from its array of monitoring devices. The year-captain peers in and sees Julia stretched out casually with her arms folded behind her head and her ankles crossed. Her clothes are stacked in the passageway outside; there is no room in the little security node to get undressed.
“Was there a problem?” she asks.
“Heinz,” says the year-captain, wriggling quickly out of his tunic and trousers. “There was something he felt I ought to be told about, so he stayed after the meeting and told me. And told me and told me.”
“Something serious?”
“Nothing I didn’t already know about,” he replies.
He is naked now. She beckons to him and he crawls in beside her. Julia hisses with pleasure as he curls up around her cool, muscular body. It is an athlete’s body, a racer’s body, taut-bellied, flat-buttocked, not a gram of excess flesh. Her thighs are long and narrow, her arms slender and strong, with lightly corded veins strikingly prominent along them. She swims an hour each day in the lap-pool on the recreation level. Occasionally the year- captain joins her there, and although he is not unlike her in build, an athlete too, his body hardened and tempered by a lifetime of discipline, he invariably finds himself breathing hard after fifty or sixty turns in the pool, whereas Julia goes on and on without a single break in rhythm for her full hour and when she climbs from the water she seems not to have exerted herself at all.
Their couplings are like athletic events too: dispassionate excursions into passion, measured and controlled expenditures of erotic energy, uncomplicated by emotion. Julia is easy to arouse but slow to reach consummation, and they have evolved a way of embracing and gliding into a steady, easy rocking rhythm that goes on and on, as though they are swimming laps. It is a kind of pleasant, almost conversational kind of copulation that gradually moves through a series of almost unquantifiable upticks in pace, each marking a stage in her approach to the climax, until at last he will detect certain unmistakable terminal signals from her, soft staccato moaning sounds, a sudden burst of sweat-slickness along her shoulders, and he will whip himself onward then to the final frenzied strokes, taking his cues from her at every point and letting go in the ultimate moment, finally, of his own carefully governed self-control.
The year-captain knows that what he and Julia do with one another has nothing to do with love, and he is aware that even sex for the sake of sex itself can be considerably more gratifying than this. But he is indifferent to all of that. Love is not unimportant to him, but he is not interested in finding it just now, and the physical satisfactions he achieves in Julia’s arms may fall short of some theoretical ideal but they do serve to keep him tuned and balanced and able to perform his administrative duties well, which is all that he presently seeks.
She is uttering the familiar staccato moans now. His fingertips detect the first onrush of preorgasmic sweatiness emerging from the pores of her upper back.
But a curious thing happens this time. Ordinarily, when he and Julia are making love and they have just reached this point in the event, he invariably topples into a trancelike state in which he no longer feels capable of speech or even thought. His mind goes blank with the sort of shimmering blankness that he learned how to attain in his years at the Lofoten monastery — the same blankness that he sees when he looks through the viewplate at the reverberating nothingness of the nospace tube surrounding the ship. After he has arrived at that point, all his mental processes are suspended except those elementary ones, not much more than tropisms, that are concerned with the mechanics of the carnal act itself.
But today things are different. Today when he reaches the blank point and begins the hectic ride toward their shared culmination, the image of Noelle suddenly bursts into his mind.
He sees her face hovering before him as though in midair: her dark, clear sightless eyes, her delicate nose, her small mouth and elegantly tapering jaw. It is as though she is right here in the cubicle with them, floating not far in front of his nose, watching them, watching with a kind of solemn childlike curiosity. The year-captain is jolted entirely out of his trance. He is flooded at this wrongest of moments by a torrent of mysterious conflicting emotions, shame and desire, guilt and joy. He feels his skin flaming with embarrassment at this disconcerting intrusion into the final moments of his embrace of Julia, and he is certain that his sudden confusion must be dismayingly apparent to his partner; but if Julia notices anything unusual, she gives him no hint of that, and merely goes on moving steadily beneath him, eyes closed, lips drawn back in a grimacing smile, hips churning in the steady ever-increasing rhythmic thrusts that carry her closer to her goal.
All the preparations have been carried out and they are ready now to alter the trajectory of the starship so that it will take them toward Hesper’s Planet A. What this requires is largely a mathematical operation. Conventional line-of-sight navigation is not a concept that applies in any way to the starship, traveling as it does through space that is both non-Einsteinian and non-Euclidean. The ship, however tangible and substantial it may seem to its tangible and substantial occupants, is in fact nothing more than a flux of probabilities at this point, a Heisenbergian entity at best, not “real” at all in the sense of being subject to the Newtonian laws of action and reaction or any of the other classical concepts of celestial mechanics. Its change of course must be executed by means of equivalences and locational surrogates, not by applications of actual thermodynamic thrust along some particular spatial vector. The changing of signs in a cluster of equations rather than the changing of the direction of acceleration through an outlay of physical energy is what is needed.
So Roy and Sieglinde do the primary work, plotting Hesper’s star data against Paco’s computations of the
All this, except for the last, has been accomplished.
The year-captain does not pretend to any sort of expertise in nospace travel. His considerable skills lie in other fields. So it is largely by means of a leap of faith rather than any intellectual process that he allows himself to announce, after Julia and Heinz have shown him the simulation diagrams, “Well, I’m willing to go with it if you are.”
What else can he say? His assent, he knows, is nothing but a formality. The jump must be made — that has already been decided. And he has to assume that Julia and Heinz have done their work properly. That all of them have. These calculations are matters that he does not really understand, and he knows he has no real right to an opinion. This far along in the operation he can only say yes. If he is thereby giving assent to catastrophe, well, so be it: Julia and Heinz and Paco and Roy and Sieglinde will partake of the catastrophe along with all the others, and so will he. He is in no position to recalculate and emend their proposal.
“When we make the course change,” he says, “are we going to be aware that anything special is happening, and if so, what?”
“Nothing will be apparent,” Julia tells him. “Nothing that we can feel, anyway. You mustn’t think of what well be doing in terms of acceleration effects. You mustn’t think in terms of any sort of phenomenological event that makes sense to you.”
“But will it make sense to you?” he asks.
“It’ll make sense,” Julia replies. “Not to me, not to you, maybe not even to Sieglinde and Roy. We don’t need to have it make sense. We only need to have it work.”
“And it will.”
“It will. It will.”
Well, then, it will. The year-captain sends for Noelle.
“It’s time to let Earth know about the course change,” he tells her. “We’re going to be redirecting the ship toward the star of Planet A a little later this day. Our first planetary surveillance mission is getting started.”
Noelle nods gravely. “The people at home will find that news very exciting, I’m sure.” She says that in the most unexcited way possible, as if she is reading it from a script she has never seen before, and not reading it very well.
The year-captain’s last few encounters with Noelle have been uncomfortable ones. That odd business of having her face pop so vividly into his mind like that, just as he was settling into the home stretch with Julia, was
