When he caught a glimpse of Marie-Claude Stockbridge he saw that she was weeping. Even weeping she looked desirable, but he could not bear the thought of her being in sorrow. "What is it?" Viktor asked his mother.

"Oh, it's Werner," his mother told him sadly. "Poor Marie-Claude! Werner didn't come out of the freezer. He's dead."

CHAPTER 3.

Pal Sorricaine was not the only observer who had been thinking hard about that anomalously flaring K-5 star. So had Wan-To, with a good deal more urgency.

The mere fact that one of his misbehaving relatives had blown up a star didn't bother Wan-To very much. There were plenty of stars to spare. The universe was littered with the things. If the idiots exploded a million of them it would make very little difference to Wan-To-there would still be hundreds of billions left in just this one little galaxy-provided, of course, that the star he lived in wasn't one of them. (Still it would be a pity to wreck them all and have to move on to another galaxy, so soon after having had to get out of the last.) It was the motives behind it that made this unnatural flaring of stars so distasteful to Wan-To. It was an unsettling development, and one for which, justice would have forced him to admit, he had mostly himself to blame.

He excused himself, though. He couldn't help the fact that he had been lonely.

The game Wan-To's "family" was playing with him had its counterpart on Earth. Artillery officers called it "probing fire," meaning that you pulled the lanyard and wondered if you'd hit anything. The fact that they hadn't, this time, didn't mean anything very rea.s.suring. If they kept it up, in the long run they were sure to score a bull's-eye . . . and when Wan-To thought about anything, it was always the long run he thought about.

Wan-To liked liked his star. It was big, but not too big, and it was comfortable. Its diameter was just under a million miles, its surface temperature was between six and seven thousand Kelvin-it varied a little, because Wan-To's star was just a touch variable. Well, that was what you got when you chose a medium-sized star. But you also got a lot of energy to play with, and, anyway, he had made sure that it was prudently below the "Chandrasekhar limit" beyond which the d.a.m.ned thing might go supernova. Its actual ma.s.s was about 2.4 times 10 his star. It was big, but not too big, and it was comfortable. Its diameter was just under a million miles, its surface temperature was between six and seven thousand Kelvin-it varied a little, because Wan-To's star was just a touch variable. Well, that was what you got when you chose a medium-sized star. But you also got a lot of energy to play with, and, anyway, he had made sure that it was prudently below the "Chandrasekhar limit" beyond which the d.a.m.ned thing might go supernova. Its actual ma.s.s was about 2.4 times 1027 tons. Getting a little bit smaller all the time, of course. It was, like any star of its cla.s.s, turning more than four million tons of hydrogen ma.s.s into energy every second, but that wasn't worrisome. Wan-To knew well that it had some twenty-four s.e.xtillion of those 4,000,000-ton ma.s.ses to spend. So it had a good long life expectancy to begin with. It should still have at least a few billion years to go before it began to swell unpleasantly toward the red-giant stage. tons. Getting a little bit smaller all the time, of course. It was, like any star of its cla.s.s, turning more than four million tons of hydrogen ma.s.s into energy every second, but that wasn't worrisome. Wan-To knew well that it had some twenty-four s.e.xtillion of those 4,000,000-ton ma.s.ses to spend. So it had a good long life expectancy to begin with. It should still have at least a few billion years to go before it began to swell unpleasantly toward the red-giant stage.

Of course, it had used up quite a lot of that life expectancy already. It had not been new when Wan-To moved into it. Wan-To knew that. Like any suburban householder aware of doors that were beginning to stick as his house settled and damp spots where the roof was almost beginning to leak, Wan-To understood that some day or other he would want to move into something newer and less likely to give trouble . . . but not for a while yet.

For now he was perfectly happy in his snug little house. He wanted to stay there-if he could.

