A JOURNEY OF A THOUSAND MILES

Santa Maria
Near Jupiter
February 17, 2155

She was alone in her pod, naked as the day she'd been born, shivering in a pool of soft, creamy light. Cavernous darkness of command gallery was stifling and her throat constricted in spite of everything she had promised herself prep week nights alone in her bunk, waiting for sleep. She took a deep, ragged breath, and ran a shaking hand through her hair. She couldn't fail now. She had rehearsed this moment too many times. Told herself endlessly that she wouldn't be afraid when the final moment came.

It wouldn't be the end. It was just a step. Like going to sleep. When the moment was right, she would simply place her right arm in the cradle. She wouldn't think twice about it.

But that final moment was at her own discretion, and now she sat, arms around drawn-up knees, almond-shaped eyes wide in darkness. She ran her tongue over dry lips and tried to slow her racing heart.

Just a stage.

"I'm so scared," she whispered, though there was nobody to hear her and her soft whisper seemed to echo eerily in the night.

"Dev, I'm so.. so... so goddam scared."

But there were no strong arms, no twinkling eyes, no bantering voice to put things in perspective. Dev had gone Out six months earlier, along with 2,000 other New Birmingham townsfolk, when his time came. She could have used her influence to keep him In til virtually the last minute, but he was famed as her partner, lover and confidante. It had been important that there be no favoritism. His Outing had been flashed across the world as a symbol of Greenweb dedication.

But Ocean-Jade Su-Yin Hemmingway, as she left the Nursery on that brilliant afternoon, head up and game face on for the cameras, had felt abandoned. Knowing that if she ever saw Dev again it would be more than 500 years in the future and 50 light years away had made her see hordes of newsmen as though through a Vaseline-smeared lens and shouted questions had seemed to come at her down a long tunnel.

How did she feel saying goodbye to Devlin St. Claire?

What had he said to her in the last moments?

Was she looking forward to joining him?

Her arms and legs prickled with gooseflesh and she noted, bemused, that her nipples were erect. The sexuality of the last moments before death? What about that question? Was she looking forward to joining Dev?

Jade, old kid, we don't have to do this.

The thought came from nowhere, a primordial eel taking advantage of a momentary lapse in her metal guard to slither from her subconscious.

We don't have to go Out.

We can stay In.

There was enough food to last a lifetime. She could change the mission parameters enough to accommodate one 36-year-old woman. There was far more food than a small army of Ocean-Jades could ever eat and enough entertainment and knowledge in libraries to amuse her for the rest of her life.

She could even bring Dev In. How happy he would be to discover himself, not on a fresh new (at least to humans) planet orbiting Rho Coronae Borealis, but facing life on board Santa Maria, would be another question entirely.

Her pod light illuminated the sides of adjacent pods, still and dark. A man lay in each, slumbering into the centuries. Georgi Ivanovich Malakov and Malachite Josef Steele, who had gone Out laughing and joking. On the other side of Steele, Sally Lupin Chen-Martendale. On the other side of Malakov, Savannah Francine Hennessey.

The cream of the crop. Greenweb's finest.

But what was supposed to be a joyous first step on an unimaginably glorious odyssey had seemed so much more like an execution. Up early to face the lens for that final news conference with earth, rendered disjointed because of the time it took messages to make their way from Santa Maria to earth and the reply to reach them.

The same tired questions. What could journalists ask that hadn't been asked a thousand, thousand times before? What could CENADMIN say that hadn't been said before? Santa Maria's exhaustive telemetry told Greenweb mission controllers that everything was go for Stardrive. All colonists save CENADMIN had already been Out when they reached Santa Maria. Now only essential machines were functioning and the vast starship had all but shut itself down for the journey.

Basically, questions boiled down to how did they feel?

How did they feel?

How did they feel?

"Cold," Ocean-Jade had replied when her turn came, waiting with a literally frozen smile for the press corps to break into laughter.

Then her final message to earth as head of CENADMIN and mission commander. How many nights had she lain awake, agonizing over that? What to say at what was potentially one of the most significant moments of human history?

A giant leap for mankind? Well, maybe. It might also be a giant bust. Nobody on earth would ever live to find out. Perhaps the famous last words of a condemned murderer facing a firing squad in Twentieth century Utah? "Let's do it."

Just about anything she could think of sounded pretentious or just plain silly. What do you say when you're about to leave in a multi-trillion dollar starship that might not even work?

"Some 550 years from now, a message from us, the new Jevonians, will wing its way to Earth across the inconceivable gulf that will separate us," she had said, trying to project confidence despite fits of shivering. "It will be this: We have not forgotten. We will never forget Earth and never stop loving it. And, out there amongst the stars, the vast, seemingly impossible vision of Joe Green will at last be realized. Humanity will have a new beginning. God speed us and God keep you all."

At last the ordeal had ended and the wall-sized wardroom viewscreen faded in a stunning view of Jupiter. Would it ever show a beautiful blue and white Jevon? A new home and hope?

On Earth, she knew, screens all over the planet had faded in the Holo of Joe Green, looking calmly and confidently out to the stars as his lifelong dream at last took flight.

They'd spent the rest of their last freezing, miserable day checking and re-checking the ship, meeting now and again in the wardroom to stare at the huge orb of Jupiter, so clearly rendered it seemed they could reach out and stir the great red spot with their fingers, the antique analogue clock on the wall, or at each other across the table that was surfaced with real oak, perhaps Santa Maria's only true luxury. No last meals.

No meals at all for 72 hours before the big sleep begins. No water for the last 24.

At 2300 hours, the mutually agreed-upon time, they had assembled in the wardroom. Ocean-Jade had thought of making a short speech, but, when the time came, found that her throat was too dry and she was far too cold to come up with anything that wouldn't sound superficial or ridiculous. No phrase like "a giant leap for mankind" came to mind. Instead, she just said "it's time, gang," and led the way along a narrow corridor behind the bridge that would not see another human for more than 500 years. At the far end a circular metal staircase led down to the Crypt Kicker's pod room. Nobody said a word and sluggish heartbeats nearly drowned out ghostly padding of felt boots on expanded plastic decking and stair treads.

They'd gathered before the row of pods that lay open and waiting, prepped and re-prepped endlessly on that final day.

Malakov had reached out, taking the hands of Ocean-Jade and Steele. Savannah put her hands over theirs and, after a moment, Sally Chen-Martendale reached in to join the group.

"Last words?" she asked, a tremor betraying nerves.

"Who goes first?" Ocean-Jade said.

Steele suddenly laughed.

"I can't believe it," he said. "years and years and tril... trillions of dol... dollars and we never decided that."

"We should go in some... sort of order so some... someone is on hand if... something goes wrong, right to the last," Ocean-Jade said.

"Okay, you g-guys go, I'll hang back," Malakov said.

"No, that's my job," Ocean-Jade said.

"Okay," Steele said, "Jade goes last. I vote... vote we fall b-back on ancient tra... traditions. Ladies f-first."

"Makes sense," Malakov said, adding "you guys mind... mind if we have a minute?"

Ocean-Jade, Steele and Savannah Hennessey shook their heads and stepped back, allowing Malakov a moment to embrace Sally Chen-Martendale. As the pair hugged each other almost desperately, Ocean-Jade was glad she had not been aware of the affair. Emotional attachment between members of the command team was against mission regulations, and she would have had to do something. Now, what in hell did it matter?

"I... I'll go first," Sally had said, stepping over to her pod, followed by Malakov. The others walked slowly over to stand beside the pod as Sally shrugged out of her tunic and sandals, dumping them into the disposal chute at the base of the pod. Then, stark naked, she climbed in and lay back.

"I guess this... this is it," she said, fighting for control. "It's ready, isn't it?"

"Checked and checked ag... again," Malakov said. "Go... go ahead, darling. I won't be far behind you."

"Okay. See you, sweetheart. See you, guys," Sally said as she dropped her arm into the sleeve at her side. Nobody looked as it closed gently. A moment later, Sally's eyes glazed. The sleeve opened, then retracted, disappearing from sight beside her unconscious body. A thermal cover swung out, hiding her from view. A soft chuff as air evacuated, fitting silvery material so tightly to her body she looked like a statue made from mercury.

