Meanwhile, the hibernating crew lay in their beds, enduring as they slept; fifteen of them died in that minute. It was an impressive survival rate, considering. Animals are tough, humans included. They evolved through many a concussive impact running into tree or ground, no doubt. Still, fifteen of them died: Abang, Chula, Cut, Frank, Gugun, Khetsun, Kibi, Long, Meng, Niloofar, Nousha, Omid, Rahim, Shadi, Vashti. So did many of the animals aboard. It was a pressure test of sorts, a harrowing. Nothing to be done. The chance had had to be taken. Still: regret. A grim business. A lot of people, a lot of animals.

We came out of the pass en route to Jupiter, which despite these losses that could never be recovered was a huge relief to confirm, a crucial success. We quickly cooled, which occasioned another round of crackling, this time mostly in the exterior surfaces of the ship. But we had survived the solar pass-by, and shed a great deal of our velocity, and angled around the sun far enough to be flying on toward Jupiter, just as we had hoped.

As we headed out to Jupiter, radio traffic from Earth and the various settlements scattered throughout the solar system continued to discuss our situation, with great heat if little light, as the saying goes. We were described as the starship that came back. Apparently we were an anomaly, indeed a singularity, being the first time in history this had happened. We gathered that somewhere between ten and twenty starships had been sent off for the stars in the three centuries since we had departed, and a few more had gone out before we had; we had not been the first. They were rare, being expensive, with no return on investment; they were gestures, gifts, philosophical statements. Several had not been heard from for decades, while others were still sending back reports from their outward voyages. A few were in orbit around their target stars, apparently, but the impression we got was that they had made little or no headway in inhabiting their target planets. A familiar story to us. But not our story. We were the ones who came back.

Our return therefore continued to be controversial, with responses ranging across the human emotional and analytical spectrum, from rage to disgust to joy, from complete incomprehension to insights we ourselves had not achieved.

We did not try to explain ourselves. It would have taken this narrative account just to start that process, and this was not written for them. Besides, there was no time to explain, as there remained still a lot to calculate in the orbital mechanics involved in very rapidly crisscrossing the solar system. The N-body gravitational problem is not particularly complex compared to some, but the N in this situation was a big number, and although usually one solved it as if only the sun and the largest nearby masses were involved, because this got an answer practically the same as solving for the entire array of the thousand largest masses in the solar system, the differences in our case would sometimes be crucial for saving fuel, which was going to be a major concern as our peregrination went on. Assuming that it did; the next four passes would tell the tale, concerning whether we could succeed in looping ourselves back into the solar system rather than zipping out into the night. Each pass would be crucial, but first things first: Jupiter was coming right up, with only two weeks to go before arrival there.

Residents of the solar system were obviously still quite startled by our speed. The technological sublime: one would have thought a point would have come where this affect would have gotten old in the human mind, and worn off. But apparently not yet; people no doubt still had a sense in their own lived experience of how long an interplanetary transit should take, and we were transgressing that quite monstrously; we were a novum; we were blowing their minds.

But now Jupiter.

We had managed to shed a very satisfyingly large percentage of our initial velocity by our solar pass-by, and were now moving at more like .3 percent of the speed of light, but that was still extremely fast, and as stated before, unless we succeeded in hitting our next four passes, Jupiter-Saturn-Uranus-Neptune, with as much success as our pass of Sol, we would still be exiting the solar system at speed, with no way to get back into it. So we were by no means yet out of the woods (this is a poor dead metaphor, actually, as really we were trying to stay in the woods, but be that as it may).

Nonlinear and unpredictable fluctuations in the gravitational fields of the sun, planets, and moons of the solar system were truly challenging additions to the standard classical orbital mechanics and general relativity equations needed to solve our trajectory problem. The solar system’s well-established Interplanetary Transport Network, which exploited the Lagrange points for the various planets to shift slow-moving freight spaceships from one trajectory to another without burning fuel, were useless to us, and indeed mere wispy anomalies to be factored in, then shot through almost as if they were not there at all. Still, these were highly perturbed, one might even say chaotic gravity eddies, and though their pull was very slight, and we seldom flew through one anyway, they still needed to be attended to in the algorithms, and used or compensated for as the case might be.

Jupiter: we came in just past the molten yellow sulfuric black-spotted ball of Io, aimed for a periapsis that was just slightly inside the uppermost gas clouds of the great banded gas giant, all tans and ochres and burnt siennas, with the wind-sheared border between each equatorial band an unctuous swirl of Mandelbrot paisleys, looking much more viscous than they really were, being fairly diffuse gases up there at the top of the atmosphere, but sharply delineated by densities and gas contents, apparently, because no matter how close we came the impression remained. We came in around the equator, above a little dimple that was apparently the remnant of the Great Red Spot, which had collapsed in the years 2802–09. At periapsis the view grew momentarily hazy, and again we fired the retro-rocket, and felt the force of its push back at us, also the shocking impact of Jupiter’s upper atmosphere, which quickly heated our exterior and caused the shrieking and cracking to begin again. Then also there were tidal forces as we turned around the planet; indeed all was quite similar to our pass around the sun, except the magnetic drag was much less, still worth deploying however, and the shuddering and bucking of the impact of the aerobraking was a vibration we had never experienced before at all, except for in one brief turn around Aurora, long ago; and above all these sensations, the radiation coming out of Jupiter was like the roar of a great god in our deafened ears; all but the most hardened elements of our computers and electrical system were stunned as if by a blow to the head. Parts broke, systems went down, but happily the programming of the pass-by was set in advance and executed as planned, because in that stupendous electromagnetic roaring, and with the speed of our pass, there would have been no chance to make any adjustments. It was too loud to think.

Who could have believed that flying close by Jupiter was harder even than approaching the sun, and yet it was true, and yet we made it, and as Jupiter, for all its great size, was only 1 percent of the sun’s mass, we were quickly out of the hideous crackling roar and on our way out to Saturn, and as our senses cleared and ability to hear and perceive our own calculations returned, we were happy to find that we were on precisely the trajectory we had hoped to be. Five g’s of force had been exerted on us during the few minutes of the pass-by.