Thinking along these lines, Wan-To restlessly extended himself into the convection zone of his star. It was like a worried human getting up and pacing about his room. It also cheered him up, because that was one of his best places for play. There was pure pleasure in twisting the convective cells so that rising and falling ones. .h.i.t each other head-on. Besides being fun in itself, like playing with Silly Putty or stroking a textured worry stick, he knew that it made pretty patterns on the surface of his star. He could stop heat transport in an area a thousand miles across that way, and so that part of the star's surface would be what human astronomers called a "sunspot." In that place a little patch of the star would cool a little. Not much. Only by a couple of thousand Kelvin, say, but enough so that to humans those areas looked dark by comparison. They weren't really dark, of course. They were infinitely brighter than any human illumination, but everything around them was very much brighter even than that.

Abruptly Wan-To halted his play as a fresh fright struck him. The sunspots! If he played about in the convection zone, the sunspots he made would be visible! visible! The patterns would not be the same as natural ones, and anyone looking at his star could see that someone was doing that to its surface! The patterns would not be the same as natural ones, and anyone looking at his star could see that someone was doing that to its surface!

Hurriedly, worriedly, Wan-To released his magnetic grasp on the pockets of hot gas. Delicately, fearfully, he extricated himself from the convection zone entirely. He could only hope that none of his compet.i.tors had happened to have a close-in optical surveillance of his star just then, and enough intelligence to figure out what he had revealed.

Then, when (a few dozen years later) enough time had pa.s.sed for even a fairly distant colleague to have seen it and reacted to it if he were going to-and nothing dire had happened-Wan-To began to relax.

It was true that he couldn't play in the convection zone anymore. That was a pity. It had been fun. But, on the other hand, a very satisfying thought had occurred to him: Perhaps some of his compet.i.tors still did.

Wan-To then set certain observational procedures into operation, with particular emphasis on the optical frequency human beings called the color blue. While he was waiting for results, he paused to think seriously for a bit.

It had been a long time since Wan-To had seen his "parent"-the one who, like Wan-To, had created some copies of himself for company and, like Wan-To, then regretted it very much. Wan-To couldn't even see the galaxy where he had been born anymore. It was on the far side of the core of the galaxy humans lived in, the one they called the Milky Way, and observation through the ma.s.ses of gas clouds and dust and stars and other highly obscurant things was almost as difficult for Wan-To as it was for human beings. Earthly astronomers knew it was there, though. They had observed it, though spa.r.s.ely, by radio, and deduced it, though uncertainly, by its effects on the motions of the bodies near it; they called it "Maffei 2." Wan-To didn't much want to see it. He had a pretty good idea of what it would look like if he did, for when he left it it was getting too hot to live in (in the vernacular, not the cosmological, sense), because the squabbling among his various relations had erupted into veritable cascades of stars wrenched open, spilling their guts into s.p.a.ce.

He saw with regret that the same thing was beginning to happen here.

The fact that he didn't want to see Maffei 2 didn't mean he was incurious about the rest of the universe. Indeed, he was intensely curious; in fact, he had plans for a lot of it. He wanted to know what was happening, and he wanted to make sure that things happened his way.

For the two tasks of satisfying his curiosity and making things happen, Wan-To had four major tools at his disposal. In increasing order of importance, they were matter, photons, tachyons, and packets of twinned particles that performed according to what human beings had called "the Einstein-Rosen-Podolsky Separability Phenomenon."

The twinned Einstein-Rosen-Podolsky packets-call them "ERPS" for short-were the best. For one thing, they were the fastest. As humans had discovered, under certain conditions pairs of particles, however far apart in s.p.a.ce, are somehow so sensitive to each other that an action performed on one of the particles, anywhere, will instantaneously be reflected in its twin, anywhere else. Instantaneously. Instantaneously. That generally universal speed limit, the velocity of light, just doesn't come into it when you're talking about ERP pairs. It doesn't apply. Knowing these facts, it was easy enough for Wan-To and his colleagues to devise complex particle pairs and gave them what amounted to instant sending and receiving stations. One of Wan-To's sets was kept at home with him, the other was deployed anywhere in the universe he chose to plant it. That generally universal speed limit, the velocity of light, just doesn't come into it when you're talking about ERP pairs. It doesn't apply. Knowing these facts, it was easy enough for Wan-To and his colleagues to devise complex particle pairs and gave them what amounted to instant sending and receiving stations. One of Wan-To's sets was kept at home with him, the other was deployed anywhere in the universe he chose to plant it.

