It was a teetery, vertiginous place to be, for the ground beneath Viktor's feet curved up past the glowing central rod to become the sky over his head. Nothing fell on him, of course. Viktor knew perfectly well that nothing could, because the rotation of the habitat pasted those distant upside-down trees and people as firmly to their "ground" as he was pasted to his. All the same, he was less uneasy when he avoided looking up. There were plenty of other things to see. There were brooks and ponds. There were beds of flowering plants, and farm patches. There were even herds of what looked like sheep and cattle, grazing on the meadows that bent up to join on the far side of the habitat. There were people, too, many people, going about their business or simply strolling and enjoying the park.

Viktor realized that something was missing from the bizarre scene: buildings. There were none in sight. It seemed that no one lived on the surface of this interior sh.e.l.l; their homes, their offices or workshops or whatever, were all inside the sh.e.l.l, "underground," so to speak, with only entranceways visible on the surface-like the one they had come out of, rising direct from the bus dock.

"Ah, yes," Nrina said as she got her bearings. She pointed to a round pond a hundred yards away-just far enough along the curve of the sh.e.l.l to make Viktor uneasy again, because the water looked as though it really ought to be spilling over out of its bed. "Sit there on that bench," she commanded. The bench was in a trellis of something like grapevines. "Let me have the cat-we don't want Balit to see it yet. Then you just stay there while I find the others and check the operating room." She was gone before he could ask her what in the world she wanted an "operating room" for.

As Viktor sat, the quivers in his stomach began to settle down. The air was warm enough to be friendly but not oppressive; there was a gentle, steady breeze, perhaps from the rotation of the cylinder. A fair number of people were in sight, though none close enough to Viktor to talk to. Near the round pond there was a gra.s.sy meadow, where twelve or fourteen adults and children were flying huge bright, many-colored kites, laughing and shouting as they played the fluttery things in the steady breeze.

Of course, like everyone else Viktor encountered these days, they were just about naked-breechclouts, yes, they all had those, and a few wore gauzy cloaks, or even hats; but that was it. And they were having fun. They weren't just flying the kites for the sake of watching them dart and wheel in the sky. They were in a contest. The kite flyers were fighting one kite against another. Some of the players were children, most were fully grown, and all of them were screaming in excitement as they tried to use the sharp edges of their own kite tails and cords to cut someone else's down.

Between Viktor and the kite flyers was a sort of garden. Some pale, long fruit was being harvested-maybe a kind of cuc.u.mber? Viktor thought. And a crew of dwarfish, hairy "gillies" was moving along the rows to pick the ripe fruit. They seemed to Viktor larger, or at least squatter, than the ones he had seen before. As Viktor watched, one of them glanced around, then crammed one of the fruits into its own mouth. When it saw Viktor watching, it winked at him in embarra.s.sment.

So even the gillies had privileges here. He found the thought rea.s.suring. It emboldened him to pick a few grapes off the vines he was sitting under. They were not very sweet, but they were deliciously cool on his tongue.

When Nrina came back she was not alone.

Half a dozen or more other men and women came milling out of the entranceway with her, all next door to naked, of course, and all chuckling to each other and looking antic.i.p.atory. They were all strangers to Viktor-almost all, anyway, though one exceptionally stocky, round-faced man looked vaguely familiar. Viktor was surprised to see that all of them were carrying things that looked like baseball bats, for what reason he could not guess.

Nrina introduced him all around. "This is Viktor," she said proudly. "He was actually born on Earth! Earth! And this is Wollet, Viktor, and this is his daughter Gren. This is Velota and this Mangry-Frit's father and mother, you know-and Forta's sisters, Wilp and Mrust; this is Pallik over here; and do you remember Pelly?" And this is Wollet, Viktor, and this is his daughter Gren. This is Velota and this Mangry-Frit's father and mother, you know-and Forta's sisters, Wilp and Mrust; this is Pallik over here; and do you remember Pelly?"

Recognition dawned. "I do," he said. "I saw your s.h.i.+p as we were coming in. How are you, Pelly?"

The man looked agreeable but surprised. "I'm very well, of course. Why do you ask?"

Nrina laughed and interrupted, sparing Viktor the trouble of finding an answer. "That's how they used to talk on Old Earth," she explained. "Viktor's really quite civilized, though. Not like some of the others."

