"One way or another, it's a little weird for me to be standing here, giving this little sermon." He glanced about the room. "I don't see anyone here who hasn't heard it before. Any one of you could deliver it. I have no doubt that some of you could do it more justice than I. But we're here, and it's my job by general assent, so I'll do the best I can.

"Time was, all of Mankind lived on a single world called Earth. Time was, all of Mankind suffered under the rule of States: vicious, lawless organizations that killed, stole and threatened to get their way. Time was, the billions who suffered such rule thought it was inevitable...that there was no other way for men to be than to be ruled.

"Then came the Spoonerites. They broke the mold. They denied the necessity of the State and proclaimed that men are free by natural right. They knew themselves to be few, so they concentrated in a single land they thought might find their message agreeable, called Canada. And after a few decades, they succeeded in casting down the State that ruled that land and setting its people free.

"But apparently, to a people who've never had it before, freedom is really frightening. Most Canadians wanted the State back, and no one alive today could say why. The Spoonerites and the few Canadians that agreed with them couldn't make any headway against the tide of adverse opinion.

"So the Spoonerites had to withdraw, away from the population centers of Canada, deep into the northern wastes of Earth where no one else lived. But it wasn't enough. In a world partitioned into States, a free man has no safe place to hide. The States of Earth were determined to eliminate the Spoonerite creed in the most thorough way they could think of: by eliminating everyone who believed in it.

"And they did. They killed nearly half a million people to do so: every Spoonerite on Earth. But they missed our ancestors. Our ancestors had managed to get off Earth, and onto a passing interstellar wanderer, before the States could get them. And after many years, and many trials, and many sieges of fear that they might never find a planet on which to settle, they came here, to Hope.

"That was thirteen hundred years ago. We don't call ourselves Spoonerites any more. Why bother? There aren't any non-Spoonerites to contrast ourselves with. Every last person on Hope is completely free-a Spoonerite in fact if not in name. So we don't use the term among ourselves. We just live the life they bequeathed us. It cost half a million lives to make freedom possible for the descendants of a few thousand lucky survivors. That's the sacrifice we honor on the shortest day of Hope's year."

He paused and briefly looked down at the table. His gaze stopped at Chuck Feigner, still without his wife and unable to say why. Barton awarded him what he hoped was an encouraging smile and passed on. Nora caught his eye from his left and nodded in approval. He patted her hand and smiled.

"I've learned a lot, these past few years, about sacrifices made by others. Men who preached a message of freedom long before the Spoonerites. Most of them suffered for it. Many lost their lives, as the great majority of the Spoonerites would eventually lose theirs." He fingered his cross pendant. "And of course, there was the greatest sacrifice of all, the one that taught men that justice is eternal, that good and evil aren't just matters of opinion, and that the real, unchanging laws of nature aren't the consequences of random chance.

"We for whom freedom is a living reality owe many a debt. They're not debts we can repay, but that doesn't mean they're not there, that we shouldn't be reminded of them. That's why I'm standing here this evening and spouting off this way. We need the reminders. We need to remember that the freedom and peace we enjoy had to be fought for...that many others never knew the least smidgen of it."

He looked down the table at Althea and Martin. "Al? Martin? Is it still on?"

Althea appeared disconcerted to be addressed in the middle of the Sacrifice Day soliloquy. "Uh, yeah. All the tests are complete, our gear is aboard, and the reactor is loaded to the eyelashes. We launch tomorrow as soon as possible after dawn." She squeezed Martin's hand, and he smiled at her. "Assuming nothing cataclysmic between now and then."

Barton nodded. "Sacrifice isn't something permanently behind us. Althea and Martin will be sacrificing quite a lot quite soon. Tomorrow morning they'll be going to the Relic, the planetoid that the Spoonerites rode through interstellar space to come here, to begin the construction of a base of operations. Once it's secure and properly equipped, they'll settle in to do some very hard thinking and some equally hard work. And then they'll be alone.

"They'll spend an indefinite interval in sperosynchronous orbit, doing high-energy physics. Researches into whether the laws of the universe as we know them-as the Spoonerites endured them-can be changed. Researches aimed at freeing us of Hope to wander the galaxy, to see if Man has kindred around some other star. Eventually, to visit Earth and learn what's been going on there in the eighteen hundred years since the Spoonerites departed.