Wan-To had planted plenty of them. He liked them very much, not least because there was no "directionality" about them. There was no way of telling, from one of his distant ERP packets, where its twin was-and therefore, where he he was. Since Wan-To definitely didn't want just anyone to know where he was, he used the twinned ERP packets for talking to his worrying colleagues. They were his equivalent of an unlisted telephone number. was. Since Wan-To definitely didn't want just anyone to know where he was, he used the twinned ERP packets for talking to his worrying colleagues. They were his equivalent of an unlisted telephone number.

His other tools were also good, in different ways.

Tachyons, for instance, were almost as fast, and in some ways better. You could carry a lot more information a lot easier on tachyons-particles whose existence had been surmised, but not detected, on Earth. More than information could be carried. You could, for instance, hit someone pretty hard with a tachyon blast, if you wanted to do him harm. (From time to time Wan-To did want to do someone harm, if only to keep that one from doing the same to him.) A tachyon was a quite legitimate particle, even within the ancient confines of relativity theory. It obeyed the law of the limitation of the speed of light. The only thing that distinguished tachyons from less exotic particles was that for tachyons the velocity of light was the lower speed limit, not the upper. They could never go as slowly slowly as as c. c. Speed wasn't much of a problem when you used tachyons. Indeed, since the lowest-energy tachyons were the fastest ones, for any Speed wasn't much of a problem when you used tachyons. Indeed, since the lowest-energy tachyons were the fastest ones, for any normal normal purpose-say, at distances of up to a few hundred light-years-they were purpose-say, at distances of up to a few hundred light-years-they were almost almost as speedy as the ERP pairs. as speedy as the ERP pairs.

The objection to using tachyons wasn't technical, it was tactical. Tachyons were noisy. They moved through through s.p.a.ce (instead of simply ignoring s.p.a.ce, as the twinned pairs did), and so a person at the receiving end could rather easily figure out the direction they had come from. s.p.a.ce (instead of simply ignoring s.p.a.ce, as the twinned pairs did), and so a person at the receiving end could rather easily figure out the direction they had come from.

Wan-To definitely did not want that done.

Then, of course, for lesser tasks he had the whole spectrum of photons at his disposal, too-radio, heat, visible light, gamma rays, X rays, even gravitons. All of these were useful, for different things, but they were all so terribly slow. slow. None of them could move faster than that old 186,000 miles a second. None of them could move faster than that old 186,000 miles a second.

Still, they could be very handy when used in the right way, especially the range of particles that mediated the force of gravitation. With them, it wasn't hard for Wan-To (or his brethren) to zap a star. Even human beings could have done it, if they had had access to the necessary gravitons, graviphotons, and grayiscalars, and in all those supplies Wan-To was immensely rich. If you flooded a target star with the right particles you could pull it right out of shape. All that held any star together was gravitational force. When stretched on the particle rack, the core bubbled and fountained like a geyser, and no structure inside it could survive.

Wan-To could imagine that happening to his own comfortable home very easily, and the thought gave him the creeps.

Finally, Wan-To could use that slow, gross, clumsy stuff-matter.

It was easy enough for Wan-To to make things out of ordinary matter, but he mistrusted the stuff. It was completely foreign to his everyday life. He used it only when there was no alternative. And yet, when he thought over his options, it began to look as though this were one of the times when no good alternative could be found.

Although his mind-you wouldn't really want to say his "brain," because there wasn't much of Wan-To but but brain-although his mind, that is to say, was very widely dispersed about the fabric of the star he lived in, the messenger neutrinos flashed their signals about as fast as any animal dendrites in a human skull. It didn't take him long to decide that, this time, the employment of a certain amount of matter was his best strategy. brain-although his mind, that is to say, was very widely dispersed about the fabric of the star he lived in, the messenger neutrinos flashed their signals about as fast as any animal dendrites in a human skull. It didn't take him long to decide that, this time, the employment of a certain amount of matter was his best strategy.

What helped him to that decision quickly was a sudden urgent signal-his "senses" perceived it as something between the ringing of a loud alarm bell and the sting of a wasp-from one of his ERP pairs.