Wouldn't do to travel 500 years and wake up with frostbite.

The pod cover hissed almost silently closed and lights inside went off. Within three hours Sally Chen-Martendale would be frozen stiff, all metabolic functions completely suspended. And there she would stay for centuries to come.

"I guess that's it," Malakov said, a catch in his voice as he stepped away.

"Jesus," Steele breathed, "that still give... gives me the creeps."

"That's why... why they never let the great... great unwashed see it," Savannah said. "Coming... coming to see me off?"

The other three trooped over to her pod, standing by with brave smiles as she stripped, disposed of clothes and climbed in.

"Good luck, guys," she said and dropped her arm into the sleeve. Again the suddenly glassy eyes, the sleeve retraction, thermal blanket, cover into position and lights out.

"Okay, buddy," Steele said suddenly, "last one in..."

Moments later only Ocean-Jade's pod had remained open and lighted. It was almost over. Now she was truly alone, sitting in her pod and fighting panic.

Her breathing was fast and shallow, and she thought she might be on the verge of hyperventilation.

Jade, old kid, we can stay IN.

If she did, she'd have a lonely life, but at least she would have a life. If it worked, if the rest actually came in when the journey ended, they would find only a pathetic little pile of bones lying in a heap wherever she had finally breathed her last. Perhaps at the wardroom table. Maybe, as her skeleton disarticulated, her skull would fall onto the table and be lying there, leering at them, when they woke up at last. No, that would never do. Dev couldn't come In to find something like that. A Vonnie would have to fire her remains out an airlock.

What a dismal, macabre thought.

But at least she would have had a life. Robinsonette Crusoe in deep space, and no man Friday. God, what madness had ever brought her to this moment?

She ran her tongue over lips that were hot, cracked and dry. Her palms were wet. She swallowed and could almost feel dry tissues tearing at the back of her throat.

What if it doesn't WORK?

Very simple, really. If cold sleep couldn't be sustained, she had killed her lover and partner, played an instrumental part in the murders of some 35,000 people, presided at the suicides of four friends and was now about to kill herself.

Not that the technique was entirely untried. Animation Suspension had been undergone by a number of researchers and volunteers. A few days here, a few weeks there. Several months, in some cases. The longest was Caltech student Edgar Caletti, who had gone Out three years and five days. November 15, 2084 to November 20, 2087. It was in the Guinness Book of Records. Caletti had come In with no problems, other than a hellish case of stiff muscles. There was nothing to suggest the technique wouldn't work indefinitely. Forever, if need be.

Doctors trusted it. There were nearly 20 of them in various galleries, lying still and cold. Only one had backed out at the last minute to remain behind with her family in the teeming solar system.

How had they all done it?

They hadn't done it alone.

That was the big difference. They'd all had fellow Greenwebbers around them, soothing, helping, talking, making things seem right and routine. Even Malakov and Steele, the third and fourth members of the "Crypt Kicker Five" to go out, had had someone. They'd had Ocean-Jade Su-Yin Hemmingway.

Who did Ocean-Jade have?

The "Crypt Kicker Five". Five mission officers who were last to go Out, and, they hoped, first to come In. And "kick the crypt" to wake the rest. Styling themselves the "Crypt Kicker Five", rather than using the official title of CENADMIN, had seemed like such a good joke at the time. Now it just wasn't funny. Ocean-Jade wiped at a trickle of cold sweat on her forehead and shuddered. There were goose bumps all over her body.

Outside the vast bulk of the Santa Maria, hurtling towards Jupiter and a slingshot ride to stardrive ignition speed, the swarming inner solar system was falling behind, every minute the distance grew between her and the hundreds of millions who now infested all the inner planets and a vast ring of orbiting city states. In less than two months Santa Maria's neural net would trigger the stardrive and the voyage would truly be underway.

In truth, however, it was already underway. There was no way back for Ocean-Jade. No way to rejoin the rest of humanity in the squalor and poverty of the inner system. She had only two options -- to go Out or stay In. If she were to stay In, Santa Maria would be her home for the rest of her life and, in a way, hers alone.

She had never guessed it would be this bad.

Throughout the vast ship, nothing save her was moving. All the people, all 35,600, had gone Out. There was nobody left "alive" in all the miles of galleries, corridors, wardrooms, laboratories, factories, theaters, mess halls, storage areas, clinics and gymnasiums. Even Von Neumann machines had shut down, gone to their electronic slumber of centuries. Once Ocean-Jade went Out, the powerful neural net that governed the functioning of Santa Maria would begin to shut itself down. Until all that would be left would be a kernel keeping vigil through centuries until the Big Wakey-Wakey. If that ever happened.

She thought she would throw up, but there was nothing in her stomach. It seemed so unfair. Why did she have to be last? The title "mission commander" seemed so worthless now.

"Last Out, first In," she said, her voice tinny and unnatural in the stifling stillness.

Last out, but maybe not first In.

Maybe nobody would ever come In.

She drew a ragged breath and lay back in her pod. It wasn't mere fear out there in the darkness, she realized now. It was terror. And once she surrendered, once it had her in its grip, she would never do the thing. She'd climb out of the pod, and tell Claus to keep the command section going just for her. Until she died. Santa Maria would become her very own Spandau.

And she would live the rest of those long, lonely years knowing she had not kept faith. Knowing that when it had finally counted, she had failed. And Dev would come In not to the arms of his lover, but to a series of sad little messages left centuries earlier. And she would leave sad little messages. She wouldn't be able to help herself.

Or, perhaps worse, she would one day surrender to temptation and bring him In, hundreds of years and billions of miles short of his goal, to face a hunched old crone who had once been the vibrant young woman he loved.

Please, God, I'll never ask for anything again. Ever. Just let it work.

Maybe she should hang on til Jupiter and stardrive ignition. Just to be there if anything went wrong. But that was just rationalization. And if she put it off once, she'd find an excuse to do it again. And again.

In the unlikely event the stardrive failed despite millions of man hours of design, testing and simulation, Claus was instructed to bring CENADMIN back In. Over time, drawing from the ship's store of genetic material, generations would succeed each other so there would always be a backup for Claus through untold long and lonely millennia. And someday, not hundreds but tens of thousands of years in the future, mankind might yet stand on a new planet.

Ocean-Jade didn't look at the video display. She'd looked at it so many times. It was a stupid anachronism, anyway, designed to soothe nervous sleepers. Claus would have warned her if anything had been amiss. Sometimes she had wondered if the damn thing were really connected to the pod at all.

The box on the screen beside the words "injection sleeve" was green.

She twisted to look and there it was, a beautifully styled elongated clamshell cradle of chrome and plastic. All she had to do was lay her right arm in the cradle that suddenly looked as obscene as a guillotine. The cradle would close, she would feel a tiny scratchiness like a spider scuttling along her skin as automatic mechanism positioned the injection gun. Then there would be nothing.

She had done this so many times before, but always with a smile and a joke or two.

It had been easy because those had been rehearsals and she'd known, no matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise, that it was just standard anaesthetic and she would revive in a half hour or so. Sometimes she had managed to fantasize the real thing, enough to elevate her heart rate a little, but it had still been just a fantasy. There would still be smiles and jokes with the lab technicians, and hot coffee with just a little something in it, when her half hour journey was done.

This was real.

This would be for centuries.

Perhaps forever. She brushed nervously at a cold trickle of sweat on her forehead.

God, those drugs. Even her sweat was cold.

What's it going to be, Hemmingway?

It was time. There was no point in putting it off any longer. Taking a deep, ragged breath, She positioned her arm over the cradle.

Now.

She tried not to have any thoughts at all as she let the weight of her arm drop on the cradle and felt it close smoothly. There was the scratching, so familiar.

And suddenly so utterly terrifying!

"No!" she heard her voice cry out even as she felt the tiny sting.

A GIANT LEAP FOR MANKIND

Santa Maria
In orbit around Jevon
July 24
524 AW
2667 AD

And nothing happened.

She was still awake. Lying on her back, looking at her distorted reflection in the open pod canopy, bathed in creamy white light.

