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waver, then the ship was gone, just a streak into the deep heavens. The data
readout in the upper right corner of the screen indicated an acceleration of
two hundred million gravities.
A scream came from the back. "No! No! It's not right! A wrong thing!" Hague
was crying, shuddering, trying to hide inside himself. "No, no, no,
no-no-no-no-no-no." He slid to the floor. Vander Kam stooped to help him.
* * *
Dykstra couldn't take his eyes off the screen. There was the ship, the tail
wavering, like he was viewing it from a hundred meters away over hot pavement.
Then, zoom, gone, at an acceleration of two hundred million gravities. No, it
had to be an apparent acceleration. Yes, and that would mean . . .
* * *
Nachtegall was watching Dykstra. "Staring off into infinity, seeing things no
others can see, nor even imagine." That's how the biography had put it. Bob
was seeing it now.
* * *
It was there, all of it, laying itself out. Faster than he could consciously
think, his wonderful, peerless mind assembled the answers before him.
Of course the causality paradoxes would go away if . . .
Yes, the transition to hypervelocities had to take place at minimum . . .
Trying to cross the Hague Limit in FTL drive would . . .
It was coming to him, unfolding, like the hand of God unrolling a scroll
before him.
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- Chapter 3
You are James Christian Dykstra, and through you, God will give Man the stars.
* * *
"Look at him, Major!" Vander Kam was pointing at Hague. "Look what you've done
to him!"
"He'll be okay "
"He will not!" Vander Kam shouted. "He's not your little tin soldier to push
around and command. He can't handle this! He's not emotionally equipped for
it, you idiot!"
THWAK.
Dykstra slammed his cane on the table. "Enough!" he said, and everyone
listened.
"He's back," Nachtegall said, awed. "He knows
."
"Rick, take Dr. Hague home, please," Dykstra said.
"Now wait one damn minute, Doctor!" Moore spat.
"Silence!" the old man said, eyes ablaze, again slamming his cane on the
table. No one moved. The scientists bearing witness hushed. Moore, always more
paper pusher than soldier, shut up.
Dykstra continued. "I now know how the FTL drive works, Major. Do you
understand what that means
?
For the war effort, for the human race, for the future, Major? Do you
understand what it means for me
, Major? Do you understand what it means for you
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?"
Nachtegall saw the passion, the sparkle, the fire in Dykstra's eyes. This was
the man he'd read about, the foremost genius of the age, as he must have been
in his prime.
As he was now.
Major Moore backed down. "Dr. Dykstra, I'm sure we can work something out.
Let's not remain angry."
Dykstra laughed. "Your reasonable attitude delights me. Major, I will continue
to work for the Phinon
Project. And I will give us a faster-than-light drive."
Dykstra started for the door. "But before I actually write anything down, I
have another chore to attend to. Lieutenant Nachtegall, will you give me a
lift to Luna City? There's a certain young widow I must visit tonight."
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- Chapter 3
* * *
Samantha had returned to work a week after the funeral, but her sense of
purpose had vanished. Friends told her it would take time, but she wondered if
there was any truth to what they said. In the evenings, Samantha returned to
an empty apartment, to see Steve's things, to have every room remind her of
times when they laughed together, ate together, or loved together. And there
was nothing for her to do except to helplessly tolerate it.
Samantha was staring at the walls, not crying, not laughing, not feeling
anything but a numb hollowness inside, when Dykstra came to visit.
She answered the door and found the old man standing outside with his cane.
"Hello, Sammi," he said.
"Let an old man with a walking stick in?"
"Of course, Dr. Dykstra." She motioned him in. "Pardon the mess. I haven't
been much into cleaning lately."
"I am as sorry as I can be, Sammi. At my age, I've lost a lot of people who
were dear to me. They still are. Practice makes it no easier."
"Thank you. And thanks for coming to the funeral it meant a lot to me." She
looked at Dykstra, standing there with his walking stick, and even though he
was in the hated military, she could hold no blame against him. "Take a seat,
please," she said. "Would you like me to turn down the gravity?"
"I would be more comfortable. Thank you." She did, and in a moment was sitting
across from him.
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