The signal told him that another nearby star had just gone flaring to its death.

That meant that his siblings were still shooting at him with their probing fire. Sooner or later those random shots would find him . . . and so it was time for Wan-To to act. It was war!

It is civilians who get the worst part of wars. Wan-to can't be blamed for what happened to the innocent bystanders in this one, though, since he had no idea there were any.

CHAPTER 4.

The innocent bystander named Pal Sorricaine was now (biologically) in his sixties. That was a lot, compared to his wife's biological thirty-eight, but he still had youth enough to do his duty by the colony. Accordingly, when Viktor was (again biologically, anyway) fourteen, his mother provided him with a sibling.

Viktor had some trouble welcoming the thing. It was female. It was also tiny and noisy at all hours of the day and night; and, in Viktor's view, it was very ugly.

For reasons Viktor could not understand, the wretched look of the thing didn't seem to worry his mother. It didn't put his father off it, either. They held it and fondled it and fed it, just as though it were beautiful. They didn't even appear to mind the bad smells it made when it fouled itself, as it did often.

Its name was Edwina. "Don't call her an 'it,' either," Viktor's mother commanded. "Call her by her name."

"I don't like her name. Why couldn't you call her Marie or something?"

"Because we picked Edwina. Why are you so crazy about the name Marie?"

"I'm not crazy crazy about it. I just about it. I just like like it." it."

Amelia Sorricaine-Memel gave her son a thoughtful look but decided not to press the matter. "Marie's a pretty name," she conceded, "but it isn't hers."

"Ed-wee-na," Viktor sneered. Viktor sneered.

His mother grinned at him. She rumpled his hair fondly and offered a compromise. "You can call her Weeny if you want to, because she is kind of weeny. Now let me show you how to change her diaper."

Viktor gazed at his mother with teenage horror and despair. "Oh, G.o.d," G.o.d," he moaned. "As if I didn't have enough to do already!" he moaned. "As if I didn't have enough to do already!"

In fact he had plenty to do. Everybody did. Building a new colony wasn't just a challenge. It was work, work, and every colonist had to face the facts of frontier life. and every colonist had to face the facts of frontier life.

The first fact of Viktor's new life had been the dwelling he and his parents were given to live in. It was a long, long way from the beach house in Malibu. It was bigger than the cubicle on Mayflower, Mayflower, but that was all you could say for it. It wasn't even a cubicle. It was a tent. More accurately it was three tents run together, each made out of several plies of the light-sail/parachute material, and all they had to furnish it with was a couple of beds-pallets, really; they had no springs-and some metal cupboards brought down from but that was all you could say for it. It wasn't even a cubicle. It was a tent. More accurately it was three tents run together, each made out of several plies of the light-sail/parachute material, and all they had to furnish it with was a couple of beds-pallets, really; they had no springs-and some metal cupboards brought down from Mayflower. Mayflower. (Even those they would have to give up, they were warned, as soon as wood equivalents could be carpentered from the native vegetation. Until the new mines and smelters were fully operational, metal was precious.) (Even those they would have to give up, they were warned, as soon as wood equivalents could be carpentered from the native vegetation. Until the new mines and smelters were fully operational, metal was precious.) The second fact was time, also in short supply. In fact, there wasn't any of it. Every one of the skimpy daylight hours was filled-if not with work (farmhand, construction helper, general laborer; the kids who landed from Mayflower Mayflower were at once put to work at whatever they could do), then with school. School wasn't any fun, either. Viktor was shoved into a cla.s.s with thirty-two other kids of about his age, but they weren't a congenial lot. Half of them were from the first s.h.i.+p, seasoned and superior in the ways of the new planet, and very aware of their superiority, and the other half were greenhorns like himself. The two kinds didn't get along. were at once put to work at whatever they could do), then with school. School wasn't any fun, either. Viktor was shoved into a cla.s.s with thirty-two other kids of about his age, but they weren't a congenial lot. Half of them were from the first s.h.i.+p, seasoned and superior in the ways of the new planet, and very aware of their superiority, and the other half were greenhorns like himself. The two kinds didn't get along.