It hadn't worked.

Oh God, I'm off the hook.

My pod was defective.

They'll see that. They'll know I tried. I'll leave a Cube. They'll know it wasn't my fault.

Thank God.

She'd have to think of a reason for not using a reserve pod, but she'd manage something. What an incredible relief!

She tried to sit up and her universe exploded in pain.

A strangled gasp and her chest was full of searing heat.

A thousand, thousand red hot needles slid along muscles under her skin.

And in that instant she knew that it had worked.

She had been Out, and now she was back In.

And, oh God, how it hurt!

Clenching teeth against the pain, she crossed arms on her stomach, panting and waiting for white hot agony to ease.

She never knew how long she lay there but, at last, hunger drove her to sit up. It seemed to take forever, a sweating hell of screaming muscles and crackling joints, but at last, trembling almost uncontrollably, she was able to climb out.

God, they were going to have to redesign those things. Who could ever have guessed it would be so painful? The pods should come automatically to vertical so the victims could walk out. Walk out, shit. They should program Vonnies to carry the poor bastards out. And right into a warm bath.

And that damned expanded plastic deck. She could feel little knurls clear to her knees.

She was so weak.

And cold.

And hungry.

Biting her lip to keep from crying out, she took from her pod locker a hermetically-sealed pouch containing a short tunic and a pair of light sandals. Hands trembled as she broke the seal. Just another thing to re-design if this were ever done again. She tried to pull on the soft garment, but it felt as though insects with fiery spikes on their little feet were scuttling under her skin. She threw it down and made her way, naked and shivering, along the catwalk, past still-silent command team pods, to the showers.

It worked.

That was the amazing thing.

It had all worked.

TA'I'PER'RI -- PLAGUE GENESIS

Jevon
On the Great Plateau
July 24
524 AW
2667 AD

On wild and desolate high plains of Jevon a large, wily old beast, called a Ta'i'per'ri by the planet's humanoid inhabitants, foraged under heavily-overcast skies as dawn swept towards him at better than a thousand miles per hour. He had spent the night resting comfortably in a B'Al'ob thicket and now, after a satisfying rub on the coarse bark of a stunted tree called Ti'ss'reh, had set about his ceaseless, single-minded quest for food. As murky dawn became morning a solid overcast broke up, exposing patches of blue sky. But on the horizon lightning flickered in an ominous, dark purple front that made him decidedly skittish as he rooted for soft, white grubs that were his staple diet.

He'd just rolled over a half-rotten log when exquisitely sensitive, paddle-shaped ears caught the faintest crunch of coarse grass. With a snort of alarm, he cast about for the source of the incongruous sound.

It was not repeated but, while he could still remember that there had been a sound, grizzled snout twitched as piggy little eyes strained to resolve the slightest out-of-place detail. Nothing seemed amiss. At last the Ta'i'per'ri forgot why he was looking and went back to log-rolling, snuffling and grunting in clouds of dust and wood pulp.

A dozen yards away a small, furry humanoid dared exhale. Only complete immobility had saved him from detection and a good thrashing from Lesser Mother, glaring balefully from behind a large rock. He hardly dared look at her as she motioned him to continue the stalk that nearly brought him to grief. With infinite care, he lifted his crude, iron-tipped spear and took a lancer's grip. His species sweated very little, which was fortunate since, if it had, his eyes would have been filled with hot, salty water. Lesser Mother had clearly had about enough dallying, for eyes narrowed and lips skinned back in a silent snarl.

Goddesses, how he wished he were somewhere else. Anywhere else, almost.

He spotted a flash of motion downrange as the others went for position amongst boulders. When they signaled, he would scream and race at the hapless Ta'i'per'ri, driving it right into the trap. He licked his lips and swallowed a bucket of saliva. Butchered and salted, the beast could be sold in Ah'n'thee'ah's't'an're'ell for several times the clan's usual yearly earnings. Hide could be sold to sandal makers and hoofs to swordsmiths who would carve and polish them for exquisite grips.

If they ever got one good enough... Well, there was the saga of Clan Eh'nn'i that had once presented H'en'h'nn, then Supreme Mother of Ah'n'thee'ah, Arch-defender of Jevon and Protector of the Faith, with a sword hilt so exquisite H'en'h'nn was moved to order an investigation into Eh'nn'i ancestry. The incredibly fortuitous discovery that Clan Eh'nn'i was in fact a lost Lineage clan was the stuff of legends.

Even without a lost Lineage discovery, spotting this beast was the most incredible opportunity to have come along in more years than he could count.

And then came the tiny disaster that was to leave him covered with little lumps for days afterwards and, eventually, help frame a collision of civilizations.

A distant rumble drew his attention to towering thunder heads. The storm was moving their way, so they'd best dispatch their prey quickly. As he turned back to the Ta'i'per'ri, his eyes swept heavens directly overhead. Clouds had parted, showing clear blue sky.

And suddenly, sliding into the open patch, came a ghostly white disk.

The dreadful star of S'Alan'Drith!

The terrible sight brought a bleat of terror as his spear slipped from nerveless fingers and clattered at his feet.

That was all the Ta'i'per'ri needed. With a loud whuff, he dug stubby back legs in and bolted, far too early for the killing party, whose members sprang from concealment, desperately throwing spears. The beast's spade-like paws were a blur as he raced to freedom. His only injury was a welt from a spear that dug into earth and snapped, sending the broken shaft thudding against his pelt and accelerating progress no end.

As Lesser Mother strode from her hiding place and set about the hapless stalker with a heavy cudgel, the rest of the party raced after the Ta'i'per'ri. After a hundred yards over rocks and through dense brush, they gave it up as a bad job and trudged back to watch Lesser Mother administering one of her legendary beatings. There'd be no Ta'i'per'ri tracking until the show ended, so they leaned on spears and scratched pelts, listening to the dull thud of cudgel blows, grunts, gasps and moans, and were damn glad it wasn't them.

The hapless male, doubled over, tried to gasp something, but the thudding blows had knocked breath from his scrawny body. He staggered as cudgel met ribs, then went to one knee under a sharp blow to the side of the head. As Lesser Mother drew back for another swing, he managed to point with a shaking finger at the heavens. Everyone looked where he was pointing but could see nothing. The beating resumed with even more ferocity.

By this time the Ta'i'per'ri had once again reached the limits of his feeble memory and slowed to an ambling gait, still moving southwards.

He had hardly settled into his walk when a sizzling, blue-white bolt of lightning lanced down, hitting a tree somewhere behind with an echoing report and he was off again, as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. Smoking pieces of stump had landed in coarse, dry grass and a brush fire seemed to explode from everywhere at once, almost instantly forming a wall of flame behind predators and intended prey.

Lesser Mother left off flailing and the hunting party decamped at incredible speed for a rock promontory several hundred yards away. They made it with only seconds to spare as a brisk breeze sprang up, fanning the fire into a sudden conflagration. As they cowered in rocks, coughing, wheezing and pawing at eyes, Lesser Mother showed incredible determination and single-mindedness by giving her hapless victim a few more whacks.

For the fleeing Ta'i'per'ri, it was a near thing. Several miles passed under increasingly-sore paws and it became clear even to him that he could not outrun the advancing wall of flame. He was panting, slobbering and staggering when, at the edge of highland plains, he encountered a steep slope and went over, ass over teakettle, fetching up in a cloud of bark, twigs and fur against a large tree several hundred yards down.

He lay at the base of his natural fire break for nearly an hour, catching his breath, collecting what little sense he possessed and completely forgetting why he'd come this way in the first place.

At last, with late afternoon shadows lengthening, the sore and stiff Ta'i'per'ri contemplated the climb to the plateau. It wouldn't have been a favored option at the best of times and rolling hundreds of feet down a rocky slope had made this far from the best of times. Taking the path of least resistance, he started downhill. It took him nearly three hours to make his way down to fertile lowlands, far from his normal habitat.

