She struggled to remove something. “Maybe a gauge of some sort?” She brushed it carefully, and held it up for inspection. François saw corroded metal. And symbols. And maybe a place that had supported wiring.

“François,” said the AI, “the cloud is close. Our departure is becoming problematic.”

“That’s it, guys. Time’s up. Come on. Let’s go.”

“There’s something over here,” said Leah.

François never found out what it was. Lightning flared behind him.

Ben got the message. “On our way,” he said. They started to move. Finally. But Ben tripped over something, and bounced along the passageway. “Son of a bitch.”

Bill responded with an electrical display, the sort of thing he did to show disapproval.

“You okay?” said Leah.

“Yeah.” He pushed her away. “Keep going.” And he was up and running, pushing her before him.

It’s hard to run in grip shoes and zero gravity. Especially when you’re not used to either. They hurried back down the connecting tube. François urged them on. Maybe it was his voice, maybe it was inevitable, but, whatever the cause, Ben and Leah had become suddenly fearful. Panicky.

“The data package has been dispatched, François.”

“Good,” he said. “Bill, be ready to go as soon as they’re on board.”

“We can proceed on your direction.”

“Ben, when you guys get into the lock, shut the outer hatch and grab hold of something. We’re not going to wait around.”

“Okay, François. It’ll only be a minute.”

Bill rattled his electronics again. He was not happy. “Electrical activity in the cloud is increasing. It might be prudent to leave now.”

François considered it. The idiots had put him and the ship in danger.

Moments later they left the object and clambered into the air lock.

“Go, Bill,” he said. “Get us the hell out of here.”

ARCHIVE

A team of astronomers announced today that the omegas appear to have originated in the Mordecai Zone, a series of dust clouds approximately 280 billion kilometers long, located near the galactic core. They are unable to explain how the process works, or why it should be happening. “In all probability, we will not know until we can send a mission to investigate,” Edward Harper, a spokesman for the team, said during a press conference. When asked when that might be, he admitted he had no idea, that it is well beyond the capabilities of present technology, and may remain so for a long time.

—Science Journal, March, 2229

LIBRARY ENTRY

1115 hours, GMT. Jenkins reports loss of main engines. Damage apparently incurred during hurried acceleration. Details not clear at this time. Rescue mission scheduled to leave tomorrow morning.

—Union Operations log entry, Saturday, February 3

chapter 2

MATT DARWIN FILED the last of the documents, accepted the congratulations of his senior partner, Emma Stern, sat back in his chair, and considered how good he was. A natural talent for moving real estate. Who would have thought? That morning, he’d completed the sale of the Hofstatter property, a professional office building in Alexandria. Its owners had come to him after months of trying to move the place, and he’d done it in a week, even gotten two prospective buyers bidding against each other.

His commission, on that single sale, almost matched his annual take-home pay back in his Academy days. “Must make you wonder why you didn’t get started earlier,” Emma said.

She was tall and graceful, with two personalities, cordial, funny, and lighthearted for the customers, skeptical and strictly business for her employees. She could be vindictive, but she approved of Matt, recognized his talent, and was somewhat taken by his charm. He’d told her once she’d have made a good Academy pilot, had meant it, and had won her heart forever.

“How about we close down early and celebrate?” he said. “Dinner’s on me.”

She wasn’t young, but she could still light up the place. “Love to, Matt. But we have tickets for Born Again tonight.” She let him see she regretted declining the invitation. “How about we do it tomorrow, okay? And I’ll buy.”

Kirby, the AI, announced that Prendergast had arrived for his appointment with her. They were trying to decide on a place to locate his pharmaceutical distribution operation. He was being forced to relocate because of rising waters. Can’t go on building dikes forever, he’d been saying. Find me a new place. Preferably on top of a hill.

So she turned a radiant isn’t-life-grand smile on him and left. Matt had nothing pressing and decided he’d take the rest of the day off.

Stern & Hopkins Realty Company (Hopkins had moved on before Matt joined the firm) was located on the third floor of the Estevan Building, across the park from the Potomac Senior Center. A few years ago, he’d received an award over there for shepherding a damaged ship and its passengers back home. It had been the Academy of Science and Technology then.

He watched as the front door of the old administration building opened. That was where they’d given him his big night, called him onstage in the auditorium, and presented him with the plaque that now hung in his den at home. An attendant came out onto the walkway, pushing someone in a wheelchair. Despite all the medical advances, the vastly increased longevity, the general good health of the population, knees still eventually gave way. And bodies still went through the long process of breaking down.

He got his jacket out of the closet and pulled it around his shoulders. “Kirby?”

“Yes, Matt?” The AI spoke with a Southern accent. Emma was from South Carolina.

“I’m going to head out for the day.”

“I’ll tell her.”

When he got home, he’d call Reyna. Maybe she’d like to do dinner this evening.

THERE HAD BEEN a time when the land now bordering the Potomac Senior Center was a golf course. The golf course was long gone, converted into a park, but the area was still called the Fairway. Matt lived in a modest duplex on the edge of the Fairway. It was about a mile and a half from the office, a pleasant stroll on a nice day. He passed young mothers with their toddlers and infants, older people spread out among the benches, a couple of five-year-olds trying to get a kite into the air. Sailboats drifted down the Potomac, and a steady stream of traffic passed overhead.

A sudden gust lifted a woman’s hat and sent it flying. The woman hesitated between pursuit and a child. Matt would have given chase, but the wind was taking it toward the horizon, and within seconds the hat had vanished into a cluster of trees fifty yards away.

He passed a chess game between two elderly men. That’s how I’m going to end up, he thought, splayed across a bench looking for ways to spend my time. Thinking how I’d never made my life count for anything.

In Emma’s presence, he always pretended he couldn’t be more satisfied with his job. He was, she said with mock significance, one of the great salesmen of their time. She meant it, more or less, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of life he’d envisioned. She’d been concerned about his background when he’d first shown up at Stern & Hopkins. Isn’t this going to seem dull after piloting starships? You really going to be satisfied hanging around here when you might have been spending your time at Alva Koratti? (She always made up the name of a star, and pretended she couldn’t quite get it right. So she had him cruising through Alpha Carlassa, and Beta Chesko, and Far Nineveh.) We don’t want to take you, Matt, she’d said, then lose you and have to train someone else.