That situation the teacher would not tolerate. He was a tall, one-armed man named Martin Feldhouse, chronically short of breath. Short of patience, too. "There won't be any fighting in this school," he decreed, coughing. "You have to live together for the rest of your lives, so start out doing it. Line up in size places for your buddies."

The students stood up and reluctantly milled into order. Viktor wasn't sure how to take Martin Feldhouse; he had never seen a human being who was missing an arm before. The thing about Feldhouse was that he had gotten himself crushed under a truck of gravel out at the pit. Back on Earth, or even on the s.h.i.+p, he would have been patched up in no time. Not here. In this primitive place, at that early time, he had been too far from the medical facilities for immediate attention, and so when he got to the clinic the arm was too far gone to be saved, though the injuries to his chest and internal organs had been repaired. More or less repaired. Except for the persistent cough, anyway. When all his disabilities were added up the total pointed to the only job he was still fit for, so now he was a schoolteacher.

"Now count off," Feldhouse decreed. "When I point to you, say where you come from-s.h.i.+p, or Home. You first!" And he pointed to the tallest boy, who promptly announced that he was Home, and so was the girl next behind him, but the one after that was from Mayflower Mayflower and so she was paired with the first boy. and so she was paired with the first boy.

When they got down to Viktor his "buddy" was a girl named Theresa McGann. They looked at each other with speculative hostility, but took their seats together as instructed, while Feldhouse looked on the four unpaired planet-born children. "You four belong to me," he declared. "The rest of you are going to work together. You from the s.h.i.+p, you teach your buddies as much as you can remember from what you got out of the teaching machines. You from Home, you teach geography and what the farms are like and everything else about what it's like here-what is it, what's your name?''

"I'm Viktor Sorricaine," Viktor announced, putting his hand down. "Why do you call this place 'Home'?"

"Because that's what it is," the teacher explained. "That's the first thing you all have to learn. This planet's name is Enki, according to the astronomers, but its right name is Newmanhome. We call it Home for short. From now on you only have one home, and this is it."

It had taken eight months for the last of the corpsicles in New Mayflower New Mayflower to be thawed, oriented, and paradropped to Newmanhome's surface. Most of that time was spent tearing the crew and cargo sections of the s.h.i.+p apart to make them into the modules that would carry everybody and everything down, and a.s.sembling the light-sail-parachutes and streamers that would keep the landing from being a catastrophe. The colonists already there welcomed the new arrivals, to be sure. They welcomed the cargoes each brought down even more. For that matter, the empty modules themselves were fallen upon with joy; each one, when emptied, contributed nearly half a ton of precious steel. to be thawed, oriented, and paradropped to Newmanhome's surface. Most of that time was spent tearing the crew and cargo sections of the s.h.i.+p apart to make them into the modules that would carry everybody and everything down, and a.s.sembling the light-sail-parachutes and streamers that would keep the landing from being a catastrophe. The colonists already there welcomed the new arrivals, to be sure. They welcomed the cargoes each brought down even more. For that matter, the empty modules themselves were fallen upon with joy; each one, when emptied, contributed nearly half a ton of precious steel.

In all this work everybody had to lend a hand, kids included. Kids also had to go to Mr. Feldhouse's school (if they were twelve to fourteen biological Earth years; there were other schools for younger and older ones). For three hours a day they used the teaching machines and drilled each other in grammar and trigonometry and Earth history and music and drawing, under Feldhouse's short-tempered and sketchy supervision. The good part of the school was that Viktor had other children of his own age for company, even if one of them was the bratty Reesa McGann the teacher had forced on him the first day. The bad part was that almost all of the kids were strangers. And a lot of them-the children from the first s.h.i.+p, that was-were really stuck up.

Because he and Reesa were "buddies" they shared a seat in the crowded school hut, and she was the one who had the privilege of pointing out to him how little he knew about how to live on Newmanhome. Every time he complained about shared books or heavy labor, she was sure to tell him how very much worse it had been six years before, when they they landed. Their Ark hadn't been designed for disa.s.sembly, like the landed. Their Ark hadn't been designed for disa.s.sembly, like the Mayflower. Mayflower. All the first colonists could do was strip it of its cargo and most of its moveables. Then, reluctantly, they abandoned it. It was still up there in orbit, drive almost dead except for the trickle of power that fed its freezer units, otherwise just a hulk. With all its precious steel. All the first colonists could do was strip it of its cargo and most of its moveables. Then, reluctantly, they abandoned it. It was still up there in orbit, drive almost dead except for the trickle of power that fed its freezer units, otherwise just a hulk. With all its precious steel.

