Iris

And his son was riding it home!

A year and more had gone by, and now Deepstar orbited above Ocypete once again. Iris had gone past the sun, shedding all her mighty airs, and the drive had gone on again. Trailed by a bright, violet flame, the Mother Ship had driven off into the night sky, riding outward toward the stars and a world far away.

John and Brendan were in the common room of the CM, looking through a deopaqued wall at the fog-shrouded, half-molten world below them. The sun had taken over when the photon beam's nimbus no longer remained to heat the little moon. They were alone in the ship. During the long flight, contacts had been made and negotiations had proceeded. Expensive lawyers and diplomats were hired, judges bribed, and governments bought. A threat had been made by certain members of the Comnet Design Board; Maggie Lewis and Cass Mitchell had broadcast a joint statement, harsh and unforgiving in its tone. Do it, or else. . . .

Finally they had made rendezvous with a cruiser of the Contract Police, a ship that bore the guarantees for a Writ of Pardonment . The others had gone aboard, a unified group, never looking back. Cornwell understood that they lived in a giant palace somewhere, wealthy beyond imagination; he didn't know where and found that he didn't care.

'Well,' he said, 'there's our money. What shall we do with it all?' Sealock leaned forward toward him and grinned. 'I know, and I think you do too.' Cornwell nodded. 'Maybe you and I can do business after all.' Brendan stirred suddenly and said, 'There's a lot of money bubbling away down there. Money enough to build something really great....'

'And so?'

'I never did tell anybody what was in that big data squeal, Demogorgon's last gift. . . .'

'I noticed that. I figured you had your reasons, as always.' Brendan nodded. 'Well, it was the Starseeder technology.'

John's eyebrows rose a trifle, a study in controlledinexpressiveness. 'So. All of it?'

'Propulsion. Long-term life support. Genetic engineering. Suspended-animation techniques. The whole works.'

'How much do you suppose it'd cost to build a good-sized starship?' They were sublime now, talking through the shadows of a too long past.

Brendan nodded toward Ocypete . 'Not more than that.'

John grinned appreciatively, wondering where all the old, horrid emotions had gone. He felt bland but wonderful. It had all been worth while, then. 'Maybe it could be a lot less. This starship doesn't have to be too big. . . .'

'True.'

'Who should we take along?'

'Does it matter?'

'No, I guess not.' John was thinking, It certainly doesn't. We all loved each other and, in the end, it was as useless as anything could ever be.

Brendan's face turned serious again. 'Why take anyone? Why not just us?' John smiled and shook his head. 'That doesn't sound like a very good idea.'

'No, I guess not,' Brendan said. 'We'll think of something.'

'Right.' John started to turn away, then stopped. Well, he thought, if I put this off again, it's not going to get done. I have to. ... ' Bren?'

The other man looked up from a developing reverie.

Cornwell hesitated again, then said, 'I know you've always mistrusted my, well, what I like to think of as my sincerity, but . . . Hell. Will you engage in Downlink Rapport with me?' Sealock looked vaguely uncertain for a moment, not quite taken aback. 'After all we've been through?

You don't let go of things easily, do you?' He smiled then. 'All right.' Feeling a small jolt of surprise, Cornwell thought, All right? But . . . Shit. Am I ready for this? I'd better be. ... He thought about Beth and said, 'At least you seem to know who you are.' Brendan turned away to look out at the bright clouds of Ocypete again. 'We never quite learn, do we?

You know, I feel that I've changed some—maybe I haven't. I could say a great deal about the changes that I think should have taken place in you, but I won't. Maybe that's the only evidence I have that those changes have taken place at all.'