Free Enigma by Michael P. Kube-McDowell Page A

Earth onto the bridge window. Unity was already invisibly small.
    “In a minute,” Neale said wistfully and gestured toward the screen. “I kept trying to find a way to prepare the new crew for that sight, and never did. As little good as came out of coming back, I still think it’s harder to face the second time than it was the first. Because this time we know we’ll never see it again.”
    When Neale finally left Tycho ’s bridge she went directly to her cabin, delegating the outcrossing preparations to Rogen. Half an hour later, shortly after the announcement came over the shipnet that Tycho had passed beyond the heliosphere, Rogen came by for her. He carried a book-sized leatherette case under one arm.
    “The lesser colors are assembling in the library for the pinning. So whenever you’re ready—,” Rogen said deferentially.
    Neale lay aside the slate on which she had been reading a translation of Ptolemy’s Almagest . “Let me see.”
    Holding the case in front of him, Rogen tipped it and opened the lid so that Neale could see its contents: twenty-five Service deep-space theater insignia, twenty-five gleaming black elliptical jewels.
    “Never saw so many of them in one place before,” she said, taking the case. “Damnit, I hate this. Giving them out like candy to kids. They’ve done nothing to earn them, but you put one on them and they’ll think they’re as good as you or Sebright or Waite or any of the vets. It cheapens the insignia.”
    “It’s just not going to be such an exclusive club anymore,” Rogen commiserated.
    “You know, I’ll bet I could still tell you the original complement of all three Pathfinders,” she went on. “We knew everyone who wore the black ellipse. Now I need to use the library just to remember the commanders of all the ships. I’ve never even met most of them.”
    “There’re a lot of new faces everywhere,” Rogen agreed. “They tell me Homal had twenty-seven lessers when he took out Galileo .”
    Neale shook her head in disgust. “Come on. Let’s get it over with.”
    There was much happy talk and some braggadocio among the twenty-five crew waiting in the crowded library. Thackery did not take part in either, content to listen and defend the corner of the workstation he had staked out as a seat. He had too many conflicting feelings to freely enjoy the anticipation of his pinning.
    For one thing, he had heard that the outcrossing was to be televised. But it was obvious now that that was not true—which meant that he was already gone as far as Andra and any Georgetown alumni who might remember him were concerned. Not that Andra would have been likely to watch, but, still, the ceremony’s importance had been diminished.
    At the same time, he remained proud of what he had accomplished. He had set a goal for himself, what seemed an outrageous goal at the time, and—more easily than he had thought possible—he had achieved it. True, that pleasure in his accomplishment remained internal, somewhat tainted for lack of anyone who could revel in the feeling and reflect it back to him. His crewmates were unsuited to that role, having matched his success on the strength of, in most cases, even more experience and expertise.
    It’s like going from the top rung of one ladder to the bottom rung of the next. The people you left behind are impressed only to the extent that they want to be where you are—and the people that you’ve joined aren’t impressed at all .
    He came to his feet with the others when Neale and Rogen appeared. All talking ceased, and all turned to face the officers. That was all Neale and Rogen expected; the Service’s heritage lay with the merit-oriented Pangaean Consortium, not the militaristic International Police.
    “Since the days of Charan Rashuri, commander of Pride of Earth , it has been the ship commander’s obligation to recognize a moment of transition for those among his crew new to the Survey branch,” Neale began.
    “I have no