Below, in mission control, they were congratulating one another. Again.

They had jumped to the wrong conclusion, assuming that the Climbers had initiated the stealths. Hutch sank back into her seat. Safe Harbor wasn’t the terminal for the data stream coming in from 1107. When the signal arrived here it was picked up by what amounted to a giant dish antenna. Then it was passed to another antenna for relay. That was the signal the Brandeis had picked up.

A virtual George blinked on. He was glowing. His fists were closed and he was literally trembling with joy. “Hutch,” he said, “you understand what this means? What we’ve tapped into?”

“I think you’ve hit the jackpot, George,” she said.

“Are we sure?” asked Alyx. “I mean, it’s not being sent to their moonbase, is it?”

George could scarcely contain himself. But the question induced a moment of doubt.

“No,” Hutch said. “It is most certainly not aimed at the moonbase.”

“Where, then?” asked George.

Bill’s image appeared, on cue, on her overhead screen. His white hair was combed back, and he was wearing a navy blue jacket with his initial, B, embroidered on the pocket. “Closest target,” he said, “along the transmission line appears to be a class-K star, catalog KM 449397. Range is forty-three light-years.”

“That’s pretty far out,” said George.

“So what we’re saying,” said Alyx, “is that whoever’s been planting all these satellites lives out at this class-K?”

Tor shook his head. “That sounds like the same assumption we made about Safe Harbor.”

Bill cleared his throat. He wasn’t finished.

“What else, Bill?” said Hutch.

“There’s a possibility the signal just goes through the 97 system. There’s another target directly beyond.”

George sighed. “Which is what?”

“The Maritime Cluster.”

“How far’s that?” asked Alyx.

“Twelve thousand light-years,” said Hutch. Bill’s eyebrows drew together, indicating that she was off by a thousand or two. But he said nothing.

Nick’s voice came over the commlink: “They have to be in the biozone, don’t they? Would this signal carry twelve thousand light-years?”

They looked at one another, a general confession that no one really knew. Not even Bill ventured a guess.

“Well,” said Hutch, “we sure as hell can’t ride out to the Maritimes.”

“How long would it take?” asked Alyx.

“Two, two-and-a-half years.”

“Take a good book,” said Nick.

Hutch listened with misgivings while they began to talk up a pursuit to 97. What’s to lose? Only a few days? Who knows what might be out there? If we don’t find anything, we just turn around. No big deal.

Within a few minutes they’d cast aside all hesitation and were ready to go.

It was as if the loss of the Condor had happened in another reality. The problem was that despite everything they were accustomed to a friendly, safe environment. The notion that they could be bitten was foreign to them. They’d been living quiet, safe lives while she’d been watching people make fatal mistakes. Richard Wald delaying too long at Quraqua, George Hackett underestimating the crabs on Beta Pac, Gregory MacAllister talking his way onto a lander at Deepsix. She’d made a few herself, and people had died. She was more cautious now, and she was no longer sure she wanted to find out what had happened to Preach. He was gone, and nothing would change that. “We have enough fuel and stores to make the flight,” she said. “But there’s risk involved.”

“What risk?” asked George in a condescending tone.

“We still don’t know what killed the Condor.”

Pete shrugged it off. “It looks as if it was a defective engine. I understand the Condor wasn’t an Academy vessel.”

“That’s true,” she said.

“Probably, it didn’t have your maintenance standards. Independent owner-operator. What could you expect?”

“Brawley was an accomplished professional,” she said.

“Sorry,” said Pete. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Well,” said George, “we have a decision to make. And I think if we turned around now and headed home, we’d all regret it. For the rest of our lives.”

They nodded. Pete and Hutch shook hands, and Tor smiled brightly at her. “Whatever it takes,” he said.

Hutch walked down to mission control and took George aside. “I’ll be making a log entry recommending formally against proceeding farther.”

He looked bemused. It was time for everyone to be an adult. “Hutch,” he said, “you have to know what this means.”

“I know what it means. I’m concerned about safety. And liability. You need to understand we’re chasing an unknown. We’ve no idea what we’re looking for, or what its capabilities might be. Since we lost the other ship, we do have a pretty good idea about its inclinations.”

“Hutch,” he said, “I wish you could hear yourself. The engine room exploded. It wasn’t gremlins.”

“Whatever it might or might not have been, before we continue with this mission, I’m going to draft a statement that I’ll want each member of your team to sign. It will stipulate that he or she understands the risk and wishes to go on anyway. And that the Academy, and the captain, are to be held blameless.”

Some of the color drained from his face. “Of course,” he said. “If you insist. But you really don’t have to do this.”

“We’ll do it anyway. And I should add that if anybody refuses, or says he doesn’t want to go on, we’ll go no farther.”

“That won’t happen.” He was annoyed and defensive. “You’re overreacting, Hutch.”

THE MEMPHIS COMPLETED a final orbit of Safe Harbor. They looked down on the cloud-shrouded world, and Herman wondered what name its inhabitants had given it.

“Earth,” said Alyx.

“How do you mean?”

“Whatever the actual term was,” she said, “it translates to Earth. Home.”

THE MEMPHIS WOULD need roughly forty-five minutes at an acceleration slightly over 3g to get up to jump mode. Although that would have been intolerable in an unshielded vehicle, the same technology that provided artificial gravity also dampened acceleration forces to about 15 percent. Although that was well within the tolerance range, and not even particularly uncomfortable, it was enough to require restraints. One did not want to toss off a beer and a sandwich during the operation. Consequently, acceleration to jump was always scheduled between meals, and was avoided, if at all possible, during sleeping hours. And passengers were warned sufficiently in advance that they might want to think about visiting the washroom.

Within minutes after Hutch had announced they were ready to begin their voyage to 97, which meant acceleration was about to commence, Alyx showed up on the bridge.

Since the loss of the Condor, George and his people seemed to have developed a sense that she shouldn’t be left alone. So they took turns keeping her company. Not commiserating, not being reassuring, but simply engaging in small talk and being pleasantly congenial.

Hutch, who was something of a loner, would have preferred to be talking with Bill rather than with someone who felt he had to make conversation. But she appreciated the effort and concealed her feelings.

Alyx was explaining how this was her first time traveling away from Earth. “It’s been a scary experience,” she admitted.

“You’ve hidden it well,” Hutch said. That wasn’t exactly true, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

“Thanks. But the truth is, I’ve been petrified since we left home. I don’t really like anything where I can’t put my leg out the door and touch the ground.”

When Hutch laughed politely, she insisted she was serious. “I want to die in bed,” she said with a mischievous smile. “On my back.” Like most women, Hutch was never entirely comfortable in the presence of a beautiful rival. Her reaction to Alyx, however, was colored by the woman’s intelligence and warmth, and maybe her vulnerability. It was hard not to like her.