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it for the
Determination.
Maybe if we had, your predicament might not be so bad. And for which I am truly sorry.
    "Look, everybody, I don't know if the words of an old business hustler mean anything to pioneers like you, but I am grateful from the bottom of my heart for all you've accomplished. For going as far as you have. Things back here on Earth . . . well, the show isn't just a show anymore.
Everyone's
talking about what comes next. For Jupiter. For Saturn. People are saying it's not fair that
Determination
didn't make it. That we have to try again, and keep trying."
    For Debra, it was a curious turn of events. Could there be such a thing as a successful failure? She'd grown up watching the United States space program fall prey to disinterest. She'd dreamed of finding a way to make people
care
again. And while she'd gone all-in with Groomer's suggestion that she be aboard for the ride, losing Jupiter in the short term might mean gaining a whole lot more in the long term. Her email box was now flooded with requests: from universities, corporations, government and military contractors, as well as space clubs and advocacy groups, all asking her to come and present for them. To speak about her experience. To tell them about the
future.
    "It's what I wanted, sort of," she told Ben Groomer one evening, just before bed. "Ten years ago, nobody was even talking about going back to the Moon. Now? Now it seems like everyone is getting excited again. To come out here. After so long."
    "You know, I never told you why I joined the Navy," Groomer said, following a delay which had grown noticeably shorter of late. "See, when I was a little kid, they had this show on TV called
Star Trek.
And I wanted to be part of that show so bad--I mean, for real--that when the time came for me to grow up and go out into the world, I joined the closest thing to
Star Trek
I could find. And no, the Navy didn't live up to my hopes in that regard. But I always imagined, when I was out at sea, how some day--some day!--people would be standing on the decks of ships going between the planets, and then the stars too."
    "The
stars?"
Debra said.
    "Oh, without question!" Groomer said happily. "Give it time. A couple of centuries, I'd bet. Maybe less. Could that reactor design of yours be adapted for interstellar use?"
    Debra thought about it for a few minutes, doing some math in her head.
    "You'd need a reactor far, far bigger. And even more efficient. With a lot more fuel. The ship would be
immense.
Far larger than anything we've ever built before. By an order of magnitude, or more."
    "But in theory, it could be done?"
    "Yes, Ben, I think it could be done."
    "Well, then, even if I am not around to see it, I hope it happens one day."
    "Me too," Debra said, smiling.
    "You gonna still work for me, when you come back to Earth?" Ben asked.
    "Oh, probably. After I feel like I've done enough, out there on the road. Your junk food TV show has turned me into something of a commodity. I've got speaking engagements lined up forever. People seem to think I've got my finger on the pulse of what our destiny in space looks like."
    "It couldn't have happened without your reactor," Groomer said.
    "We
both
did it. You had the cash, I had the design, and we both had the desire."
    "And apparently a lot of other people had that desire too," Groomer said. "They just needed someone crazy enough to show them the way. That somebody was
doing
something."
    The smile lines around Groomer's eyes crinkled delightfully.
    "I was thinking," Debra said, "about the new ship."
    "Yeah?"
    "She needs a worthy name. How about calling her
Persistence?"
    "Only if you'll volunteer to break the champagne across her bow. Deal?"
    "Deal," Debra said, catching herself smiling.



 
Middle Child Syndrome
     
    by Scott M. Roberts
     
    Artwork by Tomislav Tikulin
----
    Tara found the first scrap of paper on the running trail. It spiraled out of the trees and landed on the path just in time for her