"They won't know the security or comfort we know. They'll breathe recycled air, eat food concentrates, and drink water distilled from...uh, distilled water. They'll be alone, with only one another for companionship and protection, in an environment that will try its best to kill them. They'll be exposed to mortal danger every second of their stay. But they'll be doing it willingly, in obedience to their own initiative and sense of priorities. Why?

"I had to think about that for a long time. They don't owe anyone anything. No one is clamoring for interstellar travel. No one on Hope would gain anything obvious from such an achievement, except the ability to travel very long distances at enormous cost, probably into even greater danger than they'll know on the Relic. So why are they doing it?"

He paused again as murmurs circled the table.

"Althea has an explorer's temperament. She'd probably say she's doing it out of curiosity. Just to see what's out there." He chuckled. "Martin, of course, is doing it for Althea. Because the big lunk is so crazy in love with his wife that he can barely let her out of his sight. Am I right, Martin?"

Martin smirked ruefully and nodded.

"But whatever they might say," Barton continued, "they're undertaking an enormous effort under conditions of great hardship and greater danger...and if they succeed, their success won't be theirs alone. It will bring gifts of knowledge to all of Hope. The sacrifices will be theirs alone...but the rewards from it will flow to all of us."

He picked up his wine glass and raised it.

"Let's have a toast. First, to our honored dead, and to those who suffered hard lives to bring their descendants here, in whose memory this feast was first established. Second, to our ancestors whose labors brought peace and prosperity to our world, on whose successes we build each and every day. But third, to Althea and Martin, who've decided, entirely on their own initiative, to embrace hardship and danger once more. For knowledge. For the possibility of finding kin around other stars. And by their example to renew our bonds to all our race, near and far, past, present, and future. Win, lose, or draw, I salute them as our brightest, our bravest, and our best: the Spoonerites of our time."

Althea and Martin stood, tears leaking, as the other attendees surged to their feet and raised their glasses high.

"Are we really going to do this?" Martin murmured.

Althea peered at him through the darkness. "Well, I am. You can still back out."

He snorted and squeezed her gently. "Not a chance. You need a minder worse than anyone I've ever known. Besides," he said, "who's going to debug whatever weird contraption you wind up building to sling you around the galaxy?"

Her mouth curved into a grin. "Good point."

They lay against one another in the warmth and silence.

"What do you think it will be like?" she said.

"Hm? What will what be like?"

"Living on the Relic," she said. "Metal tunnels. Hard vacuum. Eating nothing but concentrates. Constant danger. Zero gravity." She smiled. "Making love in zero gravity."

He shifted to face her. "Well, we know it's been done. By people with far fewer resources than we have, at that."

"Hm? What will we have that they didn't?"

He chuckled. "Come on, Al. We'll be barely eleven thousand miles from a perfectly good planet, with the means to go home whenever we like. And wealth enough to have Patrice buy whatever we might decide we need, load it into the mass driver, and fling it up there. That's quite a set of advantages."

"Yeah. I suppose it is."

But maybe not enough to pull this craziness off.

-It will be enough, dear.

Hm? Oh, hi, Grandpere. What makes you so sure?

-I know you. You've made it your mission in life. You've never failed at anything before. You won't fail at this.

Grandpere...

-Yes, dear?

I failed to bear a living, healthy baby.

The pause in the exchange echoed with sorrow.

-That particular tragedy doesn't belong on your account, Al. You're tall for a woman, but not terribly big otherwise. Martin is bigger than I was in life. He's very nearly a giant. It wasn't your fault that the baby was too big for you.

I guess there had to be some downside.

-Hm? To what, dear?

To marrying the finest man on Hope.

There came no reply.

Grandpere Armand, did I say something to offend you?

The hiatus in communication continued.

Grandpere? You're scaring me.

-Be not afraid, Althea. Martin is your proper spouse. You would never have been happy with anyone else...anyone less. If the combination of your and Martin's genes has rendered you incapable of gifting Hope with your progeny, you have other gifts to give. I cannot regret any of this.

The implications of the final phrase jolted her. She pondered it for a long moment.

Grandpere...did you bring Martin to me somehow?

-Have you never thought about that day before this, Althea? Have you never considered just how unlikely it was that you would meet the perfect complement, not merely to your gifts, your character, and your personality, but to all your plans? Has the magnitude of the odds against that encounter never occurred to you before?

