Comet found Eclipse on the upper level of the widows' walk, surveying the countryside from forty feet off the ground. Her hands were clasped, muscles in each arm tensed against the other. ``Sorry to interrupt,'' Comet apologized. ``I need a favor. You don't owe me any, for sure, but Cloud asked. Could you help us? Please? Something very simple?''
``GR, I guess,'' Eclipse responded noncommitally. ``What sort of thing?''
``It's for Alex Pickering. It won't take long. Besides, we may need favors back from him, to find out what's going on,'' said Comet.
``For Alex! After he took us in? He put up with Cloud and Star? How can I say no!'' A glow of enthusiasm spread through her questions, warming her face from lips to wide cheekbones. ``What sort of favor?''
``His people,'' explained Comet, ``They have this spaceship which is so underpowered it's a toy except it's the only one they have, almost, and now it's trapped in orbit around the earth and can't get down and all the people on board are going to die with everyone on earth watching even their own children.''
``Oh, right! Is this that Lemuria ship? Except Alex's people don't mean our Lemurians? (I hope!) Oh, wow! He told me about that. I wasn't thinking. I haven't been thinking at all. No personae means no rescue for them. After we rescued you, I should've rescued them, too.'' Eclipse looked shamefacedly at the floor.
``Last night? After what you did for me?'' questioned Comet.
``Well, yes,'' she shrugged. ``For sure. I should have remembered the Lemurians.''
``Eclipse, you were out cold on the carpet, or so close as makes no difference, and you're blaming yourself that you didn't rescue them?'' chided Comet, looking up at the taller girl. ``I mean, you're more gifttrue than anyone else I've met in my whole life, and you blame yourself more than anyone else for not doing everything, but we're not asking you to do it, only help if we make a mistake.''
``We? All four of you?'' asked Eclipse uncomfortably.
``Three. Aurora to listen to tesla, me to find it and bring it down, and Cloud to make it not have so much heft when I push. You to help if we do something wrong. Star said there was no one shooting, so he'd rather find a beach and build a sand castle than sit there and be in our way and be bored again, because -- no matter what -- they aren't people we'd shoot back at.'' Comet leaned against the rail, her hazel-green eyes opened expectantly. ``GR?''
``GR. Shouldn't take long. It's only a hundred miles up, and practically not moving,'' agreed Eclipse. ``There's a way I can help.''
``What?'' asked Comet.
``These people have never heard of personae. You'll fly there and grab their ship. All they'll know is that their spaceship is falling out of orbit,'' said Eclipse. ``They might man the disruptor batteries. Detonate atomic scuttling charges. Whatever. They need to know it's you outside.''
``Sure,'' agreed Comet, ``You're absolutely right, we could scare them, and they could start shooting, or crank up their engines so I'm pushing and they're pulling, or something really bad. So if ...'' She stopped talking and spread one hand fanwise across her lips. ``Oops. If Aurora does telepathy, they've like never heard of mentalics at all and will think they have voices in their heads like they've gone crazy and then they'll for sure panic.''
Eclipse nodded. ``I'll teleport on board. Then they'll understand and do the right things.''
* * * * *
Aboard the Lemuria, Captain Randolph Peters, RAF, sank deeper into a drowsy near-sleep. This had been the first flight of a shuttle with a non-American as co-pilot -- the Yanks of course insisted on a the title `pilot' for his position -- a circumstance conditioned by details of the Lemuria's funding. After this disaster, it might be the last such flight. Not that he'd had anything to do with the errors that had stranded the ship in its gradually-decaying orbit. He willed himself into a deeper slumber, breathing more and more slowly, staring into the darkness in front of him. He told himself that oxygen was not the critical consumable, then let his mind drift, gradually becoming aware of the equally shallow breathing of ship's mission commander Ralph `Tex' Brankowski, nearly asleep in the other acceleration couch.
Cabin lights were off. Illumination came from a few key instrument panels reporting the status of absolutely critical systems. Beyond the cockpit windows, the brightest constellations were marginally visible. Suddenly, a cerulean glow illumined the cabin, sending shadows down and forward. Peters snapped to consciousness, sleep restraints preventing him from tumbling heels over head into the ceiling. Brankowski's reflexes, just as fast, wakened him. The instrument panel showed no warning indicators.
