“Don’t have time,” he said over the link. “We need to get going forthwith.” Forthwith. She didn’t know anybody else who talked like that.

“My passengers could stand the break,” she’d said. “They’ve been cooped up in here for six months.”

“Wish we could. But every hour puts that thing closer to Lookout. It’s just impossible.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Sorry,” he added.

Marge settled for saying hello to her friend, the planetologist Melinda Park, by commlink. But she wasn’t happy, and Julie thought that Collingdale might be in for a long ride.

He was on his way through the airlock within thirty seconds after the green lights went on. “Thank God,” he told Julie. “It’s been a nightmare.” And he added more apologies. “But there’s just too much at stake.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “But you’re leaving Bergen. Who’s going out with the decoys?”

“I am,” he said.

There was a quick exchange with the al-Jahani’s captain. Were there any injuries? Did she have sufficient supplies to last until the relief vessel came? Could Julie provide any assistance?

“We’re fine,” said Alexandra. And it might have been Julie’s imagination, but she sensed an unspoken now.

Collingdale stood behind her, looking at the time, suggesting that they really should get moving, assuring her everything was satisfactory on the other ship.

Eight minutes after they’d arrived, the Hawksbill edged away, fired its thrusters, and began to accelerate toward jump status.

Julie had expected to feel apologetic about the storeroom quarters she was giving him, but as things turned out she felt a degree of satisfaction showing him the blankets on the deck and the two cramped washrooms.

COLLINGDALE WAS SO pleased to be aboard a functioning ship, on his way to Lookout, that he didn’t really care about spartan conditions. During acceleration, he belted in on the couch in the equipment locker, the only one they had available.

He watched the al-Jahani diminish with distance, and he felt a tinge of regret for Judy and Nick and Ginko and the others, who had worked so hard and accomplished so much. He thought about calling Judy, delivering a final farewell, but he’d done that before leaving. Any more along those lines would be maudlin.

What he had to do now was to see that the cloud got sidetracked, so that what had happened to Judy’s team wouldn’t matter in the long run.

He waited in his harness, looking around the bare-bones room, grateful that he was moving again. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, but he kept seeing the omega that had swept down on Moonlight. And he wished he had a bomb big enough to blow the damned thing to hell.

That was the problem with Hutch’s decoy idea. It was good, and it might work. But it only deflected the cloud. It didn’t kill it. That was what Collingdale wanted. Go to the next step and kill it.

After forty minutes’ acceleration they still had not jumped. Every flight he’d ever been on had been able to do it in thirty minutes or so. He called the bridge to ask.

“Big ship, David,” she said. “It takes a while.” Her tone was mildly hostile. He tried to remember if he’d said or done anything to offend her. Probably upset that she didn’t get a chance to visit. But time was too valuable. The hour that they squandered now might make all the difference. “Okay,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

He did know that if she tried to make the jump before the Hazeltines were ready, the Hawksbill would go boom. “Take your time,” he said.

HE WAS PLEASED to be on the ship that housed the decoys, that would actually be used to frustrate the omega. He spent hours on the bridge, explained to Julie that he’d commanded a superluminal at the beginning of his career, and wanted to know everything. He talked at length with Bill, was allowed to sit in the captain’s chair, enjoyed calling up status reports, running maintenance routines, putting the AI through his paces.

Julie, pleased that he showed such interest, showed him through the ship. Here were the comm circuits; there was life support; here’s the power mode complex. They toured the engine room, the shuttle launch area in the lower cargo bay, and main storage, where the antigrav generator was located.

He wasn’t sure why he was so interested in the ship. He hadn’t particularly cared about the al-Jahani. It must have been because he knew this would be the vessel. Bergen was out of the game now, and Collingdale would be taking the Hawksbill into battle.

It made him feel young again. As if all the world waited for him to show up and set things right. “Julie,” he said, “tell me about the jump engines. Has the technology improved?”

“I doubt it,” she said. “I don’t think anything basic has changed in thirty years.”

HE HADN’T HEARD from Mary in two weeks, other than a short expression of her regret that the mission had broken down. It wasn’t short, actually. She’d gone on for ten minutes. Everything was fine at home. Some of her new students had little sense and no ethics. “They’re studying law for all the wrong reasons.”

He’d begun to wonder whether he should let her go. God knew when he’d get home, and it seemed unreasonable to keep her waiting all that time. His deepest fear, even more than losing her, was that she would come to resent him.

