Pandora's Star

“Take your time to freshen up,” Sara said. “The evening meal is served in a couple of hours. It’s kind of tradition that the newest arrivals tell their stories and bring us all the news from whatever part of the galaxy they’ve come from.”

“I can manage that,” Ozzie said.

“Good.” Her expression was troubled. “You won’t try and rush off to find a path, will you? We lose a lot of people that way. At least take the time to learn the way things are around here.”

“Sure. I’m not stupid. But we will be leaving as soon as we can.”

“Good luck.”

…

There were a dozen grand di

“Thank you,” Wilson replied. He took A

“Bloody classical architecture,” she muttered under her breath.

As they reached the top, a shiny black Ferrari Rion pulled up at the foot of the steps, emitting a hum of barely controlled power. A gull-wing door lifted up, and Oscar climbed out.

“Might have guessed,” Wilson said. He was mildly envious of the car; it was a limited edition. Of course, given his age and status, he was above such things now. But he couldn’t help wondering what the Ferrari would be like to drive on manual. From a purely engineering point of view, it was a superb machine.

Oscar waved cheerily, and dashed up the steps. He kissed A

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “You, too.”

Oscar carried off a tuxedo with great panache, a stylish searing-white jacket with a trendy cut and an old-fashioned scarlet carnation in his lapel. In contrast, Wilson felt as though he’d been stuffed into his own tux, like a high school boy on a prom date.

“Shall we go in, boys and girls?” Oscar said.

They walked through the doors into the over-classical interior, dominated by gilt-framed portraits and the twisting bronze and jade shapes of first modernist sculpture. The First Speaker, Gilda Princess Marden, greeted Wilson with a politician’s firm, trustworthy handshake, and air-kissed A

“Well done,” A

The Livingstone Room’s large garden doors had been folded back, allowing the guests onto the wide balcony outside. The palace courtyard’s formal garden had been lit by flaming torches and yellow and green starglobes hanging like fruit from the trees and larger bushes. Over a hundred guests dressed in smart colorful clothes suitable for the warm summer evening were milling around as the golden sunset drained out of the horizon. Local A-list socialites mingled with famous unisphere celebrities and wealthy grandees while official news and political reporters maintained a respectful distance. A band was playing on a small platform set up in front of the Henry Wu planet-sphere fountain.

All three of them grabbed drinks from a waiter. Wilson could see several other crew members, each at the center of a knot of people. Like him, they were the unlucky ones; more junior members had a free choice where to spend their last night. For himself Wilson would have preferred a less ceremonial event.

“I see our illustrious navigator is here,” A

Wilson and Oscar saw Dudley Bose standing beneath a Japanese maple. He’d returned from his partial rejuvenation on Augusta having had about fifteen years taken off his age. Unfortunately, his frame hadn’t quite adjusted yet. Skin hung in folds from his neck; his hair was a mottled fuzz of gray and black, and a sagging belly hung over his tuxedo waistband. He was telling some story to his attentive audience of Anshun dignitaries, with his wife in close attendance, laughing as if she’d never heard the anecdote before.

“Remind me again why he’s coming with us,” Oscar said.

“Because he’s the greatest expert the Commonwealth has on the Dyson Pair,” A

“Ah. I knew there was a reason.”

Wilson did his best not to frown. Not for the first time he wished he hadn’t bowed to political expediency. Bose hadn’t undergone even half of the tests that the rest of the crew had struggled their way through, let alone taken part in any meaningful training. Having the astronomer on board was simply asking for trouble. But it had got the media off his back.

He saw Nigel Sheldon talking to the Vice President and other members of the ExoProtectorate Council, and made his way over to their small group. As he reached them he realized the young-looking woman standing next to Sheldon, who had his arm around her shoulder, was Tu Lee, their hyperspace officer. Her small delicate figure was clad in a little black dress; with her raven hair cut short she looked like a sexy imp.

“Captain!” Nigel gri

Wilson smiled politely at the Vice President. Farndale Engineering had chosen to donate to her rival’s campaign, and Elaine Doi knew that.

“Any last-minute problems?” Nigel asked.

“No. It’s all going remarkably smoothly.”

“We reached point two five light-years per hour on the last test flight,” Tu Lee said. “That’s our operational target, so we’re on the green for tomorrow.”

“Listen to you,” Nigel said. He gri

“Stop it.” She gave him a sharp look.

“Tu Lee is my great-great-great-granddaughter,” Nigel said to Wilson. “Four natural-born generations; you don’t get a stronger family tie than that. Can you blame me for being proud of her?”

Wilson couldn’t remember that being in Tu Lee’s file.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Tu Lee said, her dark eyes gazing intently up at Wilson. “I never said anything, because I wanted to make the crew on merit.”

“You succeeded,” Wilson said. He suddenly wondered why none of his own family had ever made it through the qualifying stages.

“A Sheldon and a Kime finally flying together, eh,” Nigel said happily. “We’ve got it covered from every angle.”