``I'm sorry I had to wake you.'' The voice was female, apologetic, unfamiliar -- and located dead aft. Brankowski hit the cabin lights. Mission Commander and Pilot looked over their shoulders and stopped in surprise. Facing them was not a mission specialist -- all three of whom should have been sound asleep -- but a person assuredly not on the crew manifest: an eleven-year-old girl wearing ornate silver-gray tunic and trousers, ankle-high boots, and a full-length, deeply-hooded cape which flared over square shoulders and hung firmly deckward in seemingly ignorance of the absence of gravity.
``Houston, Houston, do you read?'' Brankowski's voice chanted the mantra into the radio.
``Lemuria, we copy,'' came the voice in Brankowski's headphones.
``Houston, we have acquired a stowaway. Repeat, we have a stowaway. Over,'' continued Brankowski.
``I am not!'' interrupted Eclipse. ``I came on board right now.''
``Lemuria, this is Houston. Please clarify `stowaway'? Over.''
``Young lady,'' asked Peters calmly, ``Might I ask where you've been hiding all this time?'' Peters' eyes strayed sideways. The cabin air pressure and composition were nominal. Hallucinations based on some gross anomaly in the air supply seemed excluded. For an illusion, the girl appeared to be remar kably matter-of-fact, albeit not quite the age or state of dress of the woman he might have hoped to meet in a hallucination. But how could she possibly have smuggled herself on board and hidden for the past weeks? If nothing else, her presence ought to have perturbed the oxygen budget.
``I'm Eclipse. I haven't been hiding anyplace. I just got here. I'm a persona. We're here to help you,'' said Eclipse. ``I'll show you how I got on board. Look out the window.''
``Houston,'' answered Brankowski, ``Stowaway. A person on board, not on the crew roster, who we didn't know about until now? Caucasian female, apparent age ten. Grey eyes, five feet tall, perhaps eighty pounds, dressed like an escapee from a comic book, cape and all.''
``Lemuria, this is Houston. We read your cabin oxygen as nominal. Please confirm. Dressed like what? Over.''
``I'm not using your air,'' countered an offended Eclipse. ``It's not like I have to breathe. And I'm not ten! I'm twelve!''
``Houston,'' continued Brankowski. ``Confirm air nominal. Dressed like Ultragirl, from the Sunday evening kiddie show. Cape? Tunic? Only no `U' on the chest, and no gold blonde hair? Distinctly, ummh, distinctly younger than Ultragirl, with a significantly larger materials budget for her costuming. Are you receiving her voice? Please advise. Over.''
``Watch you?'' Peters asked Eclipse. ``What am I to see?''
``This,'' answered Eclipse. A swirl of indigo, the tinkle of distant chimes. She vanished, wondering as she did what Brankowski meant. Who was Ultragirl, and what did 'materials budget' signify? She had to remember the name. Finding a persona might explain everything.
``Lemuria, this is Houston. We hear a female voice in the pickup. We can't identify it. Is it a mission specialist? Over.''
``Houston, this is Lemuria. Negative. Negative. I am not repeat not speaking to a mission specialist. The girl is not repeat not a mission specialists. The mission specialists are all six inches taller and twenty years older. Over.''
``Lemuria, this is Houston. We copy you have a stowaway. We're working on it. Over.''
``Where'd she go?'' asked Peters. He slipped free of his restraints and pushed himself slowly at the rear bulkhead, waving his hands through empty air. ``There's no one here. She vanished in a flash of light.''
``Houston, this is Lemuria,'' Brankowski reported. ``The stowaway is no longer in sight. She vanished, repeat vanished like we were on television and someone beamed her up. Over.''
Eclipse hovered above the nose of the ship, the men looking away from her. *Eclipse?* asked Aurora. *Did your speech go GR?*
*Not very well.* A dismayed Eclipse described her conversation. *I guess it's hard to explain personae. Harder than I thought. I figured I'd say we were personae, and that would take care of everything. Except they think I'm dressed like someone I've never heard of, and they were too distracted by my garb to listen.* She surveyed her clothing. What was wrong with it? *They wouldn't watch me teleport.*
*They're looking the wrong way,* said Aurora. She turned her thoughts to the flight crew. **Guys? Look out the window? Please?** The men jerked, searching for the new voice, a voice without apparent direction.
