How silly, she thought. No one in alien contact is a pilot. If the computer failed we'd all have been in trouble.
As far as she knew, Esther Mein was the only person on Starfarer who knew how to fly spaceships. Every time someone proposed to save money by eliminating human
pilots from the transport runs, the proposal failed. Now J.D. understood why.
The edge of the dock slid past the transparent surface of the observers' circle.
J.D. was free in space.
Starfarer loomed, first a rock face, turning, beyond its support structure, then resolving into a pair of huge rock cylinders that faced her end-on, one spinning clockwise, the other counter-clockwise. Off to one side, the stellar sail gleamed in the sunlight. The sail powered Starfarer's headlong flight from Sirius, toward the cosmic string, toward its plunge into transition.
The Chi's engines vibrated. Their subsonic moan surrounded her. The acceleration pressed her gently toward the straps of her couch. The Chi spun so the observers' circle faced forward, away from Starfarer. The effect was of the acceleration moving around her, pushing her first from the back, then from the side, finally settling her into the cushions. The couch folded at her hips and knees, moving halfway to its chair configuration.
Starfarer fell behind her.
She could not yet pick Nerno's dark little planetoid from the starfield. She felt alone, and isolated.
During her two previous trips on the explorer, she had often come to the circle and sat alone in the transparent chamber to watch the stars. The darkness and the beauty had been soothing. Now, riding the deserted ship away from Starfarer and her colleagues, she felt alone and apprehensive. Her veneer of confidence dissolved, revealing the bravado behind it.
She could feel the presence of her colleagues, watching her, as the public access transmitted her image back to the starship. Instructing the computer to focus the exterior camera on Nerno's ship, J.D. transferred the image-to the public access transmission. Once she herself no longer occupied the center of public attention, she felt easier.
The PA channel reproduced Nerno's planetoid in the center of the observers' circle. Stark white light gleamed
from the silk-filled craters and threw the rocky surface into deep relief. Victoria's image appeared before J.D. The Milky Way shone faintly through the translucent image. The effect intensified J.D.'s impression that she was riding in a ghost ship.
"Want some company?" Victoria said.
"Yes.,,
"About Stephen Thomas Victoria said. "I'm
sorry. There's no excuse for his behavior."
J.D. could think of lots of excuses, or at least lots of reasons, and it surprised her that Victoria apologized for him instead of defending him. But, of course, Victoria did not even know the real reason. J.D. supposed she should tell her, but she could not bring herself to do so.
"He's under a lot of stress." Trying to be tactful, J.D. ended up feeling evasive.
Victoria laughed. "But he thrives on stress. If he doesn't have enough in his life, he does something to stir more up."
J.D. smiled. "A useful trait, thriving on stress. I wish I had a touch of it myself."
"Everything will be all right," Victoria said. "I trust your instincts about Nemo. You were right about Europa and Androgeos."
"I guess I was," J.D. said. "I wish I'd been wrong."
J.D. was the one who had realized how desperately Europa wanted Victoria's transition algorithm: so desperately that she was willing, in effect, to steal it.
"Would you do me a favor?" J.D. asked.
"Of course."
"Ask Zev to stay with you while I'm gone? Divers don't spend much time away from their families."
She remembered how desperately lonely she had been on Starfarer at first, before Zev arrived, before Victoria first kissed her. She had felt like she was starving to death through her skin.
"As good as done," Victoria said.
"Thanks."
"J.D . . ." Victoria said.
"Hmm?"
"Please come back before Starfarer goes into transition."
"I will if I can."
"You have to! It's too risky otherwise. Something might go wrong. You might end up anywhere."
"Victoria, you're scaring me. I'll do my best. I promise."
"I know you will."
Victoria looked like she was about to burst into tears. The change was so sudden and so unexpected that J.D. involuntarily reached toward her. Toward her image. Feeling foolish, J.D. pulled back. It would not have surprised J.D. to be having this conversation with Zev; it did surprise her to be having it with Victoria.
Victoria wiped her eyes. Her chin stopped quivering.
"Sorry," she said, trying to smile. "I didn't mean to do that. I miss you already. I can't imagine She stopped.
"Then don't," J.D. said, chiding her gently. "Imagine me coming home."
Infinity opened the access tunnel, expecting night, and emerged into a white-out.
Thick sloppy clumps of snow slid through the opening onto his face. He was so surprised that he ducked back into the tunnel and let the hatch thunk shut over him.
Snow? It was far too late in the year for snow on Starfarer. When it did snow, it frosted the ground with a light sugar-coating of small, dry, sparkling flakes that sublimed at the first touch of the sun.
Infinity brushed away the clusters of heavy wet snow melting on his shoulders. He touched Arachne, asking for a way to change the weather, demanding an explanation.
What a mess, he thought, when he saw the reply. Arachne tried to cool things down-but now the weather's oscillating between extremes. We're in trouble. If we don't get to 61 Cygni soon, and stay there for a while . . . we're dead.
Arachne could open the sun tubes early and pour heat into campus. The snow would stop . . . and a monsoon would start. Rain and melting snow would saturate the land. The result would be floods, erosion, mudslides. He could tell Arachne to shut off all heat transfer into the ship, to starve the weather of energy. Then they would get a hard freeze. Probably an ice storm. That would be disastrous for the vegetation and the animals.
As far as Infinity could tell, letting the snow fall till the clouds exhausted themselves would cause the least damage.
He was glad the planting had only just started, that the seeds had not had time to germinate. Some of the crops would survive.
They'll survive if this doesn't happen again later in the spring, he thought. Arachne's got to get a chance to stabilize the weather.
He climbed out of the hatch into the snow.
The oranges, Infinity thought. The damned oranges . . . if they freeze, Gerald will love saying "I told you SO."
The snow fell hard and fast. Infinity was only fifty meters from his front door, but he would have been lost without Arachne to guide him home.
He stumbled into his house and closed the door quickly. Esther slept, her snoring a soft buzz. The lights rose.
"Dim!" he whispered.
Esther sat up in bed, blinking in the twilight.
"Hi," she said sleepily. "What happened? You're all wet."
"It's snowing."
He started to shiver. Esther jumped up and hurried to him, pulling the blankets with her. She took off his sodden shirt. He fumbled at the buttons of his jeans. The cold had numbed his fingers, though he had been outside only a few minutes. Esther pushed his hands
away, helped him finish undressing, and wrapped the blanket around them both.
"You're so cold!" She rubbed his back, and warmed his hands between his body and her own. "Come to bed and get warm."
"I can't," he said. "We need to call out everybody, and call in all the slugs-"