He nodded. "That's why I invited you here, to tell you first. The news would not daunt you."

"Thank you. Though you're unfair to my shipmates."

"None is a coward, I know. But they had their - their different reasons to come aboard, or their demons. Only you wanted to go purely for the sake of going, the adventure. This will be an unnerving shock to them. We may have to make a new, hard decision. I'd value your advice and support."

The last of any dismay dropped from her. "Losh, no decision to make, no advice or support needed. What's to do but go on - go on and find out?"

"Will you help me? You can hearten them as nobody else could."

Her blue gaze met his and held fast. "I'll help you always, skipper, in any way I can."

Brent and Cleland sat in the second engineer's cabin. It was less individually furnished than others, almost monastic, its principal decoration inactive portraits of his heroes. Currently he was screening Alexander, Charlemagne, and Houghton. A coffeepot stood on the table between the men. They had forgotten about the aroma. Their cups rested half empty, cold.

Brent jabbed a finger at his invited guest. "Extrapolate the data points," he urged. "Every time we stop and take a reading, the traces are more sparse, more closely spaced. Right? Shorter and shorter interstellar passages, fewer and fewer. At this rate, in another month or two we'll register nothing."

Cleland stared beyond him. "And we'll still have two thousand light-years to go," he said dully.

"Yeah. When we arrive, starfaring will be four thousand years dead."

Cleland attempted to square his shoulders. "Unless it's revived."

"How likely is that? What are we going on for?" on for?"

"To - to learn what happened."

Brent scowled. "We may wish we hadn't."

"What do you mean?"

"Whatever ate that civilization could get us, too. The robots in the cluster - Next time we may not be so lucky."

"It isn't the same situation," Cleland maintained without force. "They have the zero-zero drive yonder."

"Do they yet?"

Brent let the question sink in. Ventilation whirred.

"Well," he said, "I'm glad we've got some weapons." His tone went thoughtful. "And studying the machines we captured, yes, very interesting military potential there."

Cleland winced. "Must you always think about combat?"

"Somebody has to," Brent replied. "Just in case, let's say. And then, when we get back to Earth, what then?"

Again Cleland's look went afar. "Earth," he sighed.

Brent considered him. "You don't really want to continue, do you, Tim?"

Cleland bit his lip.

"You can do your planetology as well a lot closer to home," Brent told him. "Right on Earth, from the databases they must have."

Cleland straightened, met his eyes, and demanded, "Are you saying we should turn back?"

Brent spoke slowly. "Listen. I signed on to get away from the decadence. I thought we'd return with knowledge our race might never otherwise get. With prestige, power. The power to set right what we found that was wrong, and give humans a new start. A long shot, maybe, but I was willing to take it. Now, if all that's ahead of us is the ruins of a dead empire, what can we learn? What's the sense of keeping on? Why not turn back while we can?"

"What difference would that make? W-we've already lost Earth, the Earth we knew."

"It won't grow any less foreign with time. Six thousand years gone isn't as bad as ten thousand." Brent lowered his voice and leaned over the table. "Though the difference to us might be that we save ourselves, save more than our lives."

Cleland blinked. "What do you mean?" he asked once more.

"You should know. Six men, four women. And yours is drifting from you pretty fast, isn't she?"

Cleland bridled. "Wait a minute!"

Brent raised a hand, the peace sign. "No offense, Tim. Think about it, is all. Two years in this Flying Dutchman. In between, five years, if we survive them. What'll that do to our relationships, our morale, our purpose? To us? What'll we be fit for at the end of them?"

"We . . . considered that b-before we set out. Took psych tests, day after day, and got counseling, and - We're educated, mature -"

"And under a stress like nobody else in history. Sure, the doc can prescribe you something that'll make you feel better, but it won't change the causes of the stress. And is it really wise to feel better, when we're running into trouble nobody foresaw and nobody can guess at? Tim, you know me. I'm not panicking. I just ask where courage leaves off and foolhardiness begins. What's the best use for our strength, while we still have it?"

"We promised. We're committed to go on." Jean is on." Jean is.

Brent nodded. "So far. Maybe I'm too gloomy. Maybe things will improve. We'll see. Whatever happens, we'll give the ship our loyal service, you and me. But that doesn't mean blind obedience. Keep alert, Tim. Keep thinking."

The meeting had been little more than a formality. All knew beforehand: Envoy Envoy had passed the last wavefront of light, there was no more spoor of the Yonderfolk ahead, a decision was necessary. Nor was it a surprise when two brought up the idea of turning back - Yu as a suggestion that should be discussed, Ruszek as a profane statement that it was plain common sense. Cleland opened his mouth, glanced at Kilbirnie, and said nothing; he sat hunched. Brent did not bother to speak. Arguments and speculations through the past weeks had eroded any real dispute away. Response was likewise mainly for the record. had passed the last wavefront of light, there was no more spoor of the Yonderfolk ahead, a decision was necessary. Nor was it a surprise when two brought up the idea of turning back - Yu as a suggestion that should be discussed, Ruszek as a profane statement that it was plain common sense. Cleland opened his mouth, glanced at Kilbirnie, and said nothing; he sat hunched. Brent did not bother to speak. Arguments and speculations through the past weeks had eroded any real dispute away. Response was likewise mainly for the record.

Zeyd: "We have a faith to keep."

Dayan: "We need to learn what went wrong. It could be a warning to our kind."

Kilbirnie: "Maybe nothing did. Maybe they've gone on to what's better than aught we know of."

Nansen did not call for a vote. Some things are best left unsaid, however well understood. The gathering dispersed.

Mokoena and Sundaram lingered. The common room felt empty, its color and ornament meaningless, the breeze cold. They stood for a while, side by side, looking into a viewscreen crowded with stars.

"Something better," she said at length. He heard the scorn. "In God's name, what?"

"Perhaps, indeed, in God's name," he answered softly.

She gave him a startled glance. "I beg pardon?"

He smiled the least bit. "Well, it isn't likely a scientific or technological advance, is it? Such as the legendary faster-than-light hyperspatial drive."

She nodded. "I know. I've heard Hanny on the physics of that."

"I should think if it were possible, someone in this vast galaxy would have done it long ago, and we would know."

"They wouldn't necessarily have come to us. Or they might have paid Earth a visit in our prehistory, or be leaving us alone to find our own way or - Oh, all the old scenarios. Dreams that our race once had. We're awake now. Dreams are brain garbage, best dumped out of memory."

"I don't entirely agree. Never mind. I have proposed another logical point against the idea. You didn't happen to be in that conversation. If faster-than-light travel were developed where zero-zero craft operated, they would immediately be obsolete, and their traces would terminate within a few years. Instead, we have observed a slow dying out."

"Ahead of us. And elsewhere, too, those other far, far scattered regions - as nearly as Wenji and Hanny can tell -" Mokoena took her gaze from the terrible stars. "What do you mean, 'God's name'?"

"Perhaps the Yonderfolk have put their faring behind them, having outgrown it. Perhaps they seek the things of the spirit."

Mokoena shook her head. "I can't believe that, either. I'm sorry, Ajit, but I can't."

"I don't insist on it. Simply a thought."

"Spacefaring is is a spiritual experience. Selim's right about that. Whatever God there is, if any, we come to know Him best through His works. The grandeur, the wonder -" She shivered. "The hugeness, the inhumanness." a spiritual experience. Selim's right about that. Whatever God there is, if any, we come to know Him best through His works. The grandeur, the wonder -" She shivered. "The hugeness, the inhumanness."

He regarded her soberly. "You are troubled, Mamphela."

"No. Disappointed, but I'll be fine." He saw her head lift athwart the sky. "I "I came to do science and I will do science." came to do science and I will do science."

"Of course. However, what you feel is not disappointment. We have all had time to accept that and carry on. You - I shall not pry."

Now she studied him. The air rustled about them. Reflections off the jewels on the spintree flickered in scraps of color across the bulkheads, tiny, defiant banners.

"You notice more than you let on, don't you?" she said. "More than anyone else, maybe. Do you think I would like to talk? Is that why you stayed behind?"

"I think you deserve the opportunity," he replied. "The choice is yours."

Impulse exploded. "All right. I would. I know you'll respect a confidence. Not that this isn't obvious, probably. It's Lajos. You saw how he stalked out, stiff-legged, his face locked, his fists knotted. He's bound off to get drunk. Not for the first time. Oh, no, not for the first time."

"Is that his way when he is angry or in pain?"

"Yes. Stupid, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't quite say that. He is intelligent, but a very physical man. Among us, he has taken the news the hardest. And he has no one, nothing to lash out at but himself."

"And me. You've only seen him brooding, sulking, foul-tempered. When we're alone in one of our cabins - No, no, never any threat or violence. To me. He hits the metal. He breaks what's breakable, flings it down or crushes it under his heel. He raves and curses till he falls into a snoring sleep. Or he goes slobbery and wants to make love -" Mokoena caught her breath.