``Lemuria, this is Houston. We have powered up the control deck television camera. We see you two. We don't see anyone else. Over.'' The television gave Ground Control a sharp view of the deck. To Ground Control's extreme dismay, only the two crewmen could be seen.
``Houston, this is Lemuria,'' said Brankowski. ``I don't see anyone either. Only Peters and I are on the flight deck now. Did you hear the second female voice, Houston? Over.''
``Lemuria, that's a negative,'' came Houston. ``We do not hear a second female voice. We heard Brankowski, Peters, and one repeat one unidentified repeat unidentified female repeat female voice. We have the voice identifying itself with an eclipse. Is that solar or lunar? We don't show an occultation for twenty-nine minutes. Over.''
**They can't hear me on the ground,** Aurora explained to the two men. **I'm doing telepathy from outside the ship.**
``Telepathy?'' asked Brankowski.
``Telepathy,'' answered Peters. ``That's what she said. Whoever she is. But where is she? I hear her, but don't see her. Where'd the first one go?''
**No. I didn't go anyplace. I'm Aurora. I was always outside. It was Eclipse [mental image of Eclipse in garb] who teleported inside.**
``Let me get this straight. There are two of you? And your UFO too?'' asked Peters.
**Four of us. Comet's gonna fly you down. Cloud's gonna make your ship not have inertness, so it's easy to fly. Eclipse is telling you what personas are. I do mentalics. We don't need a spaceship,** answered Aurora. **Now you know everything.**
``You're going to deorbit us? On a comet?'' asked Brankowski.
``Lemuria, this is Houston. Lemuria, this is Houston. Are you receiving on another band? We're only hearing your half of the conversation. Please clarify `UFO'. Are you reporting an ET event? Over.''
``Negative, Houston, negative. We don't see her now,'' answered Brankowski. ``Can't you hear the girls talking? They said they're outside the shuttle, using telepathy. Does telepathy make it an ET event? Over.''
On the ground, panic replaced pandemonium. Had the flight crew lost their minds? Was the Shuttle Lemuria being contacted by extraterrestrials? Controllers sent wake-up calls to the mission specialists, asleep on the flight deck. Supervisors began ringing their superiors in Washington. On international flights, downlinks were not encyphered; Television Nippon was carrying the picture and conversation live.
Eclipse, flight fields providing feather-light impulses, drifted up to the bow window. The men inside were still looking rearward.
*GR, now what?* asked Aurora. *I told them where to look. I can hear their minds hearing me. Telepathy made them all confused. They're trying to talk to me with their tesla. Why aren't they talking with their minds?*
*They don't know any telepaths. They must not know how you do telepathy,* pointed out Eclipse.
``Lemuria! Lemuria!'' The voice of ground control had lost its accustomed calm. ``What's, ummh, there is a foreign object visible outside the shuttle. Directly toward the nose. Please confirm immediately. Over.''
Peters and Brankowski turned. Eclipse, manifestly not wearing a pressure suit, peered back through the window, waving politely. Around the globe, the thousands who had always known that space travel was an utter fraud, all broadcasts from space being faked in a New York television studio, saw the ultimate confirmation of their beliefs. Someone in street clothes had finally walked on camera on the wrong side of the mockup spaceship window.
``Houston, I confirm.'' Brankowski hesitated. Was this really happening? Or was he hallucinating both the girl and the conversation with Mission Control? ``Houston, Eclipse appears to be outside the forward port. She does not appear to be wearing a pressure suit. Please advise. Over. Recommendations, Peters? Do you recall a `man overboard' drill?'' Peters smiled at the moment of levity.
``Man overboard? Not since sea duty. Might we invite her on board again? A trifle hard to chat her up, there being vacuum between our selves and her ears,'' answered the imperturbable Pilot.
Brankowski began a charade, smiles and waves and pointing hands, to be interrupted by Eclipse's reappearance inside the cabin. ``Hi, again,'' she said. ``We're here to rescue you. GR? You do want to be rescued. Don't you?''
``Lemuria, this is Houston. We now show the foreign object inside the ship on the control deck. Please confirm.''
