Charlie was taking pictures of the sculpture. Hutch had always thought that Jennifer was a pedestrian name for a creature that she thought of as an angel. “Kind of irrelevant, I suppose,” he said, “since we already have one at home.” It was framed and had a center place in Hutch’s office, surrounded by acclamations and awards for services rendered as an Academy pilot, back in the days when there was an Academy.

“Best to have your own, son.”

“I guess. What I’d really like to see is a picture of me on the bridge taking us back to Earth.”

Priscilla’s Journal

I’d have loved to meet that young woman. (And she is a woman. That she has wings and belongs to a different species are details.) Standing out there this most recent time, by her side, I couldn’t help thinking that, in a very real sense, we have met. I know exactly what was going through her mind when she created that figure, and I suspect she knew precisely who her audience would be.

—Thursday, December 27, 2255

1.

Ah! Then, if mine had been the Painter’s hand,

To express what then I saw; and add the gleam,

The light that never was, on sea or land,

The consecration, and the Poet’s dream;

I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile

Amid a world how different from this!

Beside a sea that could not cease to smile;

On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss.

—William Wordsworth, “Elegiac Stanzas Suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle in a Storm,” 1807

On the day that everything changed, it rained. Derek Blanchard’s car eased into the faculty parking lot while precipitation poured down across the University of Pennsylvania. A few students were hurrying through the storm. Otherwise, the campus looked empty. Derek pulled on his raincoat, tugged the hood into place, grabbed his briefcase, and got out of the car.

Ten minutes later he was seated at a table in the Gateman Conference Room with a half dozen doctoral candidates. He was an African American, tall, with a close resemblance to Hollywood star Alan Parkman, and a baritone voice that people took seriously. Guessing ages during an era when almost no one looked more than thirty was tricky, but most of his students had done the research, so they knew he’d been around a long time.

They were discussing theses. Each was targeted on aspects of stellar evolution. Derek outlined the requirements for a reasonable analysis, laid out the time limits, and went over other technical details. The candidates, three men and three women, submitted their topics. Derek supported some, recommended a completely different approach for two, and added a few general suggestions. It was hard to keep focused because of what was coming next.