On the other hand, where would she find somebody else like David Collingdale? It was a private joke he told himself. But there was some truth to it.

Avery Whitlock’s Notebooks

The mood on the ship has changed. It may be a momentary thing, but I doubt it.

David Collingdale seems to be decent enough. He speaks kindly to everyone, and he apologized to us all for the delay involved in rescuing him from the al-Jahani. Still, we were quieter this evening than we have been at any time on the flight. The chemistry has changed in some subtle, or maybe not-so-subtle, way. The easy camaraderie of the past months is gone, as abruptly as though it had never existed. We are formal now, and tentative, watchful of what we say. And though it seems logical to conclude that with the passage of time the former atmosphere will return, I do not think it will happen.

— September 18

Arlington, Virginia.

Tuesday, September 23.

SHE HATED THE chime that came in the middle of the night. Priscilla Hutchins was not a hands-on manager. Her technique was to frame the objectives, provide the resources, find the right people to get the job done, and stay out of the way. That meant that when a call came in at 3:00 A.M., whether it was personal or professional, it was inevitably bad news.

She picked up the link and held it to her ear. Tor rolled over and looked at the time.

“Hutch.” It was Debbie Willis, the Academy watch officer. “The engines went.”

Damn. After the first incident back in June she’d been half-expecting it. But there’d been nothing she could do. Everything was just too far away. “Anybody hurt?” she asked.

“No. They’re all okay.” She thought she heard a cry from Maureen’s room, but when she listened there was only silence.

“Okay,” she said. “Julie and Digger have been informed?”

“Yes. We have a transmission from Alexandra. You want me to relay it?”

“Does it say she can effect repairs and get to Lookout before the cloud does?”

“I haven’t looked at it. But Broadside reports they’re unable to proceed with the mission.”

“Help on the way?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay. Thanks, Deb. Forward the stuff from Alex.”

Tor was watching her. “The al-Jahani?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, babe.”

“Me too.”

She heard the sound again. Maureen having a bad dream, maybe.

“I’ll get it,” said Tor.

“No.” She headed for the door. “It’s okay.”

While she sat with Maureen she heard Tor leave the bedroom and go downstairs. Nights like this, when he knew things weren’t going well for her, he got restless. When the child was quiet, she followed and found him dozing in his chair, a book open on his lap, the lamp on behind him. She put the book on the coffee table, turned off the light, and settled onto the sofa. “Nothing you could do,” he said, without opening his eyes.

“I could have held them up another week. Completed the routine maintenance. They’d’ve found the problem if I’d done that.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Didn’t have a week to spare. But at least they’d have gotten there.”

He made a noise deep in his throat. “You’re second-guessing yourself,” he said. “If you’d gone that route, and they’d gotten there too late to intervene, you’d have been blaming yourself for that. Should have taken a chance and let them go a week earlier.”

“Well,” she said, “maybe the kite’ll work.”

IN THE MORNING she sent off messages to Collingdale, to Vadim at Broadside, and to Digger. Collingdale had informed her of his intention to continue his journey on the Hawksbill. She wished him luck and told him she knew he would do what he could. She instructed Vadim to give priority to whatever requests might come in from the other two. If Digger could see any way to get the Goompahs to high ground, he was to proceed and damn the consequences.

WHEN SHE GOT to the Academy in the morning, there was a message from Broadside, informing her that Jack’s body would be coming back on the Winckelmann. The Academy had a formatted letter to be sent out on such occasions to next of kin, but it seemed cold, so she settled in to write her own.

She left word with Asquith’s secretary that she wanted to see the commissioner when he came in. When he hadn’t appeared by ten, she called him on his link. He discouraged that sort of behavior. Emergencies only, he insisted. He didn’t like to feel tied to the Academy, enjoyed telling others that he ran a shop in which it didn’t matter whether his subordinates could talk to him or not. It was the mark of a good manager that decisions were made and action taken even when he couldn’t be reached.

On the other hand, if he got blindsided by somebody on Capitol Hill, he’d complain for days about his staff not keeping him informed.

“Yes?” he demanded irritably.

“I don’t know whether you’ve heard yet or not. The al-Jahani blew its engines. It’s adrift.”

There was a long pause, and she heard him sigh. “Any casualties?”

“No.”

“Well, thank God for that, at least. Whose fault is it?”

“I don’t know. Probably mine.”

“How’d it happen?”