``Of course we want to be rescued! Please?'' answered Brankowski. ``Pardon me, Eclipse. Houston, she's back inside the ship now. Stop calling her an object! She's a person. A friendly person. Even if her friends do have transporter rays. Over.''
``Lemuria, we copy. Over.''
``Lemuria copies, Houston,'' answered Brankowski. ``Are you really there?'' he asked Eclipse, gently flipping his monogrammed clipboard at her.
She caught the clipboard and returned his questions. ``What are transporter rays? We're flying you down. We were afraid you'd be frightened. If we didn't warn you first, I mean. If you were startled, you might turn your weapons banks on Comet.'' It occurred to Eclipse that the Lemuria's weaponry was remarkably well hidden. From the outside, there was not a sign of ship-to-ship missiles, neutron cannon, or any of the other accoutrements of conventionally designed orbital spacecraft. Didn't Pickering's people know anything about spaceship design? Apparently not. ``We're personae,'' Eclipse said. ``Public personae. We're here to help you. Comet's going to land you nice and slow.''
``Comet?'' asked Peters. ``I think I have not had the fortune of an introduction.''
``Personae?'' asked Brankowski.
``Comet flew us up here.'' Eclipse wished she knew how to get control of the conversation. The League of Nations had been much easier. Even at the end, when Secretary-General Holmgren had had his screaming fit, his persona bodyguard a half-step from attacking her despite the truce, while half the drains and telehypnotists in Europe were poised to nullify her gifts and paralyze her mind, she had had control of the situation.
``Lemuria, this is Houston. We copy your guest says she arrived on a comet. Please confirm.'' On the ground frantic telephone calls were being made to Washington. The airlocks had not been cycled. There was no way for a human being to have boarded the ship. The creature visible in the monitors was therefore an alien intelligence. To judge from her costume, her people had gleaned human customs on clothing from an eclectic choice of children's television programs.
``Not a comet,'' said Eclipse. ``Comet.'' Oh, right, she reminded herself you already knew these people don't have public personae, so they don't use public personae names. ``Comet is her name. Comet's a persona. She has gifts. She flies. Like I'm doing.''
``Persona?'' asked Brankoski again. ``Is that the name of the planet you came from?''
``Not quite,'' answered Eclipse. Now she had the conversation going the right way. ``A persona is a human being, like us three. Personae have gifts telepathy or teleportation or flying. A public persona is someone who's gifttrue, who uses their gifts in a virtuous way, the way Cicero said you should.''
``Quite,'' interjected Peters. ``Quite. Marcus Tullius Cicero?''
Her smile confirmed his guess. ``The Essay On Duty?'' she responded.
``Naturally.'' Peters had had a properly classical education. ``However, to float in zero gravity is not to fly.''
``If I couldn't fly,'' said Eclipse, ``I could only float in straight lines. I couldn't keep station, and I couldn't do this:'' The slightest urging of her flight field moved her in a semicircular arc around the cabin. ``You see, I fly. Like Comet. You've seen her! Your Washington's antiaircraft spent last night trying to shoot her down.''
``Quite. Quite so!'' complimented Peters. Gingerly, he reached out to touch Eclipse. After he was committed, it occurred to him that he might have been wiser not to hazard his dominant hand. An inch from her skin, he encountered a cold, flat, invisible surface. A firmer grip showed the surface to be completely unyielding, as hard and smooth as a block of glass. ``Tex,'' he remarked casually, ``You can tell Houston that she's solid. And wearing an invisible pressure suit.''
``Screen,'' corrected Eclipse. ``That's a screen. You don't need one for outer space. But you might have shot at me, no matter what my friend promised, so I called my screen.''
The two men looked at each other. ``Houston, this is Lemuria,'' spoke Brankowski. ``Are you getting this? Over.''
``Affirmative. We copy, Lemuria.'' Mission Control was completely non- committal. Washington had informed Mission Control that the flight crew had lost their minds, and rigged a clever hoax. Washington-Houston phone lines filled with impassioned discussion.
The rear hatch opened. A female head, hair salt-and-pepper grey, pushed its way forward. ``Sorry for the intrusion, guys, but Mission Control thinks you've both ...'' Marge Kaster, the oldest of the three mission specialists, took in the presence of Eclipse ... ``taken ...leave ...of ...your ...senses?''