"I'm sorry." Her voice had gone harsh. "I shouldn't be angry like this. I should try harder to help him." A plea: "I don't know how. I'm supposed to be the physician, and I can't make him accept any calming medicine. Nor, somehow, can I make myself do it and turn the anger off. It would feel too much like a surrender. So I flare up, and we fight; fight with bitter words and next daywatch with still bitterer silence."

"I daresay his behavior accords ill with your standards."

"Yes." She was objective again. "My upbringing. Not that I've lived by it especially well. In my parents' eyes I was a sinner. That they could forgive me, over and over, made me love them even more. But some of their teaching stayed. Drunkenness has always disgusted me."

"You are not compelled to put up with it."

"No." Her mood went over to sadness. "He is a good man, basically. We used to be happy together, most of the time. Not in love, but we enjoyed each other's company. I shouldn't abandon him. I keep hoping he'll . . . recover. Meanwhile, though, I feel overborne, confined, in a rage."

"Work is often a blessing. How goes your research?"

"Poorly. I can't concentrate. Not that it's anything important. Marking time, maintaining the skills, till we get to where the real work is." A hint of fear: "Will I be fit to do it?"

"I think so. We have months of travel yet. Time for coming to terms with reality, time for healing. You are a good person yourself, Mamphela, and a strong person, and you are able to see things clearly. That is not as common a gift as one would wish. It bears hope with it."

As the slow words flowed, her muscles began to loosen. When Sundaram had finished, Mokoena stood for a minute or two, breathing. Then she said low, with a catch in her tone, "Thank you, Ajit. Already that helps. Thank you."

He smiled. "No thanks are due me. I merely listened."

"You listened in the right way. And - Could we sit down and talk some more? I don't want to impose, but -"

"I shall be honored," he said. His touch on her hand guided her to a chair.

Envoy fared onward, each hour of her nightwatch seven months among the stars.

A park occupied three hundred meters of outer deck circumference. Terraces rose at one end to a flower-surrounded well in the inner deck, on which people lived. Planning, planting, and tending had been the particular, though not exclusive, pleasure of Yu, Mokoena, and Zeyd. To all, the park became a sanctuary.

Fragrance breathed from the well, out into the dim lighting and cool air of a deserted corridor. On the path to it Yu brushed against hollyhocks and lilies gone slumberous. The way down the terraces was broader, moss moist and resilient underfoot. A streamlet wound through rosemary, clover, and pampas grass. It sparkled and trilled where it fell over an edge. Here the overhead illumination was a little more bright than on the upper deck, but still meant for darktime, about like a full Moon above Earth. Glowbulbs set widely apart along the footways gave guidance, muted ruby, emerald, topaz.

The gardens were various, intricately laid out, mostly screened by hedges or vines, so that it was as if a visitor passed from one miniature world to another. Yu chose a track that took her between tall ranks of bamboo to the place she sought: a circle of turf, fringed by the bamboo and by privet and camellias, open to the overhead. At its center lay a pool in which played a fountain.

Yu stopped. A man slumped on a bench. In spite of the dimness she recognized Ruszek's bald head and arrogant mustache - not that she could ever fail to tell her nine shipmates apart. He gripped a bottle.

"Oh," Yu murmured, surprised.

"You, too?" Ruszek called hoarsely. He pondered. "No. You wouldn't come here to get drunk."

"Pardon me." She started to go.

"No, wait," he said. "Please. Don't let me drive you away. I'm harmless."

She couldn't avoid smiling a trifle. "I think I can take your word for that, Lajos."

"I'd like some company. Yours would be very nice. If you can stand it. Though I sus-sus-suppose you came looking for peace and quiet."

"And beauty and memories," she admitted. Compassion mingled with courtesy. "If you wish to talk, by all means let us."

"You are a sweet lady." He beckoned.

She joined him on the bench, keeping well aside. For a span the fountain alone had voice, rushing and splashing, white beneath the gray-indigo false sky. Ruszek held the bottle out to her. She made a fending motion and shook her head. He tilted it and swallowed.

"Forgive me," she ventured, "but is this wise?"

"Who cares?" he growled.

"We do. Your comrades."

"After they've made us gone on to nowhere? And on and on."

"That isn't fair. The nature of our mission may have changed, but they feel it is still our mission."

"Yes, yes. Everybody honest, everybody honorable. Except me. The captain doesn't approve of getting drunk. Mam doesn't. You don't. I've been smuggling flasks out of stores. Bad. Wicked." He glugged.