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units used solar sails as their propulsion, and with our survey-ship telescopies , we can run a computerized scan as we head out. Forty of the units were using the old Orion concept—nuclear-blast pulsing."
    "God, how primitive," Stasz muttered.
    "Yeah, almost barbaric, but it worked. We might get lucky and detect a detonation or, at least, residual radiation from the pulsers . The ramjets will leave a certain amount of disturbance in their wake, and with luck, we can latch on. We'll have to trust to the nav -detection computer system to pick out anything and hope that there is some semblance of communication between them which we can home in on. Many of the units carried a powerful beacon system and we know the frequencies, so we can track on that, as well.
    "So, unless one of my fellow travelers has another suggestion, I guess we should point ourselves into the galactic core and hope."
    "We do have fairly precise measurements on colonials 418 and 422 ," Shelley interjected. "We could try for them first."
    "I don't think it really matters," Ian replied despond ently, "so what the hell, enter it into the log as we depart that we're locking onto the tracks of 418 and 422. At least it will make us sound like we're doing something."
    "You sound as if you don't expect to find any of those colonies," Ellen responded.
    "By the Eye of the Crab," Stasz shouted, and he pointed to Richard and winked. Richard pulled a plastic pouch out of his pocket and tossed it to the pilot, who snatched it out of the air, pulled the straw out, and drained off so much of the contents that Richard's face fell even as Stasz's turned redder and redder.
    "As I was about to say, nearly seventy-five percent of these Alpha-3 class survey ships never came back from their surveys. Hell, lady, chances are you'll die before we ever find one of lan's bloody lost friends. Why the hell do you think the government gave this ship to your grant foundation? Two years ago they dumped a pretty penny into overhauling this crate and then the smart boys in Research and Development come up with a safer and faster design. Now if they scrapped this bucket some damn fool antispace senator would scream that we're wasting taxpayers' money. Of course nobody in DSSE wants assignment to this deathtrap, so some bright young fellow comes up with the idea of giving it to you damned stupid educators via the research foundation. Why, that's the perfect plan! This bucket sails off to oblivion, no one at DSSE is to blame, and in fact we get a bigger appro priation to build a replacement."
    "So why are you along, my friend?" Richard asked.
    '" Cause I had a little run-in with the Governor."
    "Oh."
    "Did you ever hear of his daughter?"
    Richard Croce's and Ellen Redding's howls filled the room. Ian just turned scarlet. Only Shelley was strangely quiet.
    "You're all crazy, you are," Stasz shouted. "I'll watch you laugh though when I punch us out of here in three hours. Is it the galactic center, then?"
    Ian nodded his head sadly. Why not? Hell, it was as good as any area to search. They'd have to find at least one colony, that was plain. Maybe with a little luck they could score something in a year or so.
     
    With a whispering hiss the Discovery slipped from its docking bay, the faint push from the back of the seat creating a sensation that "down" was at the rear of the command compartment. Ian looked across at Shelley, who was in the couch behind Stasz , and gave a reassuring smile. But she didn't need one. It was her first flight, and for her it was a moment full of wonder.
    Ian listened in on the chatter over Stasz's comlink . He never figured out how a pilot could make sense of the nonstop commands as flight control sorted out the dozens of incoming and outbound flights.
    " Com Sat Rep 23A , your approach to D-97 on 933 is open. Ah, VCT9 - er , you are cleared for entry into Restrict 9, approach at point-four M per. Discovery 1 ..."
    "That's us," Stasz whispered.
    "Out to depart line 8,