But then, as though to prove fate rewarded abused Ta'i'per'ris , he spotted the most beautiful sight his weary old eyes had ever beheld. Not 30 feet from where he had emerged, towering nearly eight feet and nearly 17 feet in diameter at ground level, was what had to be the mother of all Erh'w'inn hills. Completely forgetting his misfortunes of the afternoon, he planted his backside with an audible thump on rich grass and, oblivious to an almost immediate sting on his ample rump, gave the hill a sharp tap with heavy foreclaws. Upon the instant a phalanx of Erh'w'inns erupted, antennae and pincers waving, orange- and yellow-spotted black bodies distended and glistening. To a human exo-entomologist, they would have been a beautiful and fascinating sight as they drew into a tight military formation and prepared to battle for their homeland.

The Ta'i'per'ri never considered, as he ate them, their beauty or social precision. His right forepaw made contact with the Erh'w'inn hill in a cloud of dust and shattered plant fibre that sprayed out in a wide arc, opening galleries to the fading light. Aware that night was rapidly coming on, the Ta'i'per'ri began to gobble as many as he could lap up with his rough, sticky tongue. As he scrabbled in the hill, tearing out great chunks, a pheromone battle cry rang through the vast citadel. Legions of Erh'w'inns formed and marched to glory as Ta'i'per'ri chow. But as many as were eaten managed to sink mandibles into the haunches of the feeding beast, and whip scorpion-like stingers into flesh.

The happily feeding Ta'i'per'ri, twitching his rump every so often to dislodge some of the attacking Erh'w'inns, never felt the sting that passed deadly plague as different from any other. It was just one of a mass of stings that began to bother him a little.

Finally satiated, he heaved himself to his feet, gave his rump a thorough shake, and wandered off, still chewing succulent Erh'w'inns.

Something in the sky momentarily caught his attention and he glanced up, spotting a new, very bright star moving rapidly across the clearing heavens.

A few miles away, at the edge of the high plateau, the hunting party had also spotted the new star. The beaten one, barely able to stand, managed a small smile of satisfaction through his terror as the rest were transfixed by the horrible portent. Spears and ropes hit the ground and most of the party followed them, groveling and calling the name of S'Alan'Drith, Goddess of Fire Stars. Lesser Mother, though she kept her feet, laid scent in a long puff. Rich, musky odor heightened terror and the rest hit their knees, howling and beseeching S'Alan'Drith.

Drifting in eerie silence, New Star disappeared below the horizon as they waited in terror for fire, wind, heaving earth and huge waves that legends said towered as high as the great plains. Dusk deepened and cool wind riffled fur, but not even Lesser Mother dared speak. Nearly an hour passed, then one, with a strangled cry, pointed behind. There it was again, even brighter, hurtling along an invisible heavenly road. It was, in a way, more bothersome than a great conflagration. Legends were perfectly clear. When S'Alan'Drith was angered, stars turned molten and fell to ground. Heavens were split by fire and tempests raged, oceans rose up and covered the land, a fearsome darkness and cold descended upon Jevon.

None of which seemed to be happening.

They watched the new star out of sight over the horizon, and, at last, Lesser Mother, voice betraying nervousness, gave guttural orders. The band would make camp where it stood, and continue the next morning on the trail of the Ta'i'per'ri. The one that got away, she remarked, belting the lumped-up male with her cudgel. It made a flat, heavy thump and Lumpy cringed, whimpering and touching knees in submission. Lesser Mother considered belting him again, then, to his clear relief, gave it up and set about directing the rest in their setup. It took less than an hour to get the camp established and everyone bedded down, but 34 pair of nervous eyes followed New Star when it passed overhead once again.

A hundred miles to the south, in the great city of Ah'n'thee'ah, some 50,000 who had at first thronged streets in terror at the appearance of New Star were again going about their business, though not without many apprehensive glances at skies now cleared of cloud.

It was a strange, uneasy night all over Jevon, and there was hardly an Err'th'tres'tuh anywhere who didn't greet dawn with gladness. In the brightening morning, New Star faded nearly from sight. It was still there, to be sure, a ghostly white object moving silently across the brilliant blue sky, but somehow much less threatening in daylight.

On the high plateau, the hunting party struck camp, filing slowly and carefully down the slope recently traversed at such speed by their quarry.

Far below, the Ta'i'per'ri was not having a good morning, having greeted dawn with a thumping headache and a weak, hot feeling all over his ample body. He tottered from bushes where he'd spent the night. The notion of stopping by the hill for breakfast made even his stomach heave. His headache intensified along with a raging thirst. Hesitantly, he let his long, caked tongue slide between grey, flabby lips to flop on dew-wet grass. Moisture tasted almost impossibly sweet and he began to lap furiously, slobbering cakes of goo. Head pounding, he shuffled along, dragging his tongue through grass, oblivious to tiny cuts from razor edges. In great forests of his pelt, flea-like insects absorbed billions of plague viruses with their morning meals. Their host was far too involved in his frantic quest for water to flail at them with his tail, roll about on the earth or scratch on a tree, so they feasted in peace, abdomens swelling with rich, red, poison-laden blood.

It was about midmorning and the Ta'i'per'ri had come to a stop, tongue lolling, eyes rheumy and glazed, sides heaving with each painful breath, when the hunting party came upon him.

They stopped just inside the treeline, licking their lips at the sight of their prey.

Godesses, did he ever look good.

Lesser Mother was in no mood to waste time.

"You and you," she hissed, pointing to the two largest, "go that way and that way and don't make any noise. Get on either side of him. You, you little shit (indicating Lumpy), get ready to go in from the front. And if you fuck up this time, I'm really going to beat your little pecker right through your asshole. You're gonna wish you were never pouched, got it?"

Lumpy cringed. He got it.

"The rest of you spread out and don't make any fucking noise," Lesser Mother whispered. "This bastard is ours."

"Take him alive?" one asked deferentially, quickly touching knees when that baleful gaze swung his way.

Lesser Mother considered it, then nodded.

"Alive," she said. "If we can. You, pouch-piss..."

Lumpy cringed again.

"You take the rope. If you get close enough, get it on him."

Lumpy touched his knees and licked his lips. He had no doubts as to his fate if he didn't get close enough. Grimly and silently, he unslung rope that had been looped lanyard-style over his shoulder and fashioned a noose. Then he stood very still, bones aching, and waited while his companions made their way silently through bushes. A few minutes later they had the hapless Ta'i'per'ri in a pincer.

The beast, feet splayed, sides heaving and emitting fountains of slobber, didn't seem to even notice his would-be killers.

"Alright, you," Lesser Mother said with a horrid glare that made Lumpy want to pee, "get out there and get a rope on him. The rest of you get ready. If he bolts, he better not get far. And if anybody fucks up..." She hefted her cudgel, a short Ti'ah'ba limb with a heavy fungal growth at one end, and waved it threateningly. Lumpy shuddered, recalling the feel of the damn thing, and the rest shifted nervously, recalling sounds it made on Lumpy.

Sick with apprehension, he edged into the meadow, expecting the Ta'i'per'ri to instantly bolt. But the beast seemed oblivious to approaching danger. It was becoming obvious the Ta'i'per'ri had no intention of going anywhere and Lumpy's confidence increased.

Goddesses, this was going to be easy.

Perhaps it was some reward. He'd been unjustly beaten the day before, perhaps the goddesses had decided to make him a hero. He'd go home in triumph. Lesser Mother would tell Clan Mother of his prowess. Perhaps he would even be given to a young female who would use him. He quivered at the thought. Perhaps even t'vonn'naa's'nell'Lallanee, with the orange eyes and sleek body. N'aa''Lallanee who would undoubtedly be a Lesser Mother and, perhaps, even one day be Clan Mother. He could almost see her, bathed in the light of a taper, slowly unwinding her kirtle to show him her virgin pouch. Bending over to mark him with scent. He swallowed with a dry throat and licked his lips.

Goddesses...

He had a stupendous erection and was losing concentration. If the Ta'i'per'ri escaped there'd be no triumphant homecoming, no Giving Ceremony, no gazing upon t'vonn'naa's'nell'Lallanee's pouch and no scenting. Just another sordid, dreary beating while his fellows stood about and scratched un-lumped pelts.

By this time Lumpy was within a few feet of the Ta'i'per'ri and, incredibly, the beast still did not seem to notice him.

Goddesses, it couldn't possibly be better.

Four yards, three, two... A slobbering sigh from his intended victim stopped him less than a yard away, nose quivering and whiskers twitching. After an agonizing moment, clammy with apprehension and excitement, he carefully sank toes in soft meadow soil. The Ta'i'per'ri raised a pair of bloodshot eyes.

This would have to be it. He wouldn't get so much as an uh'nn'tt'h'unn-length closer without spooking his quarry.

He sprang, slinging his noose over the Ta'i'per'ri's head in a single motion, then dug heels in and snapped it tight about the hapless beast's neck. The Ta'i'per'ri let out a feeble whuff but, rather than bolting as Lumpy expected, collapsed with a huge slobbering breath. Lumpy shortened his grip on the rope and grabbed rank Ta'i'per'ri hair.

"Got him!" he squealed. "Got him!"

In an instant comrades were throwing ropes over the Ta'i'per'ri, lashing the beast's legs together and tying its mouth shut. Then, with their prey helpless, they gathered around Lumpy, hero of the hour, and pounded his back in glee. It hurt like hell, but Lumpy took it with a pleased smile. Even Lesser Mother gave him a grudging accolade.

"Good work, pouch-liner," she managed. She had a coarse mouth.

As their little celebration wound down, they slipped a pole through the hapless beast's feet. Slung upside down, he was hoisted by triumphant hunters and borne towards the ocean, three day's march away.

High overhead, the cold eye of a drone recorded the scene, but nothing suggested anything out of the ordinary and Claus never brought it to the attention of humans who now orbited Jevon.

HUMANS TWO

Santa Maria
In orbit around Jevon
July 24
524 AW
2667 AD

She had been Out, and had come back. After more than five centuries, Santa Maria's neural net had kicked in on schedule and made the command gallery habitable. She knew, before she turned a shower on, that the water would be hot.

She didn't know how much it would hurt.

The finest spray felt like a million knives flaying skin from bone. Alone on cold plastic tile, still the only "living" thing on Santa Maria, Ocean-Jade Su-Yin Hemmingway gave in and screamed.

It was nearly an hour before she managed to get a tube of soup into her shriveled stomach and, pain eased by drugs and simply moving, make her way to the wardroom.

Okay, it had worked.

Or at least, it appeared to have worked.

She had no reason to be sure Santa Maria had reached Jevon. Perhaps something had gone wrong and they were sailing through interstellar space, light years from any habitable planet. Maybe her pod really had been defective. Maybe she'd only been Out a few days or weeks and hadn't even left the solar system.

"Claus?" she croaked. Her throat was incredibly sore. More expensive neural nets on earth were capable of reading brain impulses that drove speech and could communicate with people via tiny receivers planted in the skull's mastoid process, but a combination of security concerns and cost-cutting had left Greenweb's mission with a primitive, verbal interface.

- Here.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes in the moment of truth.

"Are we at Jevon?"

-- Yes.

She shuddered and the room spun.

It had worked.

"Migod, I'm 512 years old."

--547.

Oh, yes, 512 plus the 35 she had been at the beginning of the voyage. She was now 547 years old. Talk about not looking your age.

"We're all okay? Dev? Is Dev okay?"

- We're in orbit around Jevon. New Birmingham Township is status green.

"Thank god."

She would visit Dev's pod, as soon as she had time. Claus' report was reassuring, but she wouldn't feel right til she saw the actual pod. In fact, she wouldn't be confident their dream was realized until she felt strong arms around her on the threshold of their new home.

God, it had worked. They'd done it. The greatest voyage in human history was over and, in a matter of days, they would be the first humans to set foot on a brand new, earthlike planet.

But wait.

Why say that New Birmingham was green? Why not just say that the ship and its entire cargo had made the journey safely?

"Why... why do you say it that way? Others aren't?"

-- New London has been destroyed and sealed off.

"What do you mean 'destroyed'?"

-- There was a shield interruption 214 years ago. We were exposed for two tenths of a second and got hit.

"How big?"

-- Pea-sized.

Ocean-Jade shivered and thought for a moment that she was going to be sick. Their lives had for so long been hanging on a thread. Claus' defense network had been probing constantly, once every nanosecond, for anything large enough to penetrate their shield. Small objects would have been pulverized by a powerful laser or, if too large, vaporized in a 50 megaton hydrogen bomb blast. A pea-sized meteorite should have been vaporized, but the shield had flickered and in a split second a tiny cosmic pebble slipped through to strike the ship at nearly a quarter the speed of light.

For the souls of New London Township, the drug that sent them Out had also sent them to death. It would be particularly bad news for Georgi Malakov, assigned to New London Township. Fortunately he had not been particularly close to the doomed souls since CENADMIN duties had kept him from the many New London meetings and socials prior to embarkation.

Ocean-Jade shuddered. It could have been her. For some 2,000 colonists, going Out had been the last thing they ever did.

"Show me."

A grey, featureless wall at the end of the wardroom shimmered and seemed to disappear, leaving her looking in to a pod bay. Close to her vantage point a wall of pods looked like a gigantic, seared honeycomb. Towards the bay's far side was complete chaos. Scraps of charred pods and seared body parts lay everywhere in a jumble of wiring, twisted plates and electronics. Stars in a house-sized hole wheeled with the slow spin of Santa Maria.

"How many warheads expended?" she asked, feeling sick.

- Thirty six. Nine hundred sixty four available.

Thirty six times over the course of the centuries-long voyage a 50-megaton blast had eliminated whatever waited to obliterate them in a searing fireball.

"Gather up what you can and put them in the main cargo lock. We'll have a funeral service later."

- I'll take care of it.

It was time to take a look at humanity's new home.

"Now show me Jevon," she whispered, taking a firm grip on the arms of her chair. Viewscreen technology, while some years out of date at the time of installation (more cost-cutting), was good enough to make it seem as though the room opened directly on whatever was being viewed. Suddenly it was as though her chair floated over a green, white and blue orb that looked like an old hologram of earth towards the end of the 20th century.

"It's beautiful," she gasped. "take me closer."

Her view shifted to some 40,000 feet from the surface. Directly below, an immense continent, partially hidden by swirls of white cloud, lay cloaked in green, save for streaks of grey and brown she took to be mountain ranges. She took a deep. shuddering breath, willing her heart to slow.

More than 500 years to travel 50 light years and at last the prize lay before them. As she wiped tears and feasted her eyes on the achingly beautiful planet, Santa Maria crossed Jevon's terminator and twilight became night. Lightning flickered in a vast, swirling storm, but otherwise the unspoiled world lay cloaked in pure darkness.

Ocean-Jade drew a long, shuddering breath. She hadn't realized she'd been barely breathing as humanity's destiny unfolded below. So many centuries, such a vast risk, and now, to find this. So beautiful and completely unspoiled.

Greenweb could be so proud of itself.

The greatest gamble in human history had paid off.

But, some five centuries after the huge ship had left the solar system, carrying philosopher-colonists to the stars, did Greenweb still exist? The net's first job, on establishing Santa Maria's orbit around Jevon, had been to send a message to the solar system. But even at the speed of light it would be nearly 50 years before it was received. Ongoing data they'd been receiving would now be 50 years out of date. And that was only if there were someone still on earth to receive and transmit.

Never mind Greenweb.

Did humanity itself still exist?

"Claus, what about Earth?"

- The last transmission was Aug. 3, 2187.

"What? 2187? What happened?"

- Transmission was steady from 2154 to '65. The uplink failed in September 2165 and wasn't back up til August 2166. A lack of funding was cited for the delay. Transmissions were spotty after that until November 25, 2168 when the uplink failed again. It was never restored.

"I thought you said the last transmission was in 2187."

- Last message was from an amateur who hacked transmission codes in 2184 and sent several messages over a three-year period.

"A hacker? Who?"

- He identified himself as Hung-Rogue Warrior.

"What in the world did he transmit?"

- Scatalogical diatribes along with observations on the physical assets of female acquaintances, size of his member, and his ability to completely satisfy you. If he had a chance, of course.

"And in 2187 he just quit?"