``Hi,'' said Eclipse cheerily. ``Sorry I startled you.''
``Oh, no, not at all,'' the older woman answered blandly. Several of her children had pulled bizarre stunts, but stowing away on a shuttle had to qualify for the Book of Records. The other two mission specialists, heads 120 degrees apart, appeared at the same hatch.
``Oh,'' began the first.
``Wow.'' completed the second.
``Brankowski,'' said Kara Sellers, at 32 the youngest of the three specialists, ``I've heard of sailors smuggling women on board ship. Isn't she a trifle young?'' She grinned. Brankowski pouted.
``They didn't smuggle me on board,'' answered a miffed Eclipse, not quite sure how to interpret the reference to sailors. ``I just arrived here. Like this.'' She teleported again, this time directly behind Sellers. ``See?'' She touched the specialist's shoulder. The specialist jumped through the hatch, shying away from an impossibly-placed voice. Brankowski caught her before she hit the ceiling. Sellers maintained her grip on a large, gleaming wrench. If it were actually necessary to immobilize the flight crew, she was now admirably positioned to do so.
``Hi, '' said Eclipse to the other two women. ``I'm Eclipse,'' she put out a hand, screens damped below the wrist. First the specialists, then the flight crew introduced themselves. Eclipse repeated her earlier explanations.
``You teleport, fly, and ignore hard vacuum,'' observed Kara Sellers. ``Can you teach someone else to do that?'' There had, she thought, to be a Nobel Prize in there. Perhaps two Nobel Prizes. Perhaps even something good enough to earn her a faculty position.
Eclipse winced. Sellers was asking to be engifted! ``Would you settle for being teleported? You'll be in my body field.''
``Body field?'' asked Brankowski.
``It lets you breathe vacuum,'' explained Eclipse. There really couldn't be any personae here, she decided. These people didn't know even the simplest things about gifts.
``Go for it!'' answered Sellers. The experience would be worth a letter to Nature. At worst she risked being decompressed; surely Eclipse would get her back inside the Lemuria before that proved fatal? Eclipse put her hand on the specialist's shoulder. Too late to protest, Peters realized what was about to happen. Sellers and Eclipse dissolved in an azure haze.
They were outside the shuttle. Kara Sellers froze in shock, inhaled deeply, remembered that inhaling vacuum was an incorrect response, and found that she was breathing normally. She pressed her hands together. There was the faintest peculiarity when they touched, as though her hands were wrapped in microscopically thin plastic sheaths.
Stars burned impossibly bright. A glance at the Pleiades revealed not four or six but dozens of points of light, utterly sharp in the absence of atmospheric twinkle and background light. ``Incredible,'' she whispered. She decided not to hazard looking at the Sun. ``I'm breathing. Is that plastic-wrap feel why?''
*That's it,* answered Eclipse. *We'd better go back. They're upset in there.* The crew could be seen through the cabin window, pointing excitedly at Eclipse and Sellers. The world's tens of thousands of saucer cultists saw absolute proof of their faith. Sellers, clearly visible through the deck camera, was obviously calm. She must therefore have known in advance that she would be taken outside by these extraterrestrials. That foreknowledge proved beyond all possible doubt that she, and therefore the government, had always known the truth about UFOs. The government must have been in contact with the space aliens -- Eclipse, Comet, and Cloud -- all along, the public space program existing only as a deception.
A flash of light, a faint jingle of bells: Sellers and Eclipse were back inside the ship. ``See? Nothing to it!'' said Eclipse. Sellers was at a loss for words. ``We're ready to rescue you guys,'' Eclipse announced.
``Wait a moment,'' countered Brankowski. ``Let's not be hasty. We can't re- enter. We don't have tiles on the wings.''
``We know. We know. Comet's going to stop you first. You'll be doing a couple hundred miles an hour, tops, when she brings you down.'' said Eclipse.
``She can do that?'' asked Peters.
*Sure I can,* answered Comet, Aurora passing the message into the minds of five astronauts. *Here, watch.* A pastel luminescence the hue of vanilla- orange ice cream engulfed the skin of the Shuttle.