"If you'd been a little smarter," Viktor told the girl in a superior tone as he was trying to make a fire in the fireplace outside their tent, "you'd at least have fixed the drive so it could beam power down, like our s.h.i.+p."

"If we were smarter," she answered, "we'd have come in the second s.h.i.+p like you, so somebody else would have done all the hard work for us before we got here." And then she added, "Pull out all that wood and start over. You've got the heavy chunks on the bottom and all the kindling on top. Don't you know anything?" anything?" And then she pushed him out of the way and did it herself. The girl was so And then she pushed him out of the way and did it herself. The girl was so physical. physical.

If Viktor had really looked at Theresa McGann he would have discovered that she wasn't such a bad girl after all. True, she kept reminding him of his immense areas of ignorance (but he was grimly repairing them as fast as he could). True, she had scabby knees. True, she was several centimeters taller than he, but that was only because fourteen-year-old girls are generally taller than fourteen-year-old boys. He didn't look at her that way, though. It wasn't that he wasn't interested in the opposite s.e.x, even such a touchy-squeezy physical specimen of it as Reesa McGann. He was often obsessed obsessed with the opposite s.e.x, like any healthy, h.o.r.n.y male teenager, but the focus of his interest hadn't changed. It remained the beautiful (and now widowed) Marie-Claude Stockbridge. with the opposite s.e.x, like any healthy, h.o.r.n.y male teenager, but the focus of his interest hadn't changed. It remained the beautiful (and now widowed) Marie-Claude Stockbridge.

Marie-Claude remained widowed, too. Suffering, Viktor observed that she often "saw" other men, but he took some comfort in noting that she seemed to have no intention of marrying one of them.

Apart from his schoolwork Viktor's contribution to the community was officially defined as "scutwork"-meaning the kinds of low-skilled jobs other people didn't have time for. When he possibly could, he tried to get into a work party with Marie-Claude, but most of the time he possibly couldn't. There was too much work, of too many kinds. Up on the rapidly emptying Mayflower Mayflower the cleanup crews were emptying the cargo holds and launching the contents to the surface. The most precious and fragile of the new supplies came down in one or another of the three-winged, rocket-driven landing craft the cleanup crews were emptying the cargo holds and launching the contents to the surface. The most precious and fragile of the new supplies came down in one or another of the three-winged, rocket-driven landing craft Mayflower Mayflower had carried in its hold, but there wasn't enough fuel made yet to use them for more than one trip each. St.u.r.dier s.h.i.+pments, including pa.s.sengers, came down in the big pods. had carried in its hold, but there wasn't enough fuel made yet to use them for more than one trip each. St.u.r.dier s.h.i.+pments, including pa.s.sengers, came down in the big pods.

There were all kinds of things in those pods-tractors, stills, hand tools, lathes, stores, drilling equipment, rifles, flashlights, cooking utensils, plates, surgical instruments, coils of copper wire, coils of fencing, coils of light-conducting tube, coils of flexible pipe; then there were cows, sheep, pigs, chickens, dogs, cats, carp, tilapia, trout, bees, dung beetles, earthworms, kelp, algae, catfish-each fresh out of the freezer, wrapped in protective foam or immobilized in a plastic bag. The living things didn't all come down at first; many of them (and many, many tubes of ova and sperm and seeds and spores) stayed frozen on the s.h.i.+p against a future need.

