How many years since I’d actually been on Earth? I was not quite nineteen when I stepped aboard the Space Elevator. Thirty- four when ad Astra left. Fifteen years plus about four, subjective, that we spent going to the Others’ Home and back.

Exactly half my life—thirty-eight actual years. Whatever “actual” means.

The president and Paul were chatting about our return. “We could take you down on the Space Elevator, which would be more comfortable than using the lander. But the lander, an actual landing, would be really good for public morale.”

“Propaganda.” Paul said.

“I wouldn’t deny it. Do you think it would be safe?”

“Well, it’s never been used, so it’s brand-new in a way. It’s been sitting around for years, which isn’t good for any machine. But that is what it was designed to do.”

I wished telepathy would work. Space Elevator Space Elevator Space Elevator. I’d had my fill of atmospheric braking.

“If you’re uncertain,” the president said, “we have two qualified pilots waiting at the Hilton.”

I guess you don’t get to be president without a knack for psychology. “Oh, there’s no question I can do it. No question at all. I’ve done seven Mars landings and a hundred on Earth, in flight training.”

“And one on the Moon, I recall.” The one that saved the Earth. Paul smiled. Score one for the prez.

“So when do you want me to bring her down? Where?”

“They still have the landing strip in the Mojave Desert. Um . . .” He looked to his right. “They say they have the old software to guide you in, but want to test it out with a duplicate. Anytime tomorrow would be fine. Daylight, California time?”

“No problem. We came on board with one suitcase apiece. Won’t take us long to pack.”

“Good, good. Will you accept our hospitality at the White House?” Another glance to the right. “Once the medics let you loose, that is.”

“An honor, sir. Professor.”

“See you tomorrow in California.” He looked at his watch. “Would you mind debriefing with my science and policy advisors, say, an hour from now?”

“No problem, sir.” He let out a big breath after the cube went dark. “Let’s move this circus back downstairs. Get Snowbird out of the heat.”

“Paul,” Namir said, “be careful what you say to them.”

“Sure. Careful.”

“If they don’t like what they hear . . . if they don’t want the public to hear what we say . . . this is their last and best chance to silence us.” He looked around at everybody. “There could be a tragic accident.”

“That’s pretty melodramatic,” I said.

He nodded, smiling. “You know us spies. We come by it naturally.”