- He said he was really bored talking to a bunch of corpsicles.

"Corpsicles?"

- It wasn't original. A comedian named Dennie Carpenter first applied it to colonists in 2155.

"So it took them what... 23 years to just forget about us?"

- It was a fast-paced world.

Good Lord. Greenweb had not long survived the departure of Santa Maria. Without its incredibly charismatic leader and a unifying mission, it had fallen victim to what must have been the greatest post-production depression in history.

Leaving what?

They might never know. With the advent of powerful radars in the 1940s, earth had temporarily become one of the brightest radio sources in the galaxy. But by the early part of the Twenty-first century human communications had gone to satellites, cable and tight-beamed signals. If nobody was sending signals to them, Earth would be shrouded in electronic darkness. Well, there'd be plenty of time later to study what transmissions they had.

"This time we'll do it right," she whispered. "Okay, Claus, I've seen enough for now."

The image faded to a dull gray sheet.

But what was that?

Just before she shut down the view, Santa Maria had passed over the edge of the massive storm system. She'd gotten a momentary glimpse of pristine darkness, so unlike the incredible glare of earth at night. But there had been something else.

"Claus, put Jevon back."

The screen went to a nearly featureless black.

But there in the darkness was the pinpoint of light that had caught her attention.

Forest fire?

No, there was another one. And another. Spread out in a line, perhaps 20 miles apart, leading to a much larger point of light falling quickly behind, barely visible through a break in clouds.

"Oh, God," she said aloud, "Show me the big light. Get me closer."

Even as she gazed at it in growing consternation, her view zoomed and resolved the large light into two, side by side. A regular trail of lights leading to two very large lights. It could only be a civilization.

"Dear God."

It was impossible. Or nearly so. That's what the actuarial gurus of earth had come up with. Odds of billions to one. Incalculable, given data they had to work with.

Oh, God, what a crushing disappointment.

So far and now this. How could this have happened? And now what?

Greenweb was quite clear on the last question. If a less developed civilization were encountered, the scientific nucleus of the mission would be revived and given as much time as needed to completely study and analyze. From afar. There was to be no direct contact. Once the studies were complete, the mission would head for the next target. The science team would go back Out, followed by the mission crew and four of the "crypt kicker five". Then the fifth. The fifth was Ocean-Jade Su-Yin Hemmingway. Once again, fifth and last.

Recently-consumed soup rose in the back of her throat.

"Why didn't you tell me right away?"

-- You needed time to settle in and get oriented. I didn't think you were ready.

Neural nets were capable of thinking at a human level, and perhaps even beyond, but, perhaps as a legacy from generations of murderous computers of science fiction, humans jealously guarded decision-making power. Was Claus within his rights not to volunteer the information?

Not for the first time she wondered whether she should have gotten a personal net. Personal nets, known as "Persnets", could act as memory bank, personal secretary, record-keeper and confidante, but most people eschewed them as too intrusive and far too great a personal privacy risk, relying instead on public nets. There had been several huge scandals when the Persnets of celebrities were hacked and dumped. She had been just a child, but she could remember, following the fall of Federated North America President Sid Wreathbotham in the Owl Cub scandal, seeing vids of hospital waiting rooms filled with Persnets owners wanting them removed.

But a Persnet, if properly set up, would have been aware of the problem and notified her immediately, no matter what Claus thought.

"In future, don't withhold relevant material, okay?"

-- Very well.

It was important to get the mission on the right footing, and Ocean-Jade, along with other members of CENADMIN and the Greenweb Mission Steering Group (GMSG) on earth had decided that Claus would not be allowed decision-making powers once the first human was back in. Perhaps they had been a bit sloppy and not clearly defined what constituted a "decision". You couldn't have the neural net babbling in your ears constantly, so it was set up to only speak when spoken to. Claus had used that as the rationale for not divulging information immediately.

"What are they? Show me."

--This was recorded about 12 hours ago.

Her view shifted to daytime as the neural net gave her a view from a spotter drone flying silently over verdant countryside. The telescopic lens put her about 30 feet above a small group of bipedal, humanoid creatures. Some were pushing crude, wheeled carts while others, many bearing heavy packs, trudged along the ruts. Smaller ones cavorted around elders, who generally ignored them.

"Closer."

Her vision shifted and it was as though she was hanging just over the their heads. Seen from this range, they were strikingly human. Noses wider than most human noses, but not markedly so. Eyes perhaps smaller than normal human eyes, but again, not markedly. Lightly covered with silver-grey fur. Opposable thumbs.

And marsupial. There, walking near the back of the group, were two females obviously bearing young in pouches exposed by "windows" in tunics. The sociologist in her noticed that two others who seemed to be female did not have the window. And females, none of whom pushed carts or carried packs, were all considerably larger than males.

Perhaps it was anthropomorphizing, but they seemed happy. Two youngsters bumped an adult female, who cuffed them playfully and sent them, laughing, on their way. One of the others spoke and females broke into laughter. A youngster sitting on the tail of one of the carts put a curious instrument to her mouth and females laughed even harder.

Ocean-Jade realized she was smiling.

She turned her attention to the carts. They were constructed of rough-hewn wood, but wheels were banded with what looked like crudely-hammered iron rims and heavy iron brackets were nailed to corners. Most, save those that looked like large barrels on wheels, were piled high with goods. Pots, pans, bolts of cloth, some casks and a few heavy cauldrons.

Trade goods. The huge barrels were likely filled with spirits.

This was a caravan of traders, headed to some market.

Words to an ancient folk song suddenly rang in her mind: "Are you goin' to Scarborogh Fair..."

She would have to discover where they were going and name it Scarborough. Her gift to sociologists and geographers. A place already named.

The group was passing a small meadow by the roadside when a female tossed a brightly-colored piece of fabric to the younger ones, who began a boisterous game of what looked for all the world like tag, with the carrier as "it". The caravan stopped as adults watched, some laughing in delight as first one, then another was "it". Ocean-Jade found herself laughing along with them, and pulling for one youngster who wore a purple-colored ribbon around her head.

But did it have to be "her"? Who said a completely alien species would have twenty-second century human concepts of masculinity and feminity? Hell, some human civilizations had featured males in elaborate costuming. Maybe this was a young "man".

But no, Ribbon Child also wore a wide kirtle around her midsection, over her tunic. Larger ones, presumably female and far fewer in number, were wearing the kirtles, which appeared to be for the sole purpose of pouch covering. The only exceptions were the two carrying young in pouches exposed by rectangular cutouts. The kirtles seemed more than just a costume accessory. Possibly a social taboo against looking at a pouch unless there were youngsters inside? Like human breast feeding in public?

But something was wrong. Two females were staring directly up at Ocean-Jade. One grabbed the elbow of a third, said something, and pointed right at her. The third, brow wrinkled in puzzlement, shaded her eyes and peered.

Oh, Jesus, they'd spotted the drone.

"How long have the drones been out?"

-- This was day six.

"Pull back any that could possibly be spotted from the ground."

-- Done.

All over the planet, she knew, low-flying drones would now be pulling upwards, folding wings and rocketing clear of atmosphere.

"How many have been seen?"

-- Thirteen definites and six probables.

In a millisecond the net had reviewed all surveillance tapes from all drones and isolated instances in which drones had been or appeared to have been spotted.

Nineteen, worst case. Would there be stories about a new life form in the skies? Had they already caused a tear in the strange civilization's social fabric?

They should have thought of that. They should have realized that there might be problems and instructed Claus to pull back any drone surveyors at the first sign of a civilization. But then, what were the odds? This was the first extraterrestrial civilization ever discovered.

She wondered why Claus had not thought to do that. However, no harm done, probably. A few wandering bands of Woollies -- she smiled as the name flashed into her mind -- had spotted a drone or two. Drones normally flew at an altitude of better than a mile, so no real detail would have been visible from the ground.

Perhaps they'd just started a legend of some huge bird. At any rate, her little caravan hadn't seemed alarmed, so there had likely been little harm done.

But this left Greenweb with only satellites. And the Santa Maria itself. It was time to bring the other four members of the Crypt Kicker Five back In.

"Are you bringing In the rest of CENADMIN?"

