“Hush.” Her palm covered his mouth. “None of that.”

“But—”

“No, I will not have it. The ship isn’t going to fall apart if you get one decent night’s sleep.”

“Well… well… maybe not.”

“Close your eyes. Let me stroke your forehead— there. Isn’t that better already? Now think of nice things.”

“Like what?”

“Have you forgotten? Think of home. No. Best not that, I suppose. Think of the home we are going to find. Blue sky. Warm bright sun, light falling through leaves, dappling the shade, blinking on a river; and the river flows, flows, flows, singing you to sleep.”

“Um-m-m.”

She kissed him very lightly. “Our own house. A garden. Strange colorful flowers. Oh, but we will plant seeds from Earth too, roses, honeysuckle, apple, rosemary for remembrance. Our children…”

He stirred. The fret returned to him. “Wait a minute, we can’t make personal commitments. Not yet. You might not want, uh, any given man. I’mfondofyou, of course, but—”

She brushed his lids shut again before he saw the pain on her. “We are daydreaming, Charles,” she laughed low. “Stop being all solemn and literal-minded. Just think about children, everyone’s children, playing in a garden. Think about the river. Forests. Mountains. Bird song. Peace.”

He tightened an arm around her slenderness. “You’re a good person.”

“You are yourself. A good person who ought to be cuddled. Would you like me to sing you to sleep?”

“Yes.” His words were becoming indistinct. “Please. I like Chinese music.”

She continued smoothing his brow while she drew breath.

The intercom circuit clicked shut. “Constable,” said Telander’s voice, “are you there?”

Reymont snapped awake. “Don’t,” Chi-Yuen begged.

“Yes,” Reymont said, “here I am.”

“Would you come to the bridge? Confidential.”

“Aye, aye.” Reymont undid his lifeline and pulled the pajama top over his head.

“They could not give you five minutes, could they?” Chi-Yuen said.

“Must be serious,” he answered. “Don’t mention it around until you hear from me.” In a few motions he had resumed coverall and shoes and was on his way.

Telander and, surprisingly, Nilsson awaited him. The captain looked as if he had been struck in the belly. The astronomer was excited but had not wholly lost his self-command of recent months. He clutched a bescribbled sheet of paper.

“Navigation difficulties, eh?” Reymont deduced. “Where’s Boudreau?”

“This doesn’t concern him immediately,” Nilsson said. “I have been computing the significance of observations I’ve made with the newest instruments. I have reached a, ah, frustrating conclusion.”

Reymont wrapped fingers around a grip and hung in the stillness, regarding them. The fluorolight cast the hollows of his face into shadow. The gray streaks which had lately appeared in his hair stood forth sharp by contrast. “We can’t make that galactic clan ahead of us after all,” he foretold.

“That’s right.” Telander drooped.

“No, not right in a strict sense,” Nilsson declared fussily. “We will pass through. In fact, we will pass through not only the general region, but— if we choose— through a quite a fair number of galaxies within certain of the families which comprise the clan.”