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beneath the awning, wondering what the hell a
representative from the ESO might want with him.
    He
fixed a jug of cold camomile tea and sat across the table from Bruckner.
    He
poured and looked up. “How can I help you?”
    Bruckner
laid his briefcase on the table, undipped it and withdrew a sheaf of papers. He
leafed through them, concentrating on certain paragraphs, as if familiarising
himself with details. He took a sip of camomile tea.
    “Mr
Hendry, you served with Space Oceana for ten years from ‘78 to early ‘89, a
smartware engineer on shuttles.”
    “What
about it?”
    Bruckner
glanced at a printed form. “You served with distinction, worked hard, even
instituted design improvements on a couple of parallel systems—”
    “It
was my job, before things went belly up.”
    Bruckner
nodded. For all the emotion he evinced, he might have been an automaton. “Those
good old days of solid fuel,” he said without emotion, and Hendry wondered if
the line was a quote.
    Bruckner
went on, “How would you like that job back, Mr Hendry?”
    Surprising
himself, Hendry laughed. It was impossible, of course. Why would the ESO be
starting up shuttle runs again? And to where? The Mars and Moon colonies were
long abandoned... Unless there was a plan to recolonise. But it would never
work.
    “I
don’t understand. The colonies... I mean, why would the ESO be recruiting
shuttle engineers?”
    Bruckner
stared at him, his expression neutral. “We aren’t, Mr Hendry.”
    “In
that case, will you please explain yourself?”
    Bruckner
nodded, took another sip of cold tea. He replaced the glass precisely upon the condensation
circle it had formed on the tabletop. “Mr Hendry, the ESO in Berne suffered a
terrorist attack two weeks ago. We lost a number of clerical personnel in the
bombing, and five technicians.”
    “I
heard about it. So...”
    “So,
we need to replace those technicians.”
    “But
the ESO doesn’t fly shuttles anymore,” Hendry said. He saw himself reflected in
Bruckner’s lenses. The man stared at him, his mouth set.
    “We
need the engineers not for shuttles, but for a project that until now has
remained—or so we thought—top secret.”
    Hendry
thought he was about to suffer a coronary. Something tightened in his chest. He
felt dizzy. “What project?”
    Bruckner
said, “The ESO is sending a starship, the Lovelock, on a mission to
colonise the stars. It is—and this might be construed as a melodramatic way of
putting it—Earth’s last hope.” For the first time, Bruckner smiled. “But I
think your daughter...” he referred to his papers, “Christine, might have
mentioned something about it?”
    Hendry
said, “How could she keep quiet when she would never see me again?”
    “Well...
perhaps now, if you accept the commission, your daughter will see you
again.”
    His
heart thudded. All this was happening too fast. It was as if his emotions had
to play catch up with what his head was telling him.
    “I...
But why me? Why not any of the dozens of other younger smartware—?”
    Bruckner
cut in, “They’re dead, in one or two cases not interested. Your credentials are
impeccable. You are the logical choice.”
    Hendry
just shook his head.
    Bruckner
went on, “We’ve recruited four specialists so far to replace the five murdered.
One survived without injuries. The six, when the Lovelock lights out,
will form the maintenance crew that will be resurrected from cold sleep at
journey’s end to run a series of checks on the smartware systems and to bring
the ship down.”
    “This
is incredible,” Hendry murmured to himself.
    Chrissie...
Chrissie was not lost to him. If he accepted the commission, then one day, in
the far future, they would be reunited. He tried to envisage her surprise and
joy.
    “This
is for real, not some sick joke?”
    In
reply Bruckner took a metallic card from the breast-pocket of his suit and
passed it to Hendry. He tried to read the print, but his vision