HUTCH CHECKED IN at the operations desk at midmorning and got her instructions. She was told to expect between six and eight passengers. Details weren’t finalized. There’d be a briefing at the Academy conference room on the Wheel on the sixth, and departure would be October 7.

She was also given a virtual tour of the City of Memphis. It was smaller by half than most of the Academy carriers. But her size was largely a function of reductions in space given over to propulsion systems, made possible by technological advances in both the Hazeltines and the fusion engines, whose specs indicated a level of efficiency beyond anything she’d seen before. Sensor arrays and communications systems were state-of-the-art, as were command and control functions.

The interior was reasonably spacious and eminently luxurious. The metal and plastic to which she was accustomed had been replaced with soft pseudo-leather, stained paneling, and lushly carpeted decks. Curtains and wainscoting were everywhere. The common room was attractively fitted out with the kind of furniture one might (almost) find at an expensive club. It also possessed an operations center with all the push buttons and displays one might wish to survey a new world. It would be rather like living in one of those grand twenty-first-century homes at the tip of Provincetown. The bridge had soft lighting and a series of scents that could be piped in, lemon and cedar and a dozen other fragrances. Give me a little time and I believe I can get used to this.

What about Bill?

The operations officer said that an AI package was available with the ship. Since Memphis was not an Academy vessel, the house intelligence had not been installed. What was her preference?

She opted for Bill.

She’d hoped Preach might turn up, but a discreet inquiry produced the information that he’d come in at nine, right after they’d opened, got his information, and left.

She felt deflated and thought about rescheduling her flight home into the late afternoon. That would allow her to call him and suggest they meet for lunch. Should have arranged that last night when the opportunity had been there. But she shrugged the idea away as ill-advised. Let’s not look anxious.

She treated herself to some new clothes, went back to her apartment, packed, and took a taxi out to National.

She was at her mother’s by seven.

HUTCH’S MOTHER, TERESA Margaret Hutchins, lived in Farleyville, a northern suburb of Princeton. She was waiting outside the house at the foot of the pad with a half dozen friends when the taxi descended. There were some ribbons in the trees, and a few of the neighborhood children had shown up to see what the fuss was about. The occasion lacked only the high school band.

Everyone was anxious to meet Teresa’s celebrated daughter. It was a ritual she went through every time she came back. My daughter the star-pilot.

Hutch’s taxi descended onto the landing pad. She paid up, climbed out, hugged her mother, hugged and shook hands with everybody else. And Mom started. “Priscilla was with the people who discovered the omega clouds,” she told a middle-aged woman whose name seemed to be Weepy.

And they responded as people always did at these homecomings:

“You must tell us how it was on Deepsix last year, dear.”

“Do you know my cousin Jamie? He works on the space station out at Quraqua.”

“It must be beautiful out there, traveling among the stars.”

In fact, it was impossibly dull. Now that she’d faced the reality, she was willing to admit to herself that she’d been living a kind of virtual life. Most of the beaches she’d visited in her lifetime had been electronic, as had the majority of her evenings looking out from mountaintops, strolling through idyllic forests, or wandering along the walkways of the world’s great cities. It occurred to her that the same was true of almost everyone’s life, but she dismissed the notion.

Hutch understood her mother’s pride in her daughter, but it made her uncomfortable. Hutch herself wasn’t good at pretending humility when she knew damned well she’d racked up some major accomplishments.

Still, there it was, so she bowed her head and tried to come up with the correct reactions as they trooped back to the house. She allowed as how it wasn’t very much, she’d been fortunate and had a lot of help. Certainly that was so.

Teresa broke out an assortment of goodies and soft drinks, and Hutch answered, as best she could, questions about why she had pursued so unusual a career, and did she plan to settle down anytime soon (she didn’t mention her retirement plans), and was it true that people usually got sick when the ships made that transition into the other kind of space, what did you call it? Jump-space?

“Hyperspace,” she said.

One of the visitors was a teacher, and he asked whether Hutch could come by the school while she was home and talk to an assembly. “We have a lot of students,” he said, “who would love to hear some of your experiences.”

She agreed, and a date and time were set.

Two single males, a history professor from Princeton, and a freelance financial advisor, made efforts to get close to her. Both were handsome, in a superficial, ground-based sort of way. Clean-cut features, clear skin, hair brushed back, good teeth. Stand back, she told herself. This is Mom at work.

The professor seemed overwhelmed by her celebrity, and compensated by smiling too much. He was at a loss to manage his end of the conversation. He’d like very much to get to know her better. Was lunch a possibility? He was so nervous she felt sorry for him.

“Love to, Harry,” she said, “but I’m only here for a few days.”

The financial advisor’s name was Rick or Mick. She never did get it quite straight. He was an impossible straight arrow, given to the notion that the North American Union was nearing moral collapse, apparently signified by the increasing number of people opting out of marriages at their first opportunity. He was fond of reminding everyone of Rome during her final days, and he implied that he himself would be a durable and highly rewarding partner.

He invited her to supply her number, but again she found she would be off-world quite extensively. Would that it were otherwise. Perhaps another time would work better.

Hutch wondered what Preach was doing, and the evening dragged on. When it finally ended, and she discovered it was barely nine o’clock, her mother asked hopefully how it had gone, whether she’d enjoyed herself, what did she think of the two males.

Hutch was an only child, and her mother’s sole chance for grandchildren. It all laid a dark sense of guilt on her shoulders. But what was she supposed to do? “Yes, Mom,” she said, “they were nice guys. Both of them.”

Teresa caught the tone and the past tense and sighed. “I guess I should just leave it alone,” she said.

Hutch had intended to tell her mother that this would be the last flight. But something held her back. Instead, she said only that she didn’t plan to go on piloting indefinitely. “Hang in there, Mom,” she added.

THERE WERE OBLIGATORY appearances by relatives over the next few days. Between visits, Hutch and Teresa toured the area, ate in restaurants that Hutch hadn’t been into in years, stopped by the Hudson Church Repertory Theater for a performance of Downhill All the Way, did plenty of shopping, and attended a sunrise concert. As was her custom, Hutch didn’t wear a link when she was attending purely social events.