They didn't shake hands, either, Viktor discovered, although several of them did hug in greeting, and one of the men kissed his cheek. Which one, Viktor could not have said. Of all the dozen names Viktor had been given he retained none, though the other party guests all seemed to know each other.

Then Nrina handed him one of the clubs. He almost dropped it-not because it was heavy, but for the opposite reason. The bat was made of a sort of rigid foam, strong and soft to the touch, that weighed almost nothing.

A soft thwack thwack across his own back made him jump and whirl: It was the little girl-Gren?-giggling as she swung at him again. He fended the attack off with his own club, careful not to hit the girl-the blow hadn't hurt at all, but he was very unsure of just what was going on. Her father-Wollet?-nodded approvingly, grinning as he took practice swings with his own club. "We'll give it to them, all right," he exulted. "Where are they, Nrina? Let's go!" across his own back made him jump and whirl: It was the little girl-Gren?-giggling as she swung at him again. He fended the attack off with his own club, careful not to hit the girl-the blow hadn't hurt at all, but he was very unsure of just what was going on. Her father-Wollet?-nodded approvingly, grinning as he took practice swings with his own club. "We'll give it to them, all right," he exulted. "Where are they, Nrina? Let's go!"

"Hold the club behind your back, you a.s.s," she commanded, laughing at him. "You too, Viktor. We don't want them to see what we're doing, do we? Frit said they'd be watching the kite battles-yes, there they are! Oh, and look at Balit-isn't he a perfect little doll?"

It was Wollet's turn. "If you don't shut up they'll hear us," he warned, and led the way to where two men and a young boy were watching the battling kites, their backs to the group with the clubs. The boy certainly was nice-looking-slim, pale-haired; the equivalent of an Earthly ten-year-old, with the promise of good adult looks in the bones of his face. Viktor frowned. Another puzzle! On the boy's pretty young forehead there was exactly the same blue tattoo as Viktor wore himself. But he had no opportunity to ask about it, for the others were all shus.h.i.+ng each other as they moved closer. Although the boy was doggedly staring at the bobbing kites, he was also stealing glances around in every direction, as though suspecting something, until one of the men with him leaned down and, smiling, whispered in his ear. Then Balit stopped looking around. Still, the body language of the way he stood showed that he was tensed up for-what?

There were other spectators, who glanced from Balit to the approaching group, with expressions of amused tolerance. The two men with Balit kept their eyes steadfastly on the kites in the sky. As they approached, Viktor saw that one of the men was as tall as himself, though as slightly built as all these people; he had both mustaches and a beard, all waxed or sprayed or some-other-how swept out in majestic and improbable long curves. The other man, smaller and even more delicately built, had one hand on the boy's head and the other tucked into the hand of his companion. His beard was far shorter and less conspicuous-but, all the same, it was definitely a beard.

Suddenly confused, Viktor whispered to Nrina, "Who are those two guys?"

"Frit and Forta, of course. Balit's parents."

"Oh. For a minute I thought they were both men."

"They are are both men, Viktor. Do be quiet!" both men, Viktor. Do be quiet!"

"Oh," Viktor said again, feeling his eyes beginning to bulge. One more surprise! He could have expected almost anything of these people, but what he had not expected at all was that Balit's parents should both be male.

Then things got even more surprising. "Now we attack! Show no quarter!" Nrina shouted joyously, and her whole band began to run toward the little family, waving their clubs. "Don't you dare try to resist!" Nrina ordered ferociously, thwacking the taller man happily across his shoulder with the harmless bat. "We've come to steal your child and you dare not try to stop us!"

But both the men, laughing, were already resisting. They whirled around, pulling soft clubs of their own out of the waistbands of their breechclouts and defending themselves vigorously against the combined attack of Nrina's band of marauders. A couple of blows. .h.i.t Viktor, who was blinking in confusion as he was thrust into the middle of the fracas. Of course, the clubs didn't hurt. It was almost like being hit with a helium-filled balloon; the foam-light clubs were incapable of hurting anyone; and there was no doubt of the outcome-it was two against a dozen, after all. The bystanders were cheering and egging both sides on, as the outnumbered parents slowly fell back, leaving the boy standing tense and smiling anxiously behind them.

"Pick him up, Viktor," Nrina commanded, laughing breathlessly in pursuit. "Go on, do it! You're much stronger than any of us, so you can be the one to carry him away!"

