PROLOGUE
“At Zeta?”
“No, as nearly as I can find out from the news, that star just happens to be in our line of sight to the things. They are actually far beyond it.”
“Are they . . . are they coming here?”
“Nobody knows. But none of them are headed straight toward us. And we don’t know what they are, natural or artificial or what. All the astronomers can say is that there are those fiery points of Xrays moving very fast, very far away. The news programs yammer about an alien civilization, but really, it’s too soon for anybody to tell.” Don Lucas laughed a bit. “Least of all an old estanciero like me. I’m sorry, you asked me to explain what’s been on the television, and I cannot say much more than that you must be patient.”
Juan pounced. “Are you?”
“Um-m, I hope they’ll corral the truth while I’m still above ground. But you should surely live to hear it.”
“What do you think?”
Don Lucas straightened in the saddle. Juan saw his face shadowed by the wide-brimmed hat like a pair of wings against the sky. “I may be wrong, of course,” he said. “Yet I dare hope someone is faring from star to star, and someday men will.”
Suddenly overwhelmed, cold lightnings aflicker in him, the boy stared past his father, outward and outward. It was as if he felt the planet whirling beneath him, about to cast him off into endlessness; and his spirit rejoiced.
He became the grandfather of Ricardo Nansen Aguilar.
With never a sight of beautiful, changeable Earth, Farside gained a night which stars made into no more than a setting for their brilliance. And the Lunar bulk shielded it from the radio noise of the mother world; and the stable mass underfoot and the near-vacuum overhead were likewise ideal for many kinds of science. It was no wonder that some of the most gifted people alive were gathered here, in spite of monastic quarters and minimal amenities. Besides, Muramoto thought, those should improve. Already the desolation of stone and dust was redeemed by an austere elegance of domes, detectors, dishes, taut and silvery power lines.
As his car neared observatory headquarters, he glanced through its bubbletop and found the red beacon light that was Mars. People there too, nowadays. An old thrill tingled. Yes, man does not live by bread alone, nor by economics and politics. It was the vision of ships flying through heaven that got us back into space in earnest. Damn it, this time we’ll stay, and keep going!
He reached the topside turret, linked airlocks, crossed over, and descended. The corridor below felt doubly drab by contrast. However, he could move fast along it, enjoying the long, low-gravity lope. Ordinarily an officer of the United States Aerospace Force was expected to be more formal.
He had called ahead. The director awaited him in her office. She greeted him a little warily, offered him a chair, told the outer door to close, and sat down again behind her desk. For a few minutes they exchanged ritual courtesies — how were things going here, how were things back home, how had his flight from Earth been and his drive from Port Apollo?
Then Helen Lewis leaned forward and said, “Well, I’m sure your time is as valuable as mine, Colonel. Shall we get directly to business? Why have you requested this meeting, and why did you want it to be confidential?”
He knew she shared the distaste for the military that had been common among intellectuals at least since the Siberian Action. His best approach was straightforwardness. “You seemed to prefer it that way, Dr. Lewis. May I be frank? You’ve entered a request for a large expansion of your facilities. The wide-orbit interferometric system, especially, would count as high priced even in free and easy times, and you know how tight budgets are at present. I’m afraid a wish list of research projects won’t open any purses soon. After all, you’re still discovering marvelous things with the equipment on hand. What do you really want to search for?”
Her gaze challenged his. “Why do you, why does your service, want to know?”