Eclipse dropped her own flight field and grabbed for a bulkhead. **Comet, go easy. I'm inside!**
**You can fly,** answered Comet. **You can keep up, right?**
**Yeah. I could catch up. Carrying whichever section of wall I go through. This thing's just a big aluminum bubble. Remember? Not a real ship at all. It doesn't even have armor plate, let alone inertia dampers,** responded Eclipse.
**Oops.** Comet's chagrin at her oversight was self-evident. **But I wouldn't have started, not without asking you.**
**You're right,** answered Eclipse. **I'm sorry. This is all so weird, these people not knowing what we are.**
``Should something be happening?'' asked Brankowski. ``You seem lost in thought. Who are these friends you mention?''
``I was speaking with Comet,'' answered Eclipse. *By telepathy. Like this.* ``My friend is on Earth. He said he didn't want me to say his name, because he's too busy with to be bothered by supermarket newspaper reporters or congressmen or other, ummh, what's `occupationally anencephalic', people?'' Mission Control, all too aware that a third American network had begun live coverage, winced.
``Is this an inertialess drive Comet has?'' asked Sellers, noting the absence of perceived acceleration. Her doctorate was in Physics; her thoughts were firmly concentrated on her chances for the all-expenses-paid Winter trip to Stockholm. ``Like a TV spaceship?''
``Inertialess? Teevee?'' repeated Eclipse. She wished she knew physics. She knew what inertialess meant. Sort of. Comet would know exactly. Any time science was important, thought Eclipse, Comet could think circles around her. But what was the other? It named a type of spaceship, so `Tivi' must be a country, one that hadn't existed before. The name sounded like a group of Pacific Islands. Might the place be some Atlanticean remnant, transposed from one ocean to the next?
``We don't feel any acceleration,'' remarked Marge Kaster.
``When she starts, she'll be very gentle. You won't feel a thing,'' said Eclipse blandly.
``Gentle?'' asked Brankowski.
``For her. If you could only do five gees, you'd need forever to go translight. She can do that in a couple minutes.'' The astronauts noted that Eclipse didn't appear to be boasting. Each calculated silently how many gees corresponded to Comet's alleged 0.5c/minute.
Brankowski surveyed the control deck. ``This certainly was not covered by operations planning. Eclipse, could the five of us consult privately?'' She bowed slightly and retreated to the lower deck.
``Well, folks? Do I hear recommendations? That includes you, ground.'' Ground control was silent. Transmissions were now being carried live on all six American networks. Telephone calls from Washington had completely disrupted higher administrative headquarters.
``The situation does appear to be a mite sticky,'' announced Peters. ``It can't be said we'd be throwing our lives away. Trusting them, I mean.''
``A mite sticky?'' questioned Kaster. `Is that Brit for `totally hopeless'? You're right. What could we lose?'' The other specialists gestured their agreement.
``Okay folks, think out what we need to do, before we land. We're all stowed? Let's go for broke!'' He raised his voice. ``Eclipse, go ahead. Stop and land us,'' he asked, challenging his crew to demur. Outside, the tangerine glow intensified. A gentle pressure appeared within the cabin, slowly forcing everything to the floor of the ship.
``Eclipse, dear? Be so good,'' asked Peters, ``if you would, as to advise Miss Comet that we are accelerating the wrong way. Outward from Earth, not the direction that would kill our velocity.''
``That's not acceleration,'' Eclipse explained. ``That's gravity, so everything settles before you land.''
``Can you lower landing gear?'' asked Eclipse. ``Now, I mean? Whatever else you do to land? If I must, I'll teleport your ship down. If I do that, you're on the ground all at once.'' **Comet, if I teleport, kill your flight field? Or we reach the ground, and you pull three gees until we hit the first line of trees.**
**GR! But mayhaps I should keep my field on and hold us still, so if we come in a little high or moving a bit I protect you and the ship from dropping?**
**Oh, right. GR. Don't worry. I have a destination locked.** Eclipse wished she'd had more practice using her talents with her friends.
**WAIT!** shrilled Comet. **You teleport us? All? I mean, this thing must weigh a hundred tons and some and we're orbital.**
**You said you wanted a backup. It'll be a bit more strain than last night, but I'm awake now,** answered a confident Eclipse.