"What's wrong, love?" Martin said.

"Hm? What are you talking about?"

"You stiffened up all at once." He swept a caress smoothly down her back, let his hands settle on her rump. "I've never felt this much tension in you."

She strove to relax her muscles.

"It's...nothing," she murmured. She pulled him close. "I should take your advice. Worry less."

That was pretty forward of you, Grandpere. Did it ever occur to you that I might not need a matchmaker?

-Did it ever occur to you that you might? That a single woman who's reached thirty years of age without ever seriously considering marriage is more than merely an anomaly? Especially when the single woman in question is spectacularly beautiful, multiply and massively gifted, and independently wealthy? The most splendid child of the most prestigious clan on Hope? Did that ever trouble you for the briefest of instants, Althea MacLachlan Morelon?

She could not reply.

-I find that I've strayed from the true subject. You didn't just need a matchmaker, dear. You needed Martin. You needed his brilliance, his quality, his passion, and his devotion. Nothing less would have sufficed.

Sufficed for what?

-Sufficed to complete you. To make you whole. To give you someone you could value as highly as you value yourself. Martin taught you to love. I would never have led you into the exploration of your psi powers before that. I could not have trusted you with them had you continued to regard Mankind as a species of poorly domesticated animals. So before we pursue this any further, Granddaughter, I'd like a list your marital dissatisfactions for my edification. All of them, preferably in descending priority order. I need to know how badly I've trespassed on your prerogatives, that I might render an appropriately groveling apology.

The absurdity of it shattered her brittle sense of resentment. She clamped down hard on the impulse to laugh out loud.

All right, Grandpere. But next time- -Next time? What's this now? Are you contemplating divorce?

(humor) Not for a hot second. But really, Grandpere, would it have killed you to ask me first?

-Obviously not, as I'd already been dead for thirteen years.

It broke her self-control. Laughter burst from her. It blended wry amusement, a grasp of the many ironies of her existence, and a happiness that defied any other form of expression. It was far too great for her to contain.

"Al? Are you all right?"

She reasserted herself and brought her guffaws under control. "Never fear, love. Just a...joke I heard recently. Tell me something: how do you like being a tool of destiny in the hands of a benevolent, all-seeing Providence?"

He frowned. "I didn't know I was one."

She hugged him fiercely. "Take my word for it."

Part Three: The Technological Means

Chapter 25: Unember 1, 1314 A.H.

The sun had just cleared the horizon. Althea ignited the kerosene engine of Freedom's Horizon and engaged the ground transmission. The spaceplane rolled grudgingly out of the Morelon hangar and onto the Grenier Air taxiways.

Grandpere?

-Yes, dear?

Keep talking to me throughout the launch. I need to know...

-I know, Al. So do I.

She braked the craft at the start of the runway, jockeyed it so that its exhaust plume would fall squarely upon the newly installed baffle, disengaged the ground transmission, killed the kero engine, and sat back.

"Something wrong, love?" Martin said.

"No...no," she said. "It's just...where no man has gone before, you know?"

Martin smiled gently. "Not quite. Where no man has gone in a long time, though." He brushed his gloved fingers delicately over her cheek. "We'll be fine. Or maybe not. But either way we'll be together."

She smirked. "Reassurance isn't your strong suit, Martin."

He returned it. "Doing the best I can, Al."

She snorted. "Gee, thanks for the effort. Anyway, it's time for helmet lock."

She swiveled her helmet onto the collar of her pressure suit, locked the junction, and activated the suit's short-wave radio. Her husband did the same.

She glanced out the pilot's side of the cockpit at Adam Grenier, who stood about fifty yards away with his arms crossed over his chest. He gave her a thumb's-up, and she returned it.

She reached for the igniter for the main drive, but stopped as he laid a gloved hand on her arm.

"One moment, love." The words buzzed in her helmet.

She frowned at him, but nodded.

"Father," he intoned, "which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on Hope as it is in heaven. Give us day by day our daily bread. And forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who have sinned against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. And Father," he said, "please bless this enterprise, that it might bring only good things to us, to our kin, and to all our fellow men, for we go forth not for our increase but in celebration of Your glory, and to better know and praise Your works. Amen."