“They must’ve had a visit from an Ark, then.”

“They won’t discuss that, which means you are probably right. The translators think so, too.”

“So the Ark, it’s…?”

“A small thing in a near-Earth asteroid, the co-orbitals, as they’re called. Good place to hide.”

“That big a sail—”

“It’s probably folded up, to elude detection.”

The Prefect rose, forestalling any more questions, and went forward to the Venture bridge.

She sat, watching Luna shrink aft, and pondered the Ythri mysteries. She was having coffee in a bubble cup when the Flinger came rushing down. She could make out the slender cables as they came out of the dark, spindly fingers reaching for the grapple. Their “package,” in Lunavator lingo, was the human ship Venture, and the smaller Ythri ship, bundled together. The package got handed off in gruff shoves to the wrought-carbon Flinger cable. It snatched them at high, slam-into-the-couch accelerations, a brutal thrust heading them into their fast interplanetary orbit. She relaxed as the huge invisible hand forced her deep into her sighing smart cushions. Her joints ached.

Clunks, rattles, and thunks told her their package was taking on more masses of water, to later burn in the reaction engines. She could see the feeder lines snaking into their carbon-black package, delivering water fresh-harvested from the comet nucleus she had seen only a few hours ago as they left the launch point. All the while the Flinger was pumping water into their fusion fuel tanks. They would shove steam out to decelerate at their destination.

Their speed was so high now as to be incomprehensible, the view a blur. All she could think of was the unending pressure forcing them onward. She had extra oxy just to stay conscious; Loonies had it hard. The Flinger orbited far above the Lunavator in centrifugal haste, rotating so fast that within another hour it let them go at a speed above two hundred kilometers a second. The solar system was big, and it was best not to think about hitting a wandering rock at such speeds. Their forward-looking radar linked to laser cannon could handle that, thank you.

They popped free on course. It was like turning into an angel after a week in hell. Light, airy, she was a free bird.

She unstrapped in the zero grav and tried a tumble-thrust to get her popping joints aligned. She had done zero grav before, but now her flying experience paid off in easy, unconscious grace.

The Prefect was asleep, or maybe unconscious, his face lined. She headed for the hibernation capsule ahead of the staff, got her injections from the nurse, and snuggled into the smart comfy clasp of the hibernation-tech cocoon. She didn’t want to hear the Prefect’s ideas, or the staff’s. And she didn’t want to be bored with a month of speculation. Sleep, bliss, yes. She wanted to see the Ark, a deep-sleep month’s ride away.

7.

The Ark sail was folded up into a tight scroll, which explained why humans hadn’t found it. The sail had been kilometers across, and now was just a white rod bound with straps. Its cargo, the ship that had sailed the eons, basked in the ruddy glow of a red giant, then coasted for centuries across to nearby Earth—well, it looked ordinary. A dull composite cylinder, streaked and pitted and worn, hardly a hundred meters long and seventy meters across. But the door was open, a yawning circle. Pretty obvious: