Earth

Behind the cargo several white spheres held tons of supercold propellants, recovered from the towering external tank after it had fueled the shuttle through liftoff. Dumping the two-million-liter tank into the Indian Ocean had been their preoccupation early in orbital insertion — a routine waste that used to outrage Teresa, but that she no longer even thought about anymore. At least they were rescuing the residuals these days. All that leftover hydrogen and oxygen had countless uses in space.

While Mark talked to Erehwon control, Teresa caused the snare mechanism to rise from the rim of the cargo bay. The stubby arm — sturdier than the remote manipulator used for deploying cargos — extended a telescoping tip ending in an open hook.

“Erehwon confirms telemetry,” Mark told her. “Approach nominal.”

“We’ve got a few minutes then. I’ll go look in on the passengers.”

“Yeah, do that.” Of course Mark knew she had another reason for getting up. But this time he judiciously kept silent.

Unbuckling, then swiveling to use the seat back as a springboard, Teresa cast off toward the rear of the flight deck. Before automation, a mission specialist used to watch over the cargo from there. Now only a window remained.

Through it she surveyed the peepers’ package, and beyond, the cryocanisters. If the coming hook-snatch maneuver worked, they’d save half the hydrazine and dinitrogen tetroxide back there, as well — another valuable bonus to offload. Otherwise, most of the reserve would be used up matching orbits.

She brought her head near the chill window to peer at the snare arm, rising from the starboard platform. It was locked, just as the computer said. Just checking, Teresa thought, unrepentant of her need to verify in person.

She twisted and dove through a circular opening in the “floor.” Five Air Force officers in blue launch suits looked up as she swam into the spacious cabin known as middeck. Two of the passengers looked sick, averting their eyes as Teresa floated by. At least there were no windows here, so they were spared the added misery of horizon disorientation. A third of all first-timers had to adapt several days before their fluttering stomachs allowed them to appreciate scenery, anyway.

“That was a smooth launch, Captain,” the elder sickly one enunciated carefully. He wore two drug-release patches behind one ear, but still looked pretty shaky. Teresa knew the man from other flights, and he’d been ill on those too.

Must be pretty damned irreplaceable if they keep sending him up. As Mark Randall colorfully put it, guys like this never had to prove they had guts.

“Thank you,” she replied. “We aim to please. I just wanted to see how you all were doing and to say we’ll be meeting the Nearpoint snare in about twenty minutes. Station perso

“That’s if you manage to hook the snare, Ms. Tikhana. What if you miss?”

This time it was the man seated forward on the left, a stocky fellow with eyes shaded by heavy brows, and bright colonel’s eagles on one shoulder. White sideburns offset his roughened skin — a patchy complexion that came from repeated treatments to slough off precancerous layers. Unlike Ra Boys or other groundside fetishists, Gle

They obviously hadn’t mattered to Jason. Or so her husband had implied from his recovery bed after his own encounter with the South Atlantic radiation zone.

“Hey look, hon. This doesn’t change our plans. There are sperm banks. Or when you’re ready, we can make some other arrangement. Some of our friends must have some damn high quality… Hey, babe, now what’s the matter?”

The infuriating density of the man! As if that had been foremost on her mind while he lay in a hospital with tubes in his arms! Later, the subject of children did contribute to the widening gulf between them. But at the time her only thought was, “Idiot, you might have died!”

With professional coolness, Teresa answered Colonel Spivey. “What if the station can’t hook Pleiades midpass? In that case we’ll do another burn to match orbits the old-fashioned way. That’ll take time though. And there’ll be no residual propellant to offload after docking.”

“Time and hydrazine.” Spivey pursed his lips. “Valuable commodities, Ms. Tikhana. Good luck.”

Twice since she had come down here, the colonel had glanced at his watch — as if nature’s laws could be hurried like junior officers, with a severe look. Teresa tried to be understanding, since it did take all kinds. If it weren’t for vigilant, paranoid spy-types like Spivey, always poking and peeping to see to it the provisions of the Rio Treaties were kept, would peace have lasted as long as it had? Ever since the Helvetian War?

“Safety first, Colonel. You wouldn’t want to see us wrapped in twenty kilometers of spectra-fiber tether material, would you?”

One of the younger peepers shivered. But Spivey met her eyes in shared understanding. They each had priorities. It was far more important they respect than like each other.

Back at her console, she watched the bottom portion of the station come into view — a cluster of bulbous tanks and plumbing hanging from a silvery line. Far above, other station components glittered like jewels strung far apart on a very long necklace. Most distant, and invisible except by radar, lay Farpoint Cluster, where Jason worked on things she still knew next to nothing about.

They were passing over the Alps now, a battered, crumpled range, whose bomb craters were only now emerging from winter’s coating of snow. It was an awesome juxtaposition, showing what both natural and man-made forces could do, when angry.

But Teresa had no time for sightseeing. Her attention focused on Nearpoint — hanging like a pendulum bob, closest to the Earth.

Just below the fluid-pumping station hung a boom that flexed and stretched as its operator played out line like a fisherman, casting for the big one.

Teresa’s eyes roamed over her instruments, the station, the stars, absorbing them all. Moments like this made all the hard work worthwhile. Every part of her felt unified, from the hands lightly flexing Pleiades’ vernier controls to the twin hemispheres of her brain. Engineer and dancer were one.

For the present all anxieties, all worries, vanished. Of the countless jobs one could have, on or off the world, this one gave her what she needed most.

“We’re coming in,” she whispered.

Teresa knew exactly where she was.

“Once upon a time, the great hero Rangi-rua lost his beautiful Hine-marama. She died, and her spirit went to Rarohenga, the land of the dead.

“Rangi-rua was beset with grief. Inconsolable, he declared that he would follow his wife into the underworld and fetch her back again to Ao-marama, the world of light.

“With Kaeo, his ever-faithful companion, Rangi-rua came to the swirling waters guarding the entrance to Rarohenga. There, he and Kaeo dove into the mouth of hell, down where the heartbeat of Manata sends shivers through the earth. Against this power they swam and swam until, at last, they reached the other bank, where the spirit of Rangi-rua’s lovely wife awaited him.

“Now, to be fair it must be said that Rangi-rua and Kaeo may not have been the only mortals to accomplish this feat. For the pakeha tell a similar story of one called Orpheus, who did the very same thing for the sake of his lover — and it is said he even managed the crossing on his own.

“But Rangi-rua outdid Orpheus in the most important thing.

For when Rangi-rua emerged again into the light of father sun, both his friend and his lover were at his side.

“But Orpheus failed because, like all pakeha, he just couldn’t keep his mind on one thing at a time.”