What made Viktor follow her order was that the boy seemed to acquiesce. He moved toward Viktor, smiling tentatively and holding out his arms.

And so Viktor Sorricaine, four thousand years out of his time, found himself in the act of kidnapping a child on a manmade habitat that circled the brown dwarf, Nergal. Well, why not? he thought wryly. Nothing else made sense! Why should this?

The band of kidnappers broke off their battle and flocked after Viktor, shouting in triumph while the despoiled parents watched proudly after them. The whole abducting mob hurried into one of the entranceways. Then Nrina told Viktor to put the boy down. "I'll take care of him from now on," she said indulgently. "Did you meet Viktor, Balit? He was frozen for a long time, you know. He was actually on Old Earth-imagine! He'll tell you all about it at the party, I'm sure."

"h.e.l.lo, Viktor," the boy said politely, and then looked plaintively at Nrina. "Is it going to hurt, Aunt Nrina?"

"Hurt? Of course course it won't hurt, Balit," she scolded indulgently. "It'll take five minutes, that's all. Then it will all be over. And besides, you'll be asleep while I'm doing it. Now, come to the operating room-and, oh, I've got the most wonderful coming-of-age present for you!" it won't hurt, Balit," she scolded indulgently. "It'll take five minutes, that's all. Then it will all be over. And besides, you'll be asleep while I'm doing it. Now, come to the operating room-and, oh, I've got the most wonderful coming-of-age present for you!"

An hour later the party was in full swing. Balit was sitting on a kind of throne on top of the buffet table, a gla.s.s of wine in his hand, Nrina's gift purring gently in his lap, and a garland of flowers on his head, while his captors and his parents and several dozen other people who had shown up from nowhere drank and ate and joked and sang and congratulated Balit on his new status as a man.

Viktor had never seen a young boy look more pleased, though he noticed that Balit did from time to time surrept.i.tiously reach down to touch his genitals, as though to make sure they were still there.

They were. As good as new. It was simply that through Nrina's quick and expert minor surgery, they were no longer capable of producing live sperm. "It's what every male does when he gets close to p.u.b.erty," Wollet explained heartily, refilling Viktor's gla.s.s. "That way he doesn't have to worry about, you know, making someone really-what was the word?-yes, pregnant pregnant." He gazed fondly at his daughter, who was teasingly stroking the kitten in Balit's lap-and a little of Balit, too. "It makes the girls a little jealous," Wollet said. "They have a coming-of-age party, too, of course, but they don't have the jolly old fighting and the kidnapping and the carrying away, and that's what makes this kind of party so special. Don't you agree?"

"Oh, yes," Viktor said politely. "Uh, Wollet? That mark on the boy's forehead . . . "

"The fertility mark, yes. What about it? Oh, I see you've got one, too. Well, Balit shouldn't have intercourse now for a few weeks, you know, until any live sperm in his tract dissipate, then they'll take the brand off. Hasn't Nrina told you all this? I guess she would do you, too, if you asked her to-I mean, now that you're not donating anymore. Oh, here comes Pelly!"

Viktor was not at his best, greeting the bloated-looking s.p.a.ce captain; he was not used to the fact that everyone he met seemed to know all about the state of his genital system. All he could say was, in a rush, "Pelly, I really want to talk to you-"

"About Nebo. I know," the man growled good-naturedly. "Nrina warned me you would. Let's get out of this noise, though. Suppose we pick up a couple of drinks, and then we can go over there and sit by the edge of the pond."

It wasn't just Nebo that Viktor wanted to talk about, but Pelly was easy. He seemed almost to admire Viktor-well, naturally enough, he explained. "You, Viktor-you've really traveled! traveled! All the way from Old Earth-all I've ever done is cruise around this little system." All the way from Old Earth-all I've ever done is cruise around this little system."

So it wasn't just the fizzy, faintly tart, mildly fruity drinks they were putting away that made Viktor feel good. He had become used to being a curiosity, but it had been a long, long time since he had felt himself admired. admired. He glanced back at the coming-of-age party, which was increasing and multiplying as random pa.s.sersby came by and joined in and stayed. Nrina was showing Balit how to feed the kitten out of the improvised bottle she had made; Frit, from the top of the banquet table, was declaiming a poem. He glanced back at the coming-of-age party, which was increasing and multiplying as random pa.s.sersby came by and joined in and stayed. Nrina was showing Balit how to feed the kitten out of the improvised bottle she had made; Frit, from the top of the banquet table, was declaiming a poem.