The pods kept coming. Almost every time Mayflower Mayflower came around in orbit in the right position-only about one orbit in twenty was right, because of the planet's rotation-the orbital crews launched cl.u.s.ters of twelve or fourteen separate loads, linked until the retrofire rockets slowed them, then shaking apart, popping their light-sail-parachutes, coming down in fleets of bright gold film canopies, with the gray metal pods hanging underneath. Those were smart parachutes. Each one had sensors that kept it posted on where it was drifting and shroud controls that could maneuver it toward its planned drop point-fairly well, anyway-at least, well enough, provided the linked pods had been ejected at just the right moment and the retrofire burn had been precise. came around in orbit in the right position-only about one orbit in twenty was right, because of the planet's rotation-the orbital crews launched cl.u.s.ters of twelve or fourteen separate loads, linked until the retrofire rockets slowed them, then shaking apart, popping their light-sail-parachutes, coming down in fleets of bright gold film canopies, with the gray metal pods hanging underneath. Those were smart parachutes. Each one had sensors that kept it posted on where it was drifting and shroud controls that could maneuver it toward its planned drop point-fairly well, anyway-at least, well enough, provided the linked pods had been ejected at just the right moment and the retrofire burn had been precise.

But even with everything going right, the chutes could land anywhere within a ten-kilometer radius of the drop point, insh.o.r.e of the colony on the sh.o.r.e of what they were calling Great Ocean.

It would have been nice if the drop point could have been right on the little town itself. But that would have meant that half the pods would surely have fallen into Great Ocean, and that meant a whole different order of difficulty in getting them back. It was easier to send people like Viktor out to drag them back on tractor-drawn sledges. So that was what he did-half a dozen times a week.

The most urgent cargoes to reclaim were the living ones. They had to be put in pens, tanks, barns, or breeding ponds at once (sometimes when their new homes were still being built for them by other sweating, hurrying laborers). Then the next priority was the machines that were needed ASAP, so the colony could live and grow-the plows, the tractors, the helicopters, the outboard motors for the colony's growing little fleet, and the spare parts to keep them all going. Fortunately fuel was not a problem after the first few weeks. The fuel wasn't liquid gases of the kind the rockets used-that would have to wait a while yet-nor was it diesel fuel or gasoline. There was oil on Newmanhome, everyone knew that, but there hadn't been time to drill much of it out. So, instead, the first-s.h.i.+p people had filled huge ponds with Newmanhome flora of all kinds, chopped up and drenched, making a kind of sour beer mash that they distilled into vats of alcohol fuel. That drove the tractors that brought in the goods, and Viktor helped. Almost every waking hour of the day when he wasn't in school, and every day of every week.

It was, at least, certainly good exercise.

As though Viktor didn't have anything else to do, he was a.s.signed care of the baby when his parents were at work. He even had to bring the brat to school with him sometimes. Luckily, the thing slept a lot, in a basket behind his desk, but when it woke and began to cry he had to take it outside to shut it up. Sometimes it only needed to be fed, but when it-no, she- she-when she she had wet herself, or worse, he had to face the disgusting job of changing the d.a.m.ned thing. had wet herself, or worse, he had to face the disgusting job of changing the d.a.m.ned thing.

The only saving graces were that he wasn't the only kid with a baby sister or brother, and he didn't always have to do it alone. Theresa McGann took her buddying seriously. "You don't know diddly-s.h.i.+t about babies," she told him, watching critically as he tried to stretch one leghole of the rubber pants to fit around Edwina's waist.

"I suppose you do," he snarled.

"Ought to. I've had the practice." And she proved it by shoving him out of the way and taking over.

Reesa not only did not seem to mind changing little Edwina's filthy messes, it appeared she could even put up with the Stockbridge boys. In her free time she showed them things to do in the little town. When they were standing by, thumbs in their mouths, watching the older kids square dancing in an exercise period, she was the one who invited them in and taught them some steps. (She even taught Viktor a few.) She even once, when everyone was miraculously free at the same time, took Viktor and the boys to picnic in the hills north of the settlement.

Viktor had reservations about all that. Her taking care of Billy and Freddy deprived him of one more chance to keep a high profile in the eyes of Marie-Claude, but then he didn't really have the time to do much of that, anyway. And the picnic was fun. Reesa's very best quality, in Viktor's opinion, was that like himself she was planning to be a s.p.a.ce pilot. Or if there weren't any openings along that line, as there was every reason to think there would not, at least an air pilot. There was plenty of flying to be done in the air of Newmanhome-whole continents to explore, and shoals of islands; the orbiting Mayflower Mayflower kept sending down photographs taken along its...o...b..t, but there was more to see than an orbiting hulk could cover. And then, someday . . . kept sending down photographs taken along its...o...b..t, but there was more to see than an orbiting hulk could cover. And then, someday . . .

