He entered his cabin. The beds were down, joined into one. Chi-Yuen sat on it. She wore a light, frilly peignoir which made her resemble a little girl, a sad one. “Hello,” she said tonelessly. “You have thunder in your face. What happened?”

Reymont settled beside her and related it.

“Well,” she asked, “can you blame them very much?”

“No. I suppose not. Though— I don’t know. This band was intended to be the best Earth could offer. Intelligence, education, stable personality, health, dedication. And they knew they’d likely never come home again. At a minimum, they’d return to countries older than the ones they left by the better part of a century.” Reymont ran fingers through his wire-brush hair. “So things have changed,” he sighed. “We’re off to an unknown destiny, maybe to death, certainly to complete isolation. But is it that different from what we were planning on from the start? Should it make us go to pieces?”

“It does,” Chi-Yuen said.

“You too. I’ve been meaning to take that up with you.” He gave her a ferocious look. “You were busy at first, your amusements, your theoretical work, your programming the studies you wanted to carry out in the Beta Vee System. And when the trouble hit us, you responded well.”

A ghostly smile crossed her. She patted his cheek. “You inspired me.”

“Since then, however… more and more, you sit doing nothing. We had the beginnings of something real, you and I; but you don’t often make meaningful contact with me of late. You’re seldom interested in talk or sex or anything, including other people. No more work. No more big daydreams. Not even crying into your pillow after lights out… oh yes, I’d lie awake and hear you. Why, Ai-Ling? What’s happening to you? To them?”

“I imagine we have not quite your raw will to survive at any cost,” she said, almost inaudibly.

“I’d consider some prices for life too high myself. Here, though— We have what we need. A certain amount of comfort to boot. An adventure like nothing ever before. What’s wrong?”

“Do you know what the year is on Earth?” she countered.

“No. I was the one who got Captain Telander to order that particular clock removed. Too morbid an attitude was developing around it.”

“Most of us can make our own estimates anyway.” She spoke in a level, indifferent voice. “At present, I believe it is about anno Domini 10,000 at home. Give or take several centuries. And yes, I learned in school about the concept of simultaneity breaking down under relativistic conditions. And I remember that the century mark was expected to be the great psychological hurdle. In spite of that, these mounting dates have meaning. They make us absolute exiles.

Already. Irrevocably. No longer simply our kinfolk must be extinct. Our civilization must be. What has happened on Earth? Throughout the galaxy? What have men done? What have they become? We will never share in it. We cannot.”