Then there was Gwendolyn, the love of his life, the most beautiful girl in the world. All year he had admired her from his seat in the second row of the math class they both shared. She sat four seats ahead on the next row, where he could watch her as the dull teacher droned on and on about the dumbest things, as if anybody had a problem understanding Algebra I. For months he had watched her as she came in and wiggled into her seat, tossed her hair, and glanced around. He always made sure that he was looking elsewhere lest she catch him observing her and embarrass them both. Only on the rarest of occasions would he dare to speak to her; a mumbled “mornin’,” or shy “hello.”
But in the last week she had smiled at him, twice, during class. And she had even made a smart remark as she and her friends walked by him and his friends in the hall. Could it be that she was actually acknowledging his existence?
But any future relationship with Gwendolyn was going to be dashed by this sudden change of plans for his future. How could his parents do this to him? How could they be so cruel?
The stars faded to black as the engines smoothly cut in and the ship started its transition phase. An hour later the Universe returned and strange new constellations shone through the view ports. “See if you can find the navigation points,” Captain Alice Ching said quietly. This first trip out of the Solar System was a risk for all of the crew. Only if they could find three of the Cepheid variables did they have any chance of figuring out where they had come out.
They had built the star drive using the plans in the Message, as the transmission from the stars had come to be known, lacked any underlying principles. It was a pure engineering discipline, untouched by theory. As such they had no way of calibrating the effects of the controls save trial and error. They had used the nominal settings on every control, oriented the ship toward Alpha Centauri and goosed the power until it phased.
“We found three that match those in the database,” Thigby said from the navigational console. “Triangulation says we came, Holy Mother of God, two hundred light-years!” There was a moment of stunned silence as the implications hit them. When news of this got back to Earth the planets would be forgotten. Who would want to continue to struggle to coax desiccated Mars and the rest of the solar family to life when the bounty of the endless stars were there for the taking?
“I know you hate to give her up, Jerry,” his wife said as they looked at the little red convertible in the driveway. He’d just finished giving her a final clean and polish, bringing her faded paint job back to a shallow memory of her former glory. He’d known when he bought her, fresh out of college and flush with money and testosterone, that the paint would fade with time, but what did that matter—the brilliant red color was excitement, danger, and drew him like a moth to flame. She’d given him thousands of miles of enjoyment: Weekends driving through the autumn mountains where colors blazed in a billion shades; long trips to the ocean for surf and swimming; brief journeys up to the slopes for skiing and warm evenings around the bar; and, of course, the daily drives to handle life’s essentials.
But that was before Christa and he were married. That was before he got the job with Provincial Aerospace, the nice house in the suburbs, and the small child on the way. Now the trips to the stores and the errands they had to run required more than the small trunk in the back. And Christa’s swelling belly made getting into the low seats increasingly difficult. Clearly the little red car wasn’t suitable, or even appropriate for him any longer.
“Well,” he replied as he wiped an imagined speck of dust from her bonnet, “It’s time we got something larger. I can’t see three of us in this one.”
Christa placed an arm around his waist and held him close. “I wish we could afford to keep this one, just the same. I know it means a lot to you.”
Means a lot? Well, not really. It was just that he and the car had come so far together, done so much. After all, the car was the first really big item he had even owned in his life. The very first thing that he paid for entirely with his own money; money he had earned himself. Sure, it was just an assembly of metal and plastic, wires and pipes, fabric and foam, but it was also a symbol of where he had been at a specific point in his life. At one time he and the car had been one, and now that time was past. Now he had moved beyond that symbol and was ready to embrace another. There would be some sadness in letting her go, but the time and circumstance were right. He’d be able to handle it.
A horn beeped down the street as another car approached, a young boy hanging out the window. “Here comes the new owner,” Christa said and gave him one last hug before letting go and heading back into the house. “Try not to cry too hard,” she laughed as she closed the door.
Jerry looked at the scrawny kid walking up the driveway, remembering how he had felt when his father had given him his first car. He probably had the same silly smile on his face, the same strain to stay calm and cool, despite the hammering of his heart and the butterflies of excitement in his stomach. He gave the car one last pat on the roof and then turned to the boy. “She’s all yours now, kid. Take care of her.”
The Lector looked at the planet beneath his feet and smiled. It was a pretty nice place, and in a good neighborhood: Most of the nearby stars were remarkably stable and the cometary haloes were respectably small. With any luck the planet should evade any serious mishap for quite a few millennia, at least. “Do you think that we should recommend it?” he asked absently, anxious to get back to watch the Transmission.
“My vote is to let the place develop on its own. I certainly don’t have any interest in handling this one,” the Intercessor spoke impatiently, glancing at the time. He too wanted to return from this useless foray. “As a matter of fact, I question our entire planetary policy. As much as the few remaining traditionalists might like the idea, living on a planet, with all of its attendant problems and risks, is just too damned much trouble. I say we stop the entire program and concentrate on really important things, such as the matter of further research into the Message’s references to its own sources!”
The Lector raised an eyebrow at the pensive governor, expecting the usual argument. “I agree,” the Governor replied amiably. “A few years ago this might have been a promising place for development. But Philip is right; we haven’t the time or the inclination to develop places like this any longer. Mark the rest of the damn planets off our list and move on to the next item. I want to get back to the extra-galactic colony as soon as possible to see the initiation of our Transmission.”
“We will most assuredly have enough time for that,” the Lector advised. The wave front of the Message would be so tenuous by the time it exited the Galaxy that it would not be detectable by any means. In response humanity had decided to rebroadcast the Message, adding in their own developments and discoveries, so that it would reach all within the local group. “None of us want to miss it.”
“You all know that the power for the Transmission will completely wipe out my development budget for the next century at least,” moaned Philip IX, regretting the waste of the suns that would be sacrificed.