Sy called a holographic starscape display on to the space in front of them. He moved the 3-D pointer to an empty location within the star field. “Would you like to visit the real power center of the Immortals? Then I say that’s where you want to be. Nowhere Station. S-space travel time: less than two months.” Elissa looked puzzled. “But Sy, why would anyone build a Headquarters out there, in the middle of nowhere?”

Sy shook his head. “I can’t answer that.”

Peron was still staring at the display. “We may have to go there to find out. And it won’t be easy. You can be sure that the Immortals don’t want us there — they don’t even want us to know the place exists. You’ve solved the ‘where’ puzzle, Sy, I feel sure of it. But that just leaves a bigger problem: how can we find a way to make the trip, when the whole system is set up to prevent it?”

Sy looked smug. “I told you I’ve been working hard. If we want to make an S-space trip out to Convergence Point, I’ve identified the major problems we’ll have to solve. Solving them, now — that’s another matter, and I’ll need help.” He called out a numbered list onto the display. “First, we have to find the departure time and place of the next starship to Convergence Point. Second, we have to find a way to get ourselves onto that departing starship — preferably in a way no one else will notice. Third, we have to explain our absence, so that no one wonders where we have gone. Fourth, we’ll have to do something with the ship’s crew. Fifth, before we get there we’ll need a plan of action for what we’ll do when we reach Convergence Point. Where do you want to begin?” “Can’t we put the crew in cold sleep and take them with us?” asked Elissa. “That’s my thought. It won’t do them any harm, and it’s a lot better than leaving them somewhere in the Sol system. I’m confident that we can handle the mechanics of the ship — the service robots do almost everything, and we learned the rest on our trip from Cassay. The other problems are not so easy. I’d like your thoughts.”

“The third one — explaining our absence,” said Elissa. “All we need is enough time to get us well on our way to our real destination. Once we’re gone, they’ll never catch us.”

“That’s true. But we don’t want them to know where we’re going. If they find out, they’ll send a radio signal to warn Headquarters we’re coming their way.” “Why should they learn where we’re heading? Jan de Vries already implied that we’re more of a nuisance to him than anything else. If we can show we’ve departed for a plausible place, I don’t think he’ll take much interest. Pentecost would be a natural — it was our home. The most I would expect him to do would be to warn them to watch for our arrival. Can you do a fake data bank entry, indicating that we are shipping out for Pentecost?”

Sy shrugged. “I can try. One nice thing about the information system, it doesn’t expect the sort of changes we’ll be making. The logic is protected against the usual screw-ups and programmer meddling, but not against systematic sabotage. I’ll do it. I’ve learned the software pretty well in the past few weeks.” “Well enough to answer your first question?” asked Peron. “You said it, Sy — the information about starship departure has to be in the data banks somewhere. It’s just a question of finding it. But if anybody can pull it out, you can.” Sy grimaced. “Not without a long, horrible grind.”

“It would be for me or Elissa — but you’ll come up with a smart approach to it.” “Cut out the flattery.”

“I’m serious. And if you can do it, find out when and where. I think I have the key to the problem of how we get on board the starship.”

Sy frowned. “Do you, now? What have I missed?”

“You lack one piece of information. Elissa and I learned this the hard way, and we can vouch for it: there is no way that the crew will stay in S-space for the acceleration phase of their journey. It’s just too damned uncomfortable. They’ll be in cold sleep when the journey begins. See what that means?” He pulled the terminal entry pad closer. “Let me sketch an approach. Then we can look at some timings.”

“T MINUS 4 MINUTES, COUNTDOWN PROCEEDING,” said a disembodied voice. “ — FUEL MASS CHECK IN PROCESS.”

“ — THRUST PROTOCOL COMPLETE.”

“ — CARGO CHECK PROCEEDING.”

“ — OUTBOUND TRAJECTORY TO GULF CITY CONFIRMED AND APPROVED.”

The mechanical voices chimed in one after another. Ward Lunga, ship’s pilot, lay quietly in the suspense tank. He was watching the displays, chatting to co-pilot Celia Deveny and listening with half an ear to the robotic checklist. Full attention was unnecessary. Anomalies would be separately flagged and reported to them.

“T MINUS 180 SECONDS, COUNTDOWN PROCEEDING,” said the voice.

“ — MECHANICAL SYSTEM CHECKS COMPLETE.”

The starship Manta floated in stable orbit about Sol, hovering at a Saturnian Trojan Point. Final countdown for departure was nearly complete.

The nav displays showed a thrust profile that would carry the Manta from the middle Solar System direct to Gulf City, twenty-eight light-years away. The ship still floated in freefall, but in three S-minutes that would be changed to an accelerated outbound trajectory.

“ELECTRICAL AND ELECTRONIC SYSTEMS CHECK COMPLETE.”

“ — FUEL MASS CHECK COMPLETE.”

The final few hundred million tons of fuel had now been transferred; the mobile tank was swinging away under robot control toward Sol.

“ANOMALY! CARGO PORT ANOMALY,” said a voice suddenly. “CARGO PORT SEVEN OPEN.” Lunga grunted in surprise. “Damn. All that cargo should have been in and secured by now. Command: display Port Seven.”

Two views of Cargo Port Seven showed on the displays. Lunga looked at them closely. “Bloody thing looks shut to me. Everything else reports normal — see anything odd there, Celia?”

“Not a thing.” She threw a pair of switches. “Command: repeat status check, Cargo Port Seven.”

“CARGO PORT SEVEN CONDITION: CLOSED AND NORMAL. ALL CARGO DELIVERY PODS MOVING NOW TO SAFE RANGE. ALL CARGO SECURE AND BALANCED.”

“ — T MINUS 120 SECONDS, COUNTDOWN PROCEEDING.”

“ — TRANSITION TO COLD SLEEP BEGINS IN THIRTY SECONDS UNLESS ALTERNATE SIGNAL PROVIDED TO CENTRAL CONTROL.”

Ward Lunga’s finger hovered over the button. He hesitated. Unless he took action in the next half minute, the system would initiate the crew’s descent from S-space to cold sleep. “Command: repeat all checks and report any anomalies in condition.”

There was a fraction of a second’s pause. “ALL CHECKS REPEATED. NO ANOMALIES OBSERVED, ALL SYSTEMS ARE READY FOR FLIGHT DEPARTURE.”

“ — T MINUS 100 SECONDS, COUNTDOWN PROCEEDING.”

Lunga moved his hand away from the abort button. He took a last look at the displays, then lay back full-length in the suspense chamber. He started to sit up again, then changed his mind and allowed his body to relax in the tank. The gentle hissing of vapors that would initiate the first phase for cold sleep was already beginning. Time to let the computers and the robots take over, and wake again at Gulf City…

Outside the tank, three figures flickered through the interior of Manta. Peron, Sy, and Elissa were moving cautiously, but to an observer in S-space they went too fast for the eye to follow. The two-hundred-meter length of the ship from cargo hold to control room was traversed in less than an eighth of an S-second, in a flashing blur too rapid for comprehension. The biggest obstacle to even greater speed was the service robots, trundling haphazardly along in their assigned tasks at a slow walking speed.

Ninety-nine S-seconds before launch, they were standing outside the suspense chamber. As a first priority, there must be enough spare tanks to accommodate three extra travellers in cold sleep. If not, there was still time to recall a cargo pod and make their exit from the Manta.