anddefinitely, according to what she had seen in him? Was she striking out blindly in consequence?
Guilty, thought Insigna. Why shouldn’t I feel guilty? It is all my fault. I should have known from the start, from the instant of discovery—but I didn’t want to know.
SIX
APPROACH
11.
How early had she known? From the moment she had named the star Nemesis? Had she felt what it was and what it meant, and had she named it appropriately without conscious thought?
When she had first spotted the star, it had been only the act of finding it that counted. There had been no room in her mind for anything but immortality. It was her own star, Insigna’s Star. She had been tempted to call it that. How glorious that had sounded, even as she had reluctantly avoided it with a hollow internal grimace of mock modesty. How unbearable it would have been now if she had fallen into that trap.
After the discovery, there had come the shock of Pitt’s demand for secrecy, and then the furious preparation for the Leaving. (Would that be what it would be called in the history books someday? The Leaving? Capitalized?)
Then, after the Leaving, there were two years in which the ship skipped steadily and barely into and out of hyperspace—and the endless calculations that were involved in that hyper-assistance, for which astronomical data was constantly required, with herself supervising the supply. The density and composition of interstellar matter alone—
At no time in those four years had she been able to think of Nemesis in detail; not once could she zero in on the obvious.
Was that possible? Or did she simply turn away from what she did not want to see? Had she deliberately sought refuge in all the secrecy and scurry and excitement that presented itself to her?
But there came a time when the last hyperspatial periodwas behind them; when, for a month, they would be decelerating through an initial hail of hydrogen atoms, which they struck with such speed that those atoms were converted into cosmic ray particles.
No ordinary space vehicle could have endured that, but Rotor had a thick layer of soil around it that had been thickened for the trip, and the particles were absorbed.
There would come a time, she had been assured by one of the hyperspatialists when one would enter and leave hyperspace at ordinary speeds. “Given hyperspace in the first place,” he had said, “no new conceptual breakthrough is required. It’s just engineering.”
Maybe! The remaining hyperspatialists, however, considered the notion so much star exhaust.
Insigna hurried in to see Pitt when the appalling truth descended upon her. He had had little time for her in the last year, and she had understood. There was a certain tension that became more and more evident as the excitement of the trip wound down, as people realized that in a matter of months they would be in the neighborhood of another star. They would then have the constant problem of having to survive over a long period in the vicinity of a strange red dwarf star without any guarantee of reasonable planetary material to serve as a supply source, let alone a living place.
Janus Pitt no longer looked like a young man, although his hair was still dark, his face unlined. Only four years had passed since she had come to him with the news of Nemesis’ existence. There was, however, a harried look in his eyes, a sense of having had his joy rubbed away and his cares left naked to the world.
He was Commissioner-elect now. Perhaps that might account for a great deal of what might be troubling him, but who could tell? Insigna had never known true power—or the responsibility that accompanied it—but something told her it might have the capacity for souring one who did.
Pitt smiled at her absently. They had been forced to be close when they had shared a secret that at first no one—and then almost no one—had shared with them. They could then talk unguardedly with each other, when they could not do so
Guilty, thought Insigna. Why shouldn’t I feel guilty? It is all my fault. I should have known from the start, from the instant of discovery—but I didn’t want to know.
SIX
APPROACH
11.
How early had she known? From the moment she had named the star Nemesis? Had she felt what it was and what it meant, and had she named it appropriately without conscious thought?
When she had first spotted the star, it had been only the act of finding it that counted. There had been no room in her mind for anything but immortality. It was her own star, Insigna’s Star. She had been tempted to call it that. How glorious that had sounded, even as she had reluctantly avoided it with a hollow internal grimace of mock modesty. How unbearable it would have been now if she had fallen into that trap.
After the discovery, there had come the shock of Pitt’s demand for secrecy, and then the furious preparation for the Leaving. (Would that be what it would be called in the history books someday? The Leaving? Capitalized?)
Then, after the Leaving, there were two years in which the ship skipped steadily and barely into and out of hyperspace—and the endless calculations that were involved in that hyper-assistance, for which astronomical data was constantly required, with herself supervising the supply. The density and composition of interstellar matter alone—
At no time in those four years had she been able to think of Nemesis in detail; not once could she zero in on the obvious.
Was that possible? Or did she simply turn away from what she did not want to see? Had she deliberately sought refuge in all the secrecy and scurry and excitement that presented itself to her?
But there came a time when the last hyperspatial periodwas behind them; when, for a month, they would be decelerating through an initial hail of hydrogen atoms, which they struck with such speed that those atoms were converted into cosmic ray particles.
No ordinary space vehicle could have endured that, but Rotor had a thick layer of soil around it that had been thickened for the trip, and the particles were absorbed.
There would come a time, she had been assured by one of the hyperspatialists when one would enter and leave hyperspace at ordinary speeds. “Given hyperspace in the first place,” he had said, “no new conceptual breakthrough is required. It’s just engineering.”
Maybe! The remaining hyperspatialists, however, considered the notion so much star exhaust.
Insigna hurried in to see Pitt when the appalling truth descended upon her. He had had little time for her in the last year, and she had understood. There was a certain tension that became more and more evident as the excitement of the trip wound down, as people realized that in a matter of months they would be in the neighborhood of another star. They would then have the constant problem of having to survive over a long period in the vicinity of a strange red dwarf star without any guarantee of reasonable planetary material to serve as a supply source, let alone a living place.
Janus Pitt no longer looked like a young man, although his hair was still dark, his face unlined. Only four years had passed since she had come to him with the news of Nemesis’ existence. There was, however, a harried look in his eyes, a sense of having had his joy rubbed away and his cares left naked to the world.
He was Commissioner-elect now. Perhaps that might account for a great deal of what might be troubling him, but who could tell? Insigna had never known true power—or the responsibility that accompanied it—but something told her it might have the capacity for souring one who did.
Pitt smiled at her absently. They had been forced to be close when they had shared a secret that at first no one—and then almost no one—had shared with them. They could then talk unguardedly with each other, when they could not do so
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