"Nrina said you had some artifacts you'd picked up from Nebo," Viktor said.

Pelly shook his head. "Oh, no, not me. I mean, I didn't pick the things up personally-I've never landed on Nebo, and I never will. But I do have this thing-I carry it around to show people." He fumbled in his pouch and handed Viktor a bit of something that was metal-bright, but a pale lavender in color.

Viktor turned the thing over. It was astonis.h.i.+ngly light, for metal: a rod about the size of his finger, tapering to round at one end, the other end cracked and jagged. "Is it hollow?" he asked, hefting it.

"No. It's what you see. And don't ask me what it's for, because I don't know." Pelly restored it to his pouch, then had a change of mind. "I know, I'll give it to Balit for a coming-of-age present! There are plenty more of these things-not here, of course, but on Newmanhome." He peered keenly at Viktor and the moon face split in a smile. "I'm going back there in a few days, you know."

"Really? to Newmanhome?"

"To tell the truth," Pelly admitted, "I'm looking forward to it. I'm generally happier on the s.h.i.+p than I am here-maybe because I'm pure, you know. I mean," he explained, "n.o.body tinkered with my genes before I was born. Not much, anyway, outside of, you know, getting rid of genetic diseases and that sort of thing. I probably wouldn't even have needed the muscle builders and things to be on Newmanhome, except for growing up on a habitat-but I was always a lot heavier than the other boys."

"I didn't know there were any like you anymore," Viktor said.

"There aren't many. Maybe that's why I like s.p.a.ce. Maybe I take after the ones who originally came here, you know. You've seen their s.h.i.+ps! Can you imagine the courage of them- What's the matter?"

"I haven't seen those s.h.i.+ps. I wish I could."

"Oh, but that's easy enough," Pelly said, grinning. From his shoulder bag he pulled out a flat board, gla.s.sy-topped, like the teaching desks. He touched the tiny keypad. "There it is," he said ruefully. "Pathetic, isn't it?"

Viktor bent over to study the picture. "Pathetic" was the right word-a single hydroxy-propelled rocket, tiny in the screen but certainly not very large in any case. It was...o...b..ting with ruddy Nergal huge below it, and as Pelly manipulated the keypad to move the scene forward in time the s.h.i.+p was joined by another, and another-more than a dozen in all, linking together in a sprawling ma.s.s of nested s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps. Viktor could see years of history happening in minutes as the s.h.i.+ps deployed solar mirrors and began to reshape themselves. "That was the first habitat," Pelly told him. "Altogether only eight hundred people made it to Nergal-that was all they could build s.h.i.+ps for; the rest, I guess, just stayed there and died. Things got better when they began constructing real habitats out of asteroidal material, but for a long time they d.a.m.n near starved. Then, once there was some sort of plague, and most of the ones around then died of that." He swept his arm around the scene about them. "Did you know that all of us are descended from exactly ninety-one people? That's all that were left after the plague. But then it began to get better." He flicked off the screen and looked at Viktor, seeming a little abashed. "Does all this bore you?"

"Oh, no!" no!" Viktor cried. "Honestly, Pelly, it's what I've been trying to find out ever since Nrina thawed me out! Listen, what about the time-dilation effect?" Viktor cried. "Honestly, Pelly, it's what I've been trying to find out ever since Nrina thawed me out! Listen, what about the time-dilation effect?"

Pelly blinked politely. "I beg your pardon?"

"The basic basic question, I mean. The reason all this happened in the first place-the way our little group of stars took off at relativistic speeds. I've been trying to figure it out. The only thing I can think is that we were traveling so fast that time dilation took over-for a question, I mean. The reason all this happened in the first place-the way our little group of stars took off at relativistic speeds. I've been trying to figure it out. The only thing I can think is that we were traveling so fast that time dilation took over-for a long long time, Pelly, I can't even guess how long-long enough so that all the stars went through their life cycles and died while we were traveling." Viktor stopped, because Pelly's eyes were beginning to glaze. time, Pelly, I can't even guess how long-long enough so that all the stars went through their life cycles and died while we were traveling." Viktor stopped, because Pelly's eyes were beginning to glaze.

"Oh, yes," Pelly said, beginning to fidget as he glanced around. "Nrina said you said things like that."

