Mission to Minerva

There was a mild stir near the door over something, but the next person in line blocked Mildred's view. He was a young man with lively dark eyes, hair tied at the back, and a short, pointy Vandyke beard. "Fantastic stuff!" he said.

"Thank you."

"Do you really think the Thuriens are right about all of us being extensions of some greater consciousness in a bigger realm? It seems so… I mean, why don't we know anything about it?"

"Should I make this 'to' anyone?"

"Oh, yes. To Ulrich, if you would."

"What made it clearer to me was one time when I was having di

"Hm, maybe. I'll have to think about it… And could you make this one to A

"Your ladyfriend?"

"My sister."

As Mildred complied, she only half noticed another copy, opened at the title page, being slid across the table in front of her. Then she registered that the hand holding it was huge, dark purple-blue in color, and had two thumbs. She looked up disbelievingly, then dropped the pen and was on her feet.

"Frenua!"

"I decided it was time I came to see this world of yours for myself."

They embraced warmly, if incongruously-diminutive Mildred and Showm's seven-foot frame. "But… why didn't you tell me?"

"Terrans are supposed to like surprises. The Ishtar was due back. So… And anyway, I wanted to see the book. We arrived yesterday."

"We…?" Then Mildred saw Christian and Vic Hunt, standing and gri

The line of people looked on, waiting patiently and good-naturedly, all happy that they were getting to see a little extra for their money. A customer who had stopped to watch came across and tested Showm's arm and a shoulder approvingly. "Say, you know, that's pretty… Oh, my God! You're real! I thought it was a publicity stunt for the book."

Danchekker moved closer and treated his cousin to a rare hug. "Good heavens!" Mildred gasped.

"I'm here for the week," he informed her. "You can thank the accumulation of your relentless and merciless admonishments over the years. I come in contrition to bring atonement to Emma and Martha, and yes, even to see Uncle Stefan and his firm… But later. Let us not hold up the good work here."

"We've got another story for you, Mildred," Hunt said. "Whatever you were thinking of working on next, forget it. I guarantee this one will trump anything."

Two days later, after leaving Danchekker to a well-earned vacation and to attend to his family matters, Hunt boarded an Air Europe suborbital bound for Washington National direct. There were matters he could have attended to at some of the European offices of UNSA, but they could wait until another day. Reporting back to Caldwell was first thing on his list.

The blue above the plane darkened, and the horizon of Earth below took on curvature as the skyliner climbed toward the top of its trajectory. It reminded Hunt of the westbound flight he'd made five years previously with a colleague from the British company he had worked for then, going out to assist UNSA with its investigation of Charlie. He would have found it hard to believe then that a hypersonic suborbital skyliner would ever seem quaint and antiquated.

Charlie-who had lain entombed there on the lunar surface, slowly turning into a natural mummy for fifty thousand years, since the time when Luna orbited a different world. Yet only a matter of weeks before, Hunt had walked on that very world. In all probability Charlie had been alive and walking around there too somewhere, at that very time. The outlandish thought struck Hunt suddenly that there was no reason why Charlie couldn't have been Kles.

What the future relationship should be between Minerva and the Thurien-Terran culture from the future who had so drastically altered its situation had been a major issue to emerge during the remainder of the Shapieron's stay. Some were for maintaining contact, arguing that the young culture would do better if launched onto its new course of history with the benefit of all the knowledge and resources available. Others were less sure, and felt that it perhaps needed a period of independence and isolation to absorb what it had learned and to discover its new identity for itself. Harzin had subscribed to the former view, Perasmon, the latter. Some Minervans had joked that they had the begi

Another issue had been whether Minerva should attempt to contact the Thuriens who already existed twenty light-years away at Gistar in their own universe. Once again, there were mixed opinions about that. The Thuriens accepted it all as simply illustrating the fact they had long resigned themselves to, that two humans in a room equated to inability to agree about anything.

In the end, it had been decided to leave the beacon probes live but inactive for a period of quarantine. Barring some kind of emergency, neither side would initiate any contact for one year, which would give them all time to reflect and debate. At the end of that time, they would confer again.

Hunt looked out at the sprinkling of stars that were begi

Hunt had faced one more small perplexity when the Shapieron was finally brought back to Thurien. After the Jevlenese destroyed the locator beacons, Eesyan had pointed out that even if a probe projected from Thurien should, against all probability, find them, there could be no guaranteeing that it would be a probe from "their" Thurien. Countless other versions of the reality they had come from would be trying the same thing, and a probe that happened to hit on the universe they were in could have come from any.

But Hunt had allowed for such an eventuality during the earlier tests and set up means by which he could tell. Before departing, he had loaded into his compad a randomized mathematical function that could be compared against a master that he had left lodged in VISAR. If the two matched, it would mean that they had returned to the identical reality that they had departed from. If not, even though the difference might be trivial, they would have come back somewhere else.

For days after returning, he had agonized inwardly over the check and its implications. In all that time, though he had searched and watched for any inconsistency, he had found none. By every measure and criterion he could devise, he was home. Finally, he had confided his dilemma to Danchekker. Danchekker had opined that if one couldn't tell a difference, there was no difference. Hunt told VISAR to delete the function unread. Chris was right. It didn't matter. Some things were best left alone.

A few rows ahead in the cabin, people were leaning toward the windows and pointing. Hunt sat forward to peer out and up. A pearl of light was crossing the sky against the starry background. "I think it's the Thurien starship," he heard someone say.