content to be where he was. He never asked God to prove His existence to little Emilio Sandoz, just because he was acting less like a shithead nowadays. He never asked for anything, really. What he'd been given was more than enough to be grateful for, whether or not God was there to receive or care about thanks.
Lying in bed, that warm August night, he felt no Presence. He was aware of no Voice. He felt as alone in the cosmos as ever. But he was beginning to find it hard to avoid thinking that if ever a man had wanted a sign from God, Emilio Sandoz had been hit square in the face with one this morning, at Arecibo.
He slept, after that. Sometime just before dawn the next morning, he had a dream. He was sitting in the dark, in a small place. He was alone and it was very quiet and he could hear himself breathing, the blood singing in his ears. Then a door he had not suspected was there began to open: and he could see a flare of light beyond it.
This dream first sustained and then haunted him for many years afterward.
13
EARTH:
AUGUST-SEPTEMBER 2019
Anne Edwards was finishing up her morning appointments when she saw Emilio hanging around the clinic's open door. She stopped midstride but then continued out of her office into the tiny reception area.
'You angry with me?' he asked quietly, not coming in.
'I'm angry with somebody,' she conceded waspishly, drying her hands and stepping to the door. 'I'm just not sure with whom.'
'With God, perhaps?'
'I liked you better when you didn't bring God into every damned conversation,' Anne muttered. 'Do you want lunch? I'm going home for half an hour. There's leftover pasta.'
He shrugged and nodded and stood out of her way as she locked up. They climbed the eighty steps to the house, Anne breaking the silence only to return the greetings of people they passed. Once inside, they moved to the kitchen and Emilio perched on the stool in the corner, watching Anne steadily as she rummaged around, putting together a light lunch for both of them.
'It is often hard to tell from the way people behave whether or not they believe in God,' he remarked conversationally. 'Do you, Anne?'
She started the ancient microwave and then turned to him, leaning against the counter and meeting his eyes for the first time since noticing him at the clinic. 'I believe in God the way I believe in quarks,' she said coolly. 'People whose business it is to know about quantum physics or religion tell me they have good reason to believe that quarks and God exist. And they tell me that if I wanted to devote my life to learning what they've learned, I'd find quarks and God just like they did.'
'Do you think they're telling the truth?'
'It's all rock and roll to me.' She shrugged and turned away to pull the plates out of the oven and carry them to the table. He hopped off the stool lightly and followed her to the dining room. They sat down and began to eat, the sounds of the neighborhood drifting in with the breeze through the open windows.
'And yet,' Emilio said, 'you behave like a good and moral person.'
He expected an explosion and he got it. She threw her fork down with a clatter on the plate and sat back. 'You know what? I really resent the idea that the only reason someone might be good or moral is because they're religious. I do what I do,' Anne said, biting off each word, 'without hope of reward or fear of punishment. I do not require heaven or hell to bribe or scare me into acting decently, thank you very much.'
He let her simmer down enough to pick up her fork and resume eating. 'A woman of honor,' he observed, inclining his head with respect.
'Damned straight,' she muttered around a mouthful of food, glaring at her plate and spiking a piece of rigatoni with her fork.
'We have more in common than you might suppose,' Emilio said mildly but did not elaborate when her head came up. As she struggled to swallow, he set his plate aside and became businesslike. 'There has been a great deal of work done in the past few weeks. Our physicists have confirmed the practicality of using an altered asteroid for transport, and Alpha Centauri can in fact be reached in under eighteen years. I am told that if Jupiter and Saturn had been big enough to produce sustained fusion, our solar system might have looked like the three suns of Alpha Centauri. So the plan is to come in above the plane of the system and look for solid planets in the same relative orbit as Earth or Mars, between the sun and the gas giants.' She grunted: sounds reasonable. Watching her reactions carefully, he continued, 'George has already proposed an imaging technique that would help us identify planetary movement, which he can coordinate with radio monitoring, once we reach the system.'
He expected surprise and anger. He saw resignation. It suddenly came to him that George might leave Anne and that she might be willing to let him go. The possibility made him go cold. Beyond their broad and useful professional qualifications, Anne and George Edwards were possessed of a fair degree of wisdom and a joint total of more than 120 years of alert experience of the world, combined with physical toughness and emotional stability. It had never occurred to him that one of them might stay behind.
Since proposing the mission, Emilio had been taken aback by the pace of things. What had begun in laughter, almost as a joke, was snowballing, changing lives. Already, time and money were being spent in quantities that staggered him. And if the speed of events scared him, the precision with which the pieces were falling into place was even more unnerving. He went sleepless, unable to decide which was harder to live with: the idea that he had started all this, or the possibility that God had. The only way he could reassure himself during these midnight debates was to believe that wiser heads than his were making the decisions. If he could not put his faith directly in God, who remained unknowable, he could place it in the structure of the Society and in his superiors—in D. W. Yarbrough and in Father General da Silva.
Now he felt himself rocked again by doubt. What if the whole thing was a mistake and it cost the Edwardses' marriage? And as quickly as that passed his mind, he caught another glimpse of the serenity that sometimes came to him lately. Anne and George, he felt sure, were meant to be a part of the mission, if the mission was meant to be. And when he spoke again, Anne heard only calm and reason.
'The Society would never permit a suicide mission, Anne. If the voyage could not be undertaken now with a reasonable chance of success, we would simply wait until it seems sensible to make the attempt. Already, the plans call for provisions sufficient for ten years, just in case the subjective travel time does not contract as much as the physicists predict. The specifications call for an asteroid more than sufficiently large to provide fuel for a return trip, plus a one hundred percent safety margin,' he told her. 'Who knows? The atmosphere may be unbreathable or it may be impossible to land. In such cases, we would gather as much information as possible and return home.'
'Who's we? Is it definite now? Are you going?'
'There has been no decision about the crew as yet. But the Father General is, in fact, a religious man,' Emilio said ironically, 'who seems to believe that God is involved with this discovery.' He saw that set her off again and laughed. 'In any case, it would be logical to assign someone like me to the mission. If it is possible to make contact with the Singers, a linguist will presumably be useful.' He wanted to tell her how much it meant to him to think that she would be part of this, but Emilio suspected he'd taken the subject as far as he could. He pushed his chair from the table and stood, picking up their plates and taking them to the kitchen. Out of sight, he called to her, 'Anne. May I ask a favor?'
'What?' she asked suspiciously.
'I have an old friend coming in to visit. May I offer him your hospitality?'
'Dammit, Emilio! Aren't there any restaurants in Puerto Rico? Between you and George, I end up feeding every stray cat on this island.'
He came out of the kitchen and leaned against the doorjamb, arms across his chest, grinning, not fooled for a moment.
'All right, who's coming?' she demanded ungraciously, refusing to be charmed.
'Dalton Wesley Yarbrough, New Orleans Provincial of the Society of Jesus, from Waco, Texas, Vatican City of the Southern Baptists,' he announced with ceremony, standing at attention, a butler introducing the next guest to
