Starfarers by Poul Anderson Page A

a raindrop’s worth of difference to the cosmos.”
    “I am not so sure of that, either.”
    “Well, your religion—” She broke off, half embarrassed. “I’m not observant of what’s supposed to be mine.”
    Nansen shook his head. “If anything, what faith I have comes from this material universe. It doesn’t seem reasonable to me that something so superbly organized, its law reaching down beneath the atom, out beyond the quasars, through all of time, that it would throw up something as rich as life and intelligence by chance. I think reality must be better integrated than that, and we are somehow as much a part of it and its course as the galaxies are.” His smile quirked. “At least, it’s a comforting thought.”
    “I guess I’d like to share it,” Dayan said, “but where’s the actual evidence? And we don’t need comforting, or ought not to. Whatever we are, we can be it in style!”
    He considered her. “Yes, you would feel like that.”
    She met the look. “You would, too, regardless,” she answered.
    For several pulsebeats they stood mute, unmoving.
    “I should get back to my laboratory,” she said quickly. “Everything seems in order here, and you remember I have some experiments going. At our gamma factor, who knows what we might detect?”
    Journey commenced. The rest of the expedition had, in an unspoken mutuality, sought the common room. Together they sat watching Sol recede. In a few more hours of their time, it would no longer be the dominant star. In a day and a night of their time, thirteen and a half years would pass on Earth.
    Sundaram rose from his chair. “I believe that suffices me,” he said. “If you will pardon me, I shall retire.”
    “For a nap?” Kilbirnie asked, as lightly as she was able.
    “Possibly,” he replied in the same spirit. “Or possibly I can pursue an idea a trifle further.” He went out.
    Brent squinted after him. “Good Christ,” the second engineer muttered, “is he anything but a thinking machine?”
    “Much more,” Zeyd told him sharply. “I have taken the trouble to become acquainted.”
    Brent lifted a palm. “No offense meant. If he doesn’t carefor women, it makes things easier for me, if he doesn’t make a pass at me.” He saw frowns and tightened lips. “Hey, sorry, just a joke.”
    Yu stood up. “I think we would be wise to inspect the recycler systems,” she said.
    “Why, is there anything to fear?” Zeyd wondered.
    “No. I am confident they have themselves well in hand. However, the final responsibility lies with my department,”—responsibility for the nanotechnics and processings that turned waste back into fresh air, pure water, food, and the luxuries that were almost as vital. “One more go-through, now that we are under zero-zero, will secure us more firmly in our teamwork.”
    “Oh, all right “Brent said.
    “Actually, a welcome diversion.” Zeyd made a gesture at the awesomeness in the screen. As the biochemist, he was involved.
    “Should I come, too?” asked Mokoena, biologist and physician.
    “No need, unless you wish to,” said Yu. She led Brent and Zeyd out.
    Mokoena stayed. “That was neatly done,” she told those who also remained. “She defused what could have become an awkward situation.”
    Cleland stirred, cleared his throat, and spoke tentatively. “Do you mean Al might have, ah, lost his temper? I don’t think so. He’s not a bad man.”
    “I didn’t say he was,” Mokoena answered.
    “Besides,” Ruszek put in, “I think what Wenji wants is to give her group something to do. The sooner everybody’s busy, the better. Sitting and gaping at … this … is no good.”
    Mokoena chuckled. “As for that, we can trust our captain to have some ritual planned for our first supper.”
    Ruszek shrugged. “Probably. He didn’t approach me about it.”
    Kilbirnie jumped to her feet. “Meanwhile, we do jolly well need a break,” she exclaimed. “Who’d like a hard game of