"But don't you see? It's all linked together! The structures on Nebo, the Sorricaine-Mtiga objects, the foreshortening of the optical universe, the absence of all stellar objects but a handful now-"

"Viktor," Pelly said, his voice good-natured enough but also quite definite, "I'm a s.p.a.ce pilot, not a poet. Ask me anything about practical matters and I'm happy to talk as long as you like. But this-this-this sort of, well, mystical mystical stuff, it's just not what I'm interested in. Anyway," he finished, holding up his empty gla.s.s, "we need refills now, don't we? And they're beginning to dance again-what say we join them?" stuff, it's just not what I'm interested in. Anyway," he finished, holding up his empty gla.s.s, "we need refills now, don't we? And they're beginning to dance again-what say we join them?"

It took two more gla.s.ses of the mild, bubbly stuff before Viktor was ready to accept defeat. Ah, well, he told himself, it was too much to hope for real understanding from any of these people. All they cared about, obviously, was having fun.

But halfway through the second gla.s.s fun began to seem worth having even to someone on whom, alone, the burden of solving the riddle of the universe seemed to rest. Nrina was leading an open circle of scores of people, dancing around the guest of honor's throne, laughing. She waved to Viktor to join them.

Why not? He swallowed the rest of the drink. Then he trotted to the line and took over Nrina's position.

The fizzy drink probably had something to do with that. Viktor wasn't in the habit of taking over a lead spot among strangers. Especially when, in this thistledown gravity, his steps were balloonlike rather than the macho stomps he liked best. Nevertheless, everyone followed as he led them, patiently but firmly, in a sort of loose, watered-down Hine Ma Tov-leaving out the tricky Yemeni figures, just step-bend and running steps, until everyone in the line had grasped it and was laughing and out of breath.

"That was nice," Nrina told him breathlessly, throwing her arms around him at the end. "Kiss, Viktor!" And while they were kissing the proud father came up to them, beaming.

"Viktor! I didn't know you were a dancer." And before Viktor had a chance to be modest, the man was rus.h.i.+ng on. "I'm Frit. I'm so glad Nrina brought you. We haven't had a chance to meet, but I wanted to thank you for helping with Balit's party." He squeezed Viktor's arm. "Imagine! None of his friends ever had a person from Earth Earth carry them away! He'll be the envy of his whole cohort." carry them away! He'll be the envy of his whole cohort."

"It was nothing," Viktor said graciously. Nrina patted his shoulder affectionately and strolled away. Viktor hardly noticed. He was staring in fascination at Frit's mustaches. At close range they were even more of a marvel; they extended beyond his shoulders on both sides, and although Viktor was sure he had seen one of them bent in the mock scuffle it was now repaired and stood as proudly as before. They did not at all match Frit's hair, either. At a distance Viktor had thought the man was wearing a white cap, but it was actually close-cropped white kinks, like the standard image of an old Pullman porter, though Frit's skin was alabaster.

"You must meet Forta," Frit went on, beckoning to the-well, Viktor thought, I guess you would say to the other father, though how all that worked out he couldn't imagine. "This is Viktor, dear," Frit told his mate. "Nrina says he's very interested in the stars and all."

"Yes, she told me," Forta said, demurely offering his shoulder to hug. "Do you know what we should do, Frit? We should ask Viktor to come and stay with us for a while. Balit already asked me if we could; he was just thrilled at being kidnapped by somebody from Old Earth! I know Balit would love to show him off to his friends-"

"Yes, dear," Frit said tolerantly. "But what would Viktor think of that? We can't expect him to spend his time with a bunch of kids."

Viktor blinked, then said, suddenly hopeful, "I'd really like to talk to you about what's happened to the universe. If I wouldn't be any burden-"

"Burden?" Forta echoed. "No, certainly you wouldn't be a burden; we'd love to have you come home with us. And-" He hesitated, then grinned modestly. "-since you're interested in dancing, shall I dance for you now? Frit's just finished a new poem in honor of Balit's coming of age-it's about growth and maturity-and I've done the dance accompaniment."

"Please do," Viktor said. He was completely out of it, really. He was wholly confused about what had been going on and what was to come. But he was game. He didn't, after all, have many other options.

CHAPTER 25.

When Wan-To became aware that a fresh burst of tachyons had struck his receptors, he did not respond very quickly. (He didn't do anything anything very quickly these days.) It took him a while to switch from one mode of activity to another. very quickly these days.) It took him a while to switch from one mode of activity to another.