-- Your decision. We have an anomalous situation.

The word "situation" had crept into widespread overuse nearly two centuries before Claus had been created and had never really crept out. Claus, knowing how it irritated Ocean-Jade, seemed to take delight in using it. She hesitated. Unknown to anyone else in the mission, including fellow CENADMIN members, Ocean-Jade had a one-time veto bestowed upon her by Joe Green himself. Designed to cope with the completely unforseen, it gave her option of re-directing the mission without bringing anyone else In.

It didn't seem fair. Here she was, barely In from more than 500 years' sleep and faced with perhaps the most momentous decision in human history. But how much of a decision was it, really? They owed it to humanity, if there were any left, to send as much data on a new civilization as they could.

Was there any reason to deviate from the mission profile?

"Bring them In," Ocean-Jade sighed, "everything look good with them?"

-- Everything looks fine. Beginning revival.

"Let's bring in the Leggem team, too."

-- Revival is underway so this has to be a command team decision.

"Alright. But we'll need them."

How bizarre that the civilization team, the biggest joke of all contingency plans, would be the one to come In first after the Crypt Kickers. The "Little Green Men" team -- LGM, or Leggem -- had been a planning committee afterthought. Slightly more than a hundred biologists, historians, sociologists, exobiologists, geologists, paleontologists and experts in assorted other disciplines would be brought In, compile a comprehensive study, then go Out again while Santa Maria launched a new centuries-long search for a home uninhabited by any civilized species.

The other four members of the Crypt Kickers would be awhile reviving. Muscles protesting every move, she left the wardroom for her own cabin, last seen a few hours and more than 500 years before.

God, why had she done this?

It was so weird to think that she should have been long gone by now. In the stone age, the average life span had probably been less than two dozen years. By the middle ages it was in the mid-40s. In the year Santa Maria set sail from earth, the average human in an affluent country could look forward to 150 years. The record had been 212 years, 13 days. If she had reached a record age back on earth, she would still have been dead 335 years. Other than those on Santa Maria, everyone she knew was centuries gone.

Even the new world colonists in the Sixteenth century had been able to think that, back in the old country, friends and family were still alive. But Ocean-Jade and fellow travelers were truly orphans of the stars.

And how much older would she be when they finally found a new home?

There were backup stars on the list, should Jevon prove unsuitable. Rho Coronae Borealis was just one of many and yet, after long years during which Greenweb planners had thought only of Rho Coronae and Jevon, she felt a wrench at the thought of abandoning it. Her career had kept her far too busy to have children, but she imagined her feelings were like those of a mother abandoning a child. A pair of eyes flashed into her mind. Large, haunted eyes in an emaciated face at the gates of Canton that summer morning. To her just a few years before, but lost in mists of centuries. The starving woman placing her newborn child in the shadows of the wall with dozens of others, too weak and sick to even cry. She could still hear her father's gentle voice as he put his arm around her shaking shoulders and led her back to the family's tiny compound deep in the bowels of the teeming city.

"They don't know, but nobody can take the children in," he had said, "it isn't allowed."

The eyes had never left Ocean-Jade, and in her fantasies she had long since adopted the baby and sheltered it from the horrors of Twenty-second century earth. Hardly a day had ever passed that she didn't wonder what had become of mother and child. Now, even with the beautiful planet beneath her feet, she fancied she at last felt a little of the woman's anguish. She would have given 10 planets to feel her father's arms again. But he had died in the great influenza pandemic of 2145, the year she had been at Caltech, finishing her PhD and already well on her road to the stars.

This was surely the most terrible one-way trip in human experience. The sailors on Columbus' ships, the conquistadors of Cortes, Magellan's men - all had at least some chance of being reunited with loved ones. Each man could believe that, while others died in faraway places, he might see home again. True, she had CENADMIN and Devlin, and would one day have friends in New Birmingham township, but never again would she so much as set eyes on Earth.

She was nursing a coffee and a headache for which she refused to take drugs when the other four crypt kickers came in, naked and damp from showers. Wincing, they eased into chairs.

It must have been awful for Malakov and Sally Chen-Martendale to have survived the sleep and discovered they were in too much pain to even hug each other.

"God," Steele croaked, obviously having trouble speaking with a sore throat, "we've got to redesign these damn seats."

"We've got to redesign everything," Sally said, gasping as tender skin touched chair, "everything sucks."

"I see you all opted for the natural look," Ocean-Jade said.

"Even the tunics hurt too much," Savannah confirmed. "I couldn't possibly put it on. I see you couldn't, either."

"No," Ocean-Jade said, "guess we're going to have to put that one in the colonizing manual."

"Yep," Steele said, "first few hours you're going to be a nudist colony. At least, I hope it's just the first few hours."

"I think so," Ocean-Jade said, "I'm not as sensitized now. I could probably get a tunic on if I really had to."

"Anyone else get this itching?" Steele asked.

"Me," Malakov muttered, "I've got itching I can't believe."

"It goes away," Ocean-Jade said. "It's the first thing to go."

"Damn good thing."

"Don't scratch it," Sally said, "Makes it worse."

"Too late," Malakov said, displaying livid scratches on his left arm, "you should've told me that an hour ago."

"Anyone for coffee before we get going?" Ocean-Jade asked, smiling at their looks of horror.

Nobody else spoke. Waking up from more than 500 years of sleep didn't enhance communications skills.

"Okay, anybody not know what's going on?" she said finally.

"Jesus," Steele said, "how'd we get so lucky?"

"This can't be happening," Malakov managed, "it just can't. The odds..."

"The odds, unfortunately, don't help," Ocean-Jade said, "I'm sorry, I know this is a shock. But we've stumbled on an iron-age civilization, by the looks of it so far, and everything is obviously on hold."

"We'd better get out the Leggem Team," Sally offered, wincing as she stretched her arms. "Oh," she muttered, "Oh, my God..."

"I think that would be best," Ocean-Jade said.

"So are you saying this changes anything?" Malakov said.

The crypt kickers exchanged glances.

"Our mission profile says it does," Ocean-Jade said, after an uneasy pause. "We gather data on the planet and its inhabitants, send it all home, then move on."

Even as she spoke came a skittering, nameless dread. She'd have to go Out again.

"I don't see it," Steele said. "The profile was written 50 light years away, 500 years ago. If anyone is still back there..."

"Other than descendants of Hung-Rogue Warrior," Sally said wryly. Obviously one of her first questions had paralleled Ocean-Jade's.

What of earth?

What was still there 50 years ago?

And does anybody still care about us?

"I doubt he ever got to breed," Malakov said, "but, okay, other than his ilk, it would take us 100 years just to get an answer if, and I say if, we asked the question. I think we're on our own."

"We all agreed..." Ocean-Jade began.

"Look," Steele said, "I know Web set out the mission profile if we found a civilization. But who ever thought we would? The idea of abandoning Jevon as a home came up a long time ago and far away and none of us ever thought we'd actually find anything like these... these..."

"Woollies."

"Woollies?"

"I call them that," Ocean-Jade said.

"Okay, this is a big planet and there aren't all that many of these, ah, Woollies. Claus' initial surveys found several continents where there don't seem to be any at all. I think we should at least consider the ramifications of going ahead with the primary settlement profile."

"We can't," Ocean-Jade said. "Imagine the effect on these creatures if we suddenly land amongst them with our technology. Look, you're right, the mission profile was drawn up long ago. I agree. But we're still Greenwebbers, dammit."

"I'm with Mal, at least provisionally," Savannah said. "I don't think we can necessarily tie ourselves down to a policy that's been dead and gone for 500 years. That's like asking Greenweb, when we left the system, to be bound by something the Elizabethans thought would be a good idea. We should at least look at the possibilities."

"That wasn't your line at Third Webfest," Ocean-Jade said.

"Now it is," Savannah said. "I just feel differently about it. Look, it was all very well and fine to sit around a bunch of tables and blather about doing the noble thing if we encountered a lesser civilization. But nobody ever thought we really would. Nobody."

"Okay. Sally?" Ocean-Jade said.

Sally Chen-Martendale looked troubled.

