She looked down for a moment, then nodded. “What’s going to happen now?” she asked.
“We’ll have a memorial service. I’m leaving Shanks here to work on undoing the damage he did.”
“Alone?” She started down the ladder.
“Not quite.” Mike followed. “Kay Singh is going to stay, too.”
“With Shanks?”
“Yes. I’d probably stay in orbit—I’m not that trusting, myself.”
“Thank goodness,” she said. “If you hadn’t been so paranoid about Shanks, we’d be…” She shivered momentarily. “Some people might want to get their hands on Shanks.”
Mike shrugged. “I suppose another fourteen years of exile in a jungle with that—” he waved a hand toward the colony and Boot Hill, “—on his conscience for the rest of his life might do for punishment.”
“It might.” Nadine sighed. “Well, we did it.”
Mike nodded. He felt curiously empty—the mission was done, the problem solved. “But we paid for it… I hope it was worth it.”
“Mike, I think historians would say this kind of thing is part of the price we pay for not staying home. To those who pay the price, goes the glory. Let’s not demean it with cynicism.”
He looked at her. She was serious—and, he realized, right. He nodded. Then they passed through the lock and waved to the crew below.
The crew of the shuttle Eisenhower; and the other surviving crew members of the Yeager, met them at the base of the shuttle’s leg. An eternity of two weeks ago, Ian had rigged the colony replicator to produce what he called Scotch “fit for The Bishop’s Table.” Now, they found glasses of the amber liquid pressed into their hands as soon as they reached the ground. Mike sniffed it suspiciously, took a tentative sip, nodded, then raised his glass. “To all the people who became part of this world in the struggle to make and keep it.”
“To Dena,” Nadine whispered. Mike gave her a small, sad grin.
People cheered and touched glasses. Beyond them, Wendy flowers peaked through scorched earth and waved seductively in the wind.
Rest easy, Sis, Ian, Mike thought. We’ll finish the job.