Torpidly, almost groaning in protest, he bestirred himself to see what this latest batch of tachyons was like. Naturally, his detectors had recorded them in case he wanted to examine them in detail-though that was probably hardly worth the trouble. Or wouldn't have been, if he had had anything more worthwhile to do.

Wan-To was not excited about the event. He had lost the habit of excitement, in this dead universe where there was no light, no X rays, no cosmic rays, no anything but the distant purring, popping sound of the protons of his own star as they gave up the ghost. Even so, it wasn't unusual for batches of stray radiation of one kind or another to reach him. Infrequent, yes-everything was infrequent these days. But not startling. Such things were simply the showers of particles that were the ghosts of some immense stellar catastrophes from long ago-from the time when any immense event could still happen, in this moribund universe.

But this time . . . This time . . .

This time it was the most exciting thing that had happened to Wan-To in a very long time indeed. Although he could hardly believe it at first, he was soon certain that this was no random burst of particles. It was a message. message.

It was a wonder that Wan-To could read the message at all. The coded pulses were of the very lowest-energy tachyons-therefore almost the fastest of all-and yet they had taken a long time to reach him (so vast had the always-expanding universe become, in ten to the fortieth years). They had to have been transmitted with considerable power, too. Wan-To knew this to be true not merely because of the distance they had traveled, but because he observed that the tachyons had not been transmitted in a tight, economical beam. They had been broadcast. broadcast.

Broadcast! So the sender hadn't known where he was! But they were definitely meant for Wan-To-the opening pulses said so.

That fact was as much of a thrill to Wan-To as the first ecstatic sight of a sail on the horizon to any s.h.i.+pwrecked mariner. Impossible though it was to believe, even now, in this terminal coma of the universe, there was someone somewhere who had something to say say to him. to him.

But what was this message?

To find that out was a labor requiring much energy out of Wan-To's slender store, as well as a great deal of long, hard concentration. The message had come in very fast. The whole burst had taken only a matter of seconds, and it had been many ages since Wan-To had been able to operate at that speed. He had almost forgotten what it was like to do things at the speed of nuclear reactions. In order to interpret the message at all, he had to slow it down by orders of magnitude and ponder its meaning bit by bit.

Then, too, although the message had been stored automatically for examination at his own pace, the poverty of Wan-To's resources meant that even the basic storage was sketchy. Some sections of the message seemed to be missing. Some of the content was doubtful. Wan-To found it necessary to reactivate large parts of his "mind" from inactive storage to help in puzzling out what the message meant, and that in itself was a considerable drain on his meager strength.

But, in the final a.n.a.lysis, he didn't need to read it all. The signature alone was enough to tell him nearly all there was to know.

It had come from that long-forgotten idiot, the one he had charged with sending a little flock of stars on a wild-goose chase-Matter-Copy Number Five.

Five's stars were still alive.

Those long-ago stars had been careening through s.p.a.ce so fast that time dilation had frozen them nearly immobile. They had not aged. They hadn't rotted into decay with the rest of the universe.

In a universe where everything else had decayed into stagnant death, they were still young . . . and bursting with power! power!

CHAPTER 26.

Moon Mary was a natural moon-well, a formerly natural moon, now terraformed and made lovely. Along with the myriad habitats it orbited around the brown dwarf, Nergal. "Forta needs a moon's gravity," Frit explained on the way. "Dancers have to have a lot of muscles, you know! If he can dance here he can dance anywhere-well, not on a planet, planet, or anything like or anything like that, that, but on any of the other moons or the habitats. The exercise will be good for your leg while it heals, too." but on any of the other moons or the habitats. The exercise will be good for your leg while it heals, too."

"Besides, we've got a lot of data in our store," Forta put in hospitably. "I'm sure you'll find all sorts of interesting things in it."

And Balit said with excitement, "Look over there, Viktor! That's Moon Mary. Watch how we come in-oh, Viktor, I do love being in s.p.a.ce!" s.p.a.ce!"

Viktor did watch. It was worth watching. They didn't simply "land." Moon Mary was not left wide open to the universe; it couldn't be, since it didn't have enough gravitation to hold a breathable air. To land, their little s.h.i.+p had to slide through an opening that appeared magically in the atmosphere-holding, radiation-s.h.i.+elding forcefield that kept the people who lived on Moon Mary safe.