jim,” said Matt, “see what you can find in the biozone.”

The AI acknowledged.

“Any electronic activity out there?” asked Jon.

“Not this time. No, there is nothing.”

Matt nodded. “Nobody here.”

Jon shook his head. “They might have advanced beyond radio transmissions. Who knows?”

“Is that possible?”

“Sure.”

“There’s a chance,” Matt said, “the transmission didn’t originate here. Just came through. Or from nearby. At this range, it would have been difficult to be certain. Especially when you consider the technology they had to work with.”

“It’s a pity.”

“Jon, you didn’t seem to care all that much about Makai. Why are you concerned here? What’s the difference?”

“Oh, I cared, Matt.” Jon stared off into the distance. “I expected more than we found at Makai.”

“Yeah, that was something of a disappointment.”

“I’d love to sit down with somebody a million years ahead of us, and have the conversation we thought we were going to have at Makai.”

“Hutch thinks it might be that civilizations reach their maximum potential pretty early, then go downhill.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I hope you’re right.” Matt let his head drift back until he was looking up at the overhead.

“The thing about it,” said Jon, “is that this might be our last chance. If there’s no one here, we go back to playing bingo.” He looked at Matt. “What’s so funny?”

“I was thinking if we find the kind of place you’re talking about, they would have to have something better than the Locarno. You do all that work, come out here, and suddenly your new drive would be worthless.”

He laughed. “Yeah. That’s a point. I hadn’t thought about that possibility.”

Jon went silent. “You still awake?” Matt asked after a few minutes had passed.

“Yes.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“The printing press.”

“Say again?”

“Matt, I think Hutch is right. Technological civilizations don’t last long. You’re all right until you get a printing press. Then a race starts between technology and common sense. And maybe technology always wins.” He took a deep breath. “Think about it. Start printing books and you start the clock running. Eventually we may discover that nobody lasts past a thousand years once they start making books and newspapers.”

“I don’t know how you can say that. Look how old Smitty’s civilization is. It’s been up and down, but it’s still there.”

“I mean functioning. Smitty’s civilization is dead.” He took a deep breath. “Technology makes civilizations more vulnerable. You can’t easily flatten a world made up of Stone Age villages. But something as small as a computer glitch might take down a high-tech culture. Food stops rolling into Chicago, and chaos follows. You get advanced weapons. Or you develop long-term life and you get what Smitty has.”

“What does Smitty have?”

“The bosses never retire. Never die. Think about that. Keep in mind that, no matter what we’re able to do for the body, the mind becomes less flexible. You wind up with a world full of cranks.”

“No indication of planets yet,” said Jim. “But I do have the Preston. We have a hypercomm transmission from them.”

“Good,” said Matt. “Put her through.”

Priscilla appeared on the main display. “Hello, Matt,” she said. “Good to see you guys made it all right.”

“Hi, Priscilla. We’ve been here a couple of hours. Where are you?”

The visual reaction lagged a second or two behind. “Six hundred million klicks. We have a green world.”

Jon brightened. “Okay.”

“We came in right next to it. I’ve fed the numbers to Jim.”

“What’s it look like?”

“It’s quiet.”

“That was what we’ve been getting, too.”

So much for encountering a hypersociety. Someone who might provide a fresh perspective on the big questions. Was there a God? Why was there something and not nothing? Does the universe have a purpose, or is it all just an oversized mechanical crapshoot?

“Chances are,” said Jon, “they wouldn’t have a clue either.”

Hutch nodded. “Probably not.”

Matt wondered whether it wouldn’t take a lot of the pleasure out of existence if they knew the final answers. No more speculation. No more dark places. “I’m not sure it’s where I’d want to live,” he said.

THEY ALL GATHERED for dinner on the McAdams several hours later, greeting Hutch and her passengers like long-lost friends. They had by then gone into orbit around the newly discovered world.

It looked wild and, in the manner of living worlds everywhere, beautiful. It was covered with blue seas and broad forests. An enormous river tumbled down from a mountain range, culminating in a waterfall that would have dwarfed Niagara. Elsewhere, a volcano was belching smoke, while vast herds of land animals wandered unconcerned across its lower slopes. Other creatures looked more dangerous. They ran or shambled on two legs and four, armed with fangs and claws that looked like scythes. There were wolflike animals that hunted in packs, and things that might have been aerial jellyfish. On the whole, the place didn’t look friendly.

A hurricane drifted above one of the oceans, and snow was falling at both ice caps. No cities, though. No lights.

They were passing above a continent that reminded Matt of a turkey, head near the equator, tail and three legs intruding into the south polar region. They were over the northern extremity, riding along the coastline. Something was moving offshore. Jim focused on it, and they saw tentacles.