**You can do that?** Comet's intuition sounded warnings. The power involved sounded too much to be reasonable.
**Sure. Well, mayhaps I'm hazy after. Why don't you get on with it?**
``Are you talking to your flying saucer again?'' asked Brankowski.
``Sort of. But she's not a saucier, though she does cook. Star is better at cooking,'' answered Eclipse. She told herself that he couldn't possibly have meant what she had just heard him say. ``After all, he's a boy. Comet's giving us energy and momentum and all that stuff.'' *Did I say that right, Comet?* ``You can't feel it, because she pushes everything at once. Just as well. We're doing several gees.'' *Right, Comet?*
* Several? Barely three? This thing is awful fragile, so I have to be very gentle.* Comet's mind betrayed a determined concentration on her task.
``Houston,'' announced Peters, ``says we're changing velocity. At thirty-four meters per second squared. They want to know why IGS doesn't confirm.''
``Inertialess drive!'' supplied Sellers.
``Ask them,'' said Eclipse, ``ask them to tell us when we reach dead stop. Comet's very good at flying, but ...It'll make them feel useful. People stop worrying if they think they're being useful.''
``Did you say `teleport'?'' asked Kaster. ``The blue glow and the carillon effect when you took Kara on her EVA?''
``Eeveeay?'' asked Eclipse. Every so often, they simply stopped speaking Modern English.
``Extra Vehicular Activity,'' clarified Peters. ``Your step out of doors here?''
``I teleported,'' explained Eclipse. ``That's your backup, too. I can teleport you and your ship to the ground, too. We skip it if we can. If we teleport, I swallow your kinetic energy, you being at five miles a second. I'd rather not.''
``Now, young lady,'' asked Brankowski, ``you're saying that no matter what happens we can be on the ground in half an instant? Not moving?'' He waited for Eclipse's agreement. ``Are you sure?'' She smiled.
``Eclipse? Could you explain?'' asked Marge Kaster, crossing her arms across her chest, ``From the beginning? What planet you're from? Where your flying saucer is?'' While the Lemuria slowed to a stop, Eclipse repeated what she'd told Pickering about the true world.
* * * * *
The descent crossed the Western Pacific. Twenty miles up, over the northern Washington coast, the Lemuria came to a hover. The crew deployed landing gear. Miles below, Air Force interceptors streaked toward the now motionless shuttle.
Eclipse stood, one hand gripping the bulkhead, the other clenched in a tight fist. The ship fell into a sea-blue waterfall, a hundred chimes sounding gloriously through the empty sky. The Lemuria was stationary, parked near one end of a long airstrip. Weeds grew between the cracks in the concrete.
``Welcome home,'' Eclipse announced. ``This place was open six months ago. They'll have no trouble flying you out. Our friend checked.'' The astronauts peered eagerly through the windows. ``Sorry it's not close to civilization, but Comet feels shy. Something about being shot. With an antiaircraft gun. It's a mite offputting. Enough she didn't want to fly near Cape Canaveral.''
``Understandable,'' said Peters. ``Though history being changed here, that's Kennedy Space Center in Florida. Renamed back in `64.''
``Oh,'' agreed Eclipse. ``Who's Kennedy?''
``Odd that one can rearrange the past until the present suits one's wishes.'' Marge Koster looked pensively at the bulkhead. ``Whoever did it might have had your best interests at heart.''
``Mine, mayhaps,'' said Eclipse. ``Taking them from their parents, that's hard to credit.'' She spread her hands, warding away criticism. Until she caught the responsible party, assessing guilt would be a trifle problematic. When she caught them, she would face an unpleasant choice. Should she force whoever to restore reality? Either way, billions of people wouldn't exist any more. Mayhaps they, whoever they were, had changed the world for a good reason. She hoped she didn't have to tell Star and Aurora and Cloud or even Comet that. The four said they were brave and gifttrue, but on the inside her friends were all terrified children wanting only home and dad and mom and pets and schoolmates.
Despite the odd aqua color of the flashing lights, the approaching car had to be bailiffs. It was time for the four to be on their way. Eclipse disappeared to the rustle of cymbals, noticing after it was too late that she still held Brankowski's clipboard.