"We have to take it a step at a time," she said. "I don't think we should start the Big Wakey-Wakey right now. I say we bring In Leggem and see what we come up with. We don't have to decide right now. We've been waiting 500 years, we can wait til all the facts are in."

"Jevon is just about perfect for us," Steele said. "If, and I say if we decide to stay, we might find there are places we could establish without disrupting anything. Remember, we'd be stewards. We won't be abusing this world."

It wasn't the point that troubled Ocean-Jade, it was the point of view. It seemed that Savannah and Sally were considering joining Steele and abandoning the mission profile in favor of settlement.

"I just don't see what we're going to have to consider," she said. "The profile is clear. If we find a civilization, the Leggem Team does a complete workup, we send it all back to Earth, and we go on our way."

"We can leave the ... Woollies ... alone and still colonize," Steele said.

"We'd wreck this civilization," Ocean-Jade countered.

"Not necessarily, but it's something we can talk about later."

"Every time an advanced civilization has contacted a lesser civilization, the lesser one has been irreparably damaged," Ocean-Jade said. "Look at the Fed. When whites landed on the Canadian coast, they were welcomed with open arms by aboriginals. Look at what happened after that."

"Doesn't mean anything," Steele said. "Those were ignorant Seventeenth century sailors. We're Greenweb. We're aware of the dangers and we'll avoid them. All we would need is... would be... an area uninhabited by Woollies, and we'd be fine. We wouldn't be taking their land."

"Mal's right," Savannah said. "Not only were the sailors ignorant, they were being propelled by an overcrowded, avaricious homeland looking for new territory to exploit. They wanted colonies for revenue. We're just looking for a place to start over again. A place we can manage properly, for humanity."

"Right out of the third symposium resolutions," Ocean-Jade said. "Okay, how about Canada itself? And Mexico? You think they ever really had a chance when the United States wanted them in?"

Canada and Mexico, virtually non-extant as separate entities by 2050, were effectively annexed April 1, 2084, in the birth of Federated North America.

"Look," Steele said, "this is all hypothetical, but we could take a continent and seal it off. You know, plant a few legends and myths amongst the, ah, Woollies, and maybe mock up a sea monster or two in case they develop ocean travel and any of them get too close. Anybody ever take Movie History 201? We studied an old film by some guy called Dizzy or something. Had a really neat submarine in it. We could easily do one of those. Look, here's a shot of it. Claus, you know the one, right?"

Upon the instant a hologram hung in the air over the table, showing a scene from Disney's 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea. In the split part of a second, the neural net had gone to its immense data base and found Capt. Nemo's Nautilus bearing down on an Eighteenth century sailing ship, massive green portholes giving it the look of a Cretaceous sea monster.

"I can't believe how you people are talking," Ocean-Jade said at last. "It's like you're not even webbers. Greenweb has not been dead 500 years. Not to us. To us it's yesterday. We have our policy. It should be a simple decision. I say Leggem does its thing, then we head for Herculis."

72 Herculis, spectral class G0, was the first backup destination for Santa Maria. It would mean hundreds more years travel.

"I vote we consider staying here and establishing. There could well be enough room for everyone," Steele said. "Let's go with Sally's take on it and hold off a final decision til Leggem has a chance to find out what the score really is down there."

"Okay," Ocean-Jade sighed, "is that what everyone wants?"

"Yeah," Malakov said after a long pause, "let's have Leggem work them over a bit. Then we can make up our minds."

"Is that the decision?" Ocean-Jade asked.

The other four nodded.

"Okay. Claus, bring In Leggem."

-- On its way.

"Other business," Ocean-Jade said, "defense first. Claus, any threats?"

-- Yes. Cometary body, estimated time of impact two months, three days, 13.4 hours. Estimated impact energy 150 megatons. Probability of impact, 15 per cent. Second cometary body, estimated time of impact six months, 15 days, 3 hours, estimated impact energy 2,000 megatons, probability of impact, five per cent.

"Holy shit," Malakov said, "Looks like we got here just in time, gang."

"Talk about the cavalry galloping in," Sally laughed.

"Claus, have there been others?"

-- This object appears to be part of a larger one that broke up. The associated stream has likely produced numerous impacts.

"Okay, we need to know a bit more," Steele said, "I'm not an astronomer. We need to have specifics. Claus?"

-- Specifically. In this system, as in earth's, debris left from the formation is to be found in a vast belt of objects orbiting at a distance of approximately 2 astronomical units. Some time ago a large object, likely detached from this cloud, entered the neighborhood of Jevon and broke up into a number of smaller objects. These objects and their attending cloud of debris intersect Jevon's orbit every year, producing spectacular meteor showers and, occasionally, a collision with one of the larger bodies in the cloud. At present, two of the larger bodies are nearing Jevon. The first is the more threatening, with an estimated yield of 150 megatons, an estimated time of arrival of two months, three days, 13.4 earth hours and an impact probability of 15 per cent. There is a second body with an estimated time of arrival of six months, 15 days, 3 earth hours, estimated impact energy 2,000 megatons, probability of impact, five per cent. Predictive uncertainties are due to inadequate data as of this report, and unpredictable alterations to orbit as a result of outgassing as the body approaches the star and is warmed.

"Dear God," Sally muttered, "that's incredible."

"Looks like we have a job to do right away," Steele said.

"Well," he added when nobody spoke, "maybe we have a job to do. I mean, the probability of impact isn't high, but we should be prepared to move these things if we have to."

"Talk about weird coincidences," Savannah said, "we not only found a civilization, but got here just in time to save it. Incredible."

"If we save it," Sally said. "these things would probably miss, anyway."

"Actually, this low probability stuff is a real pain," Malakov said. "The question is, do we waste time and resources going out there now, while it would be possible to use a mass driver, or wait til we're sure there's going to be an impact? If we do that, it will probably be too late to use tact and diplomacy, so to speak, with these things. We'd have to nuke them."

This made the Crypt Kickers uncomfortably aware that, deep within Santa Maria, was the deadly cargo intended for just such an eventuality. More than 900 warheads remaining, each the size of a suitcase and packing a 50-megaton wallop, mounted on missiles and ready to go. One, they knew, would already be in firing position. The neural net, had it decided there was an imminent threat, would have fired even before the command team revived to re-take control.

On earth, CADA, the comet/asteroid defence agency, was born after the great impact of 2085, when, on a bright June morning, Houston, Texas, birthplace of man's quest for the stars, disappeared in a 1,000-megaton fireball that killed 12 million outright and doomed more than 600 million more across the planet to death by starvation and exposure as weather patterns hovered for years on the brink of a new ice age. It had been natural for Greenweb to arm Santa Maria with a imposing battery of weapons designed to deflect dangers from humanity's new home.

"What's the matter, Jade?" Sally asked.

"I'm wondering about meddling in the affairs of this planet. Our profile says study and leave. Period. There's no provision for altering the destiny of a sentient species. Any species, for that matter, if it can be avoided."

"So what would you want us to do?" Steele asked, "sit back and let a comet hit Jevon?"

Ocean-Jade shrugged helplessly.

"I don't know what to do," she said. "But if we took any action, we'd be tampering. It would be a clear violation of our mission profile."

"It probably won't come anywhere near, anyhow," Savannah said. "Probabilities are 15 per cent and five per cent. That isn't very high."

"It does bring up a point, though," Malakov said. "Our mission profile was drawn up by a committee more than 500 years ago and 50 light years away and obviously has nothing to do with reality. What did those nummies think the probability of finding a civilization would be? Near zero? Well, we found one. What would be the probabilities that the civilization would be threatened by a comet just as we arrived? A fraction of that. Well, there may be a threat. We've been In for less than a day and we're dealing with things we were never supposed to have to deal with at all. I don't think we can put much stock in the mission profile. I think we're basically on our own."

"Second that," Steele said.

"I don't think we should throw out the baby with the bath water," Sally said. "Jade has a point. We do have a mission profile, and it wasn't drawn up without a lot of thought. We may have to modify it as we go along, but I don't think we should just abandon it."

"But we will have to modify it, at least if these comets turn out to be a real threat," Savannah said. "I couldn't countenance standing by while one of these things smears