Fickle as Earth's, because in the narrowness of a ship every inconstancy was a tonic to organisms that evolved on Earth, at present the air through the command center blew slightly chill, wet, tangy with ozone, as if a thunderstorm were approaching. The two persons who stood among instruments and screens gave it no heed, unless subliminally. To one side, enhanced against interior illumination, the cluster burned in splendor. They were also unaware of it. Their eyes were on the view ahead, the stars of their destination.

Nansen spoke slowly, trying for dryness and failing: "There is no more doubt. Here, where the detectors get continuous input  —  The traces are dying out."

"What?" Kilbirnie whispered.

"It wasn't certain earlier. Therefore Yu and I announced nothing. Perhaps that was a mistake. But . . . throughout the region we're bound for — and the region has shrunk — we're receiving signs of less than a fourth as many ships as we observed at home."

She was mute for a span. The ghost storm gusted around her. A strand of hair fluttered below her headband.

"And that's as of more than three thousand years ago," she said at last. "By now, how many are running?"

" 'Now' means nothing across these distances."

"Oh, but it does, in a way, when we're like this, not hell-driving zero-zero but moving no faster than the stars. . . . Have the instruments looked back at Sol?"

Sol, long since lost in the horde, unrecoverable. "No Why? We would pick up a few traces at best, voyages that were going on when we left."

Kilbirnie's gaze remained fixed on the screen, as if she refused to yield and look away. "It would be a comfort, though."

"I didn't expect you to need comfort," he said.

She fashioned a rueful smile and turned her head about to regard him. "No, not really. I am taken aback. I hoped we'd find the Yonderfolk in an even bigger and finer bailiwick."

His mouth tried to imitate hers. "We all hoped that." Somberness claimed him. "Perhaps we should not be surprised. They never came to us, did they?"

She strengthened her accent. "Aweel, we still want to ken why."

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?"

"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.

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 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 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 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.

"Does the new knowledge really make such a difference?"

"You've heard me on the subject. We thought we were bound for another race of starfarers. Now  —  It'll get skullcrack boring, relics, ruins, tombs, bones. Archeology. Why? We'll never learn anything, not in five years, not in a hundred. And I didn't sign on for archeology."

"It need not be like that at all."

He ignored her rejoinder. "Meanwhile, Earth — Earth may not be completely alien yet. If we went straight home. We might still find taverns and wenches and . . . and bands playing in the street, picnics in the countryside, life not too much changed — if we don't come back too God damn late. But we will. And for what?"

"I am afraid we are already too late."

He squinted at her. "Eh? You've raised the same argument. I heard. I remember how we both tried to convince Hanny Dayan."

Yu shook her head. "You misremember, Lajos. I simply felt that someone should point out the possibility. I know well how faint the hope  —  even if we started back at once — how faint the hope would be that anything is left of what we knew."

"Your government?" he gibed.

She forgave the cruelty, dismissed it. "Certainly not. It must be extinct, forgotten, like all the troubles that drove some of us to enlist. But so, too, almost certainly, are the things we ... loved." Staring at the fountain, she folded her hands. The fingers strained against each other. "The land, mountains, rivers, grass, trees, the sea, Earth, maybe they survive. Then they can for another few thousand years. No, we do best to continue."

He rasped forth a sigh. She caught a whiff of gin breath. "The best of a bad bargain. Maybe. At best."

She turned her head to regard him through the deep twilight. "I can imagine why Timothy Cleland and Alvin Brent are less than happy. But you? Frankly, your attitude has astonished me."

"Why? Earth might still be where I could feel — argh, not at home — feel free, able to find my way around and roam and cope, with my enemies gone."

"Was that your reason? Enemies? I thought — you gave us to understand  —  you joined for the sheer adventure of it, like Jean Kilbirnie."

"Plenty of adventure closer to home. Closer in space and time. Except home got too hot for me."

"You have never said —"

Ruszek drank again. "Nansen knows. I had to explain to him and the board. He was glad to get me. Anyway, he said he was. At least I had space experience, piloting, commanding men, navy and civilian — the Space War  —  That's why I am the mate, you know. If something happens to him, I won't be the same fine, correct, spit-and-polish kind of gentleman, but I can lead us home. So he used his influence with the directors, and got them to put pressure where it counted, and the authorities didn't bring charges. They stayed quiet. After all, they'd soon be rid of me. Yes, I'm grateful to Ricardo Nansen. In spite of everything, I'll serve him the best way I can." Ruszek brooded. "Shouldn't feel sorry for myself. I'll probably enjoy part of what happens. Maybe most of it. But tonight I want to forget, and Mam will be furious with me and I want to forget that, too."

"You are giving her cause," said Yu sharply.

"I know. And she's giving me cause. She told me, our last fight, if I keep this up, there are other men aboard. For all I know, she's with one of them tonight." Ruszek drank.

"She is a free person. If she does . . . give others some kindness ... it will somewhat relieve a difficult situation."

Ruszek leered, though he kept his free hand at his side. "You could, too, Wenji."

"We should have been pairs to begin with. But the Foundation had to take whatever qualified persons were available. And it was not a libertine, sex-obsessed era, like some in the past. We ought to be sensible and self-controlled."

Blood had mounted hot into Yu's face. She turned it back to the coolness of the water.

"Later?" Ruszek asked.

Yu hesitated. He had not done or said anything actually offensive, and she didn't want to hurt him. However, this line of thought must stop. She mustered will and sprang to another, stronger question.

"Were you in conflict with the law, then, Lajos? Do you care to discuss it?"

"Nothing crooked!" he barked. "Nothing I'm ashamed of or sorry for."

She recalled her accusers in China. "The self-righteous never regret what they did. I do not say this is true of you. But I do say no man can judge his own case."

"Can a woman?" he retorted. "All right, if you insist. I didn't want to d'sturb anybody. But if you insist."

"I don't —"

His words rushed on, slurred, yet sufficiently organized to show they had long been gestating and now the shell was broken.

"You know my career. Tramped 'round Earth, got into Space Command of th' Western Alliance, got commission, got in trouble, a brawl, broken in rank, got it back, lost it again for in — in-sub-or-dination, didn't re-enlist when my term was up but went to piloting for the Solmetals Consortium.

"Space War broke out, Chinese ship missiled an asteroid base of ours. China not offish'ly in war, but I was there, I saw what I saw. Yes, we were shipping out str'tegic materials, but it was lawful. Good friends of mine killed. Couple of them died pretty horribly. Then some of us borrowed an engineering rig and put a big rock on a new orbit. It hit an Asian naval base a year afterward. Demolished it.

"By then Europe had pulled completely out o' the war. The Asians could tell the strike was engineered and'd used European gear. Military denied having anything to do with it. Asians demanded investigation. Europe obliged. Soon whole bloody FN did. My comrades and me, we'd covered our tracks best's we could, but evench'ly we knew they were on our trail. And, yes, we were civilians when we launched that rock.

"We scattered. I got to Nansen and he saved me like I told you. If most of the blame could get shifted onto me, it wouldn't matter, and my friends sh'd get off lightly.

"I am not ashamed!" Ruszek shouted.

Yu shrank from him. "You killed men you never knew," she whispered, "for revenge?"

"It was war. I felt cheerful enough. Even looked forward to this voyage." He sagged. "Shouldn't 'a' said anything, sh'd I? To you espesh'ly. But it happened three thousand years ago, Wenji. Nobody remembers."

"We shall."

He nodded, a heavy movement, and spoke more clearly, quietly. "Yes. The news from ahead got me thinking too much, remembering too much. We are all damned to remember, aren't we? They believed in damnation where I am from."

Yu sat silent. The fountain leaped and sang.

"We must forgive," she said at last. "All of us must forgive. We are so alone out here." She rose. "Good night, Lajos." Her tone was gentle. She stroked a hand across the bare head and down a cheek before she left him.

And again two people were in the common room, with another smuggled bottle, this one of champagne and in a refrigerator jacket. Here, too, lay dusk, though lighter, making stars in the viewscreens doubly radiant. Music lilted. Zeyd and Dayan had moved furniture aside to clear a broad space for themselves. They danced over it, an archaic dance that was revived during a wave of historical nostalgia on the Earth of their day, a waltz. As "The Blue Danube" flowed to a close, they laughed aloud.

Disengaging, they looked into one another's eyes. A hint of perspiration shimmered on skin and gave a slight, human pungency. Dayan's hair had become tousled. Half breathless, she said. "We should not be this happy."

"Why not? We celebrate a victory. Foreordained, symbolic, nonetheless a victory."

Her smile sank. "Was it? Not for some of us. And we may be on our way to discovering a cosmic tragedy."

"Maybe we are not," he answered easily. "Who knows? The point is, we will discover."

"Yes. That makes up for much."

He bowed. "Not to mention the pleasure en route. The delightful company."

Unable to stay serious, she smiled anew, lowered her head, and gazed up at him through her lashes. "Likewise, kind sir."

Hand in hand they went to the table and refilled their goblets from the bottle, which was already half empty. He raised his. "To us," he proposed. "Saha wa 'afiah."

"Mazel tov." Rims clinked.

Sipping, she teased: "You really should not be doing this, should you?"

"You have seen me at dinner. I am not a very good Muslim, I fear."

"But an excellent dancer."

"Thank you, Hanny, dear." He leaned closer. "Dear indeed."

Color came and went and came again across her face. "This nightwatch  —  oh, it's a night to forget everything else . . . even those stars —"

His months-long siege of her ended as she moved into the circle of his arms.