"Someday," Reesa said, gazing up at the emerging stars, and she didn't have to say someday what. what. They both knew. They both knew.

The sun had set. The campfire had been stomped out, and the Stockbridge boys sent grumbling off to haul water to pour on the coals. Overhead were the stars and planets of the Newmanhome sky.

"Someday," Viktor agreed confidently, "I'll be up there again. We We will," he amended, to avoid a fight. Then he craned his neck toward where the boys had disappeared into the scrubby Newmanhome woods and lost a little of his confidence. Viktor had never lived on the edge of the unknown before. will," he amended, to avoid a fight. Then he craned his neck toward where the boys had disappeared into the scrubby Newmanhome woods and lost a little of his confidence. Viktor had never lived on the edge of the unknown before.

He saw that Reesa was grinning at him and reddened; one of the things that he hated about Reesa was that she always seemed to know what he was thinking. "The kids are okay," she rea.s.sured him, with another of those friendly pats. "There's nothing out there to hurt them. They can't even get lost, because they can see the town lights."He didn't dignify the remark with an answer. He said firmly. "After Argosy Argosy gets here there'll be s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps again. Have to be. We're not going to be stuck on one lousy little planet all our lives." gets here there'll be s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps again. Have to be. We're not going to be stuck on one lousy little planet all our lives."

"And we'll be just about the right age," Reesa agreed. "Where do you want to go? First, I mean?"

Then, of course, there was an argument. Neither of them wanted to bother with Ishtar: it was big-Jupiter-sized-but that meant no one was ever going to land on it, because it didn't have any more of a surface to land on than Jupiter did. It didn't even have Jupiter's interesting retinue of moons, because gravitational interaction with giant Nergal seemed to have stolen them all away. Nergal was Viktor's choice. "All those moons!" he said. "Some of them have to be decent, and anyway it's a brown dwarf-n.o.body's ever got near a brown dwarf before!"

"That's what Tiss Khadek says," Reesa said.

"Well, she's right."

"She's always always right," Reesa told him, "or anyway says she is. She thinks she owns this place." right," Reesa told him, "or anyway says she is. She thinks she owns this place."

Viktor snickered. The Iraqi astronomer from Ark, Ark, Ibtissam Khadek, was the granddaughter of the man who had run the first robot probe and named the planets after his "ancestral" Babylonian G.o.ds, as was his privilege. "The fact that you don't like her doesn't mean she's wrong," he told Reesa. "Where would you go?" Ibtissam Khadek, was the granddaughter of the man who had run the first robot probe and named the planets after his "ancestral" Babylonian G.o.ds, as was his privilege. "The fact that you don't like her doesn't mean she's wrong," he told Reesa. "Where would you go?"

"I want to go to Nebo," Reesa declared.

"Nebo!"

"Captain Rodericks thinks so, too. He says we ought to establish an outpost somewhere, and that's the best place."

Viktor said pityingly, "There are moons moons bigger than Nebo!" bigger than Nebo!"

But she was insistent. Nebo was the nearest planet to their new sun, the size of Mars but hotter than Mercury. "It's got an atmosphere, Vik. Why does it have an atmosphere?"

"Who cares?" Viktor asked.

"I care. I want to know why . . . why . . ." And the argument continued until the Stockbridge boys were back and they were nearly home. It was a fun argument. It made it seem as though they really were going to have the chance to get back into s.p.a.ce, though both knew that the day when that would be possible would not come until they were a great deal older. And the argument continued until the Stockbridge boys were back and they were nearly home. It was a fun argument. It made it seem as though they really were going to have the chance to get back into s.p.a.ce, though both knew that the day when that would be possible would not come until they were a great deal older.

Funnily, one of the worst spats between Viktor and Reesa McGann came over the question of getting old-or, anyway, over just how old they were.