Time. Stephen Baxter

fix things between us – would you?’

      She thought about that. ‘The past has made us what we are. If we changed it we’d lose ourselves. Wouldn’t we? … No, Malenfant. I wouldn’t change a damn thing. But –’

      ‘Yeah?’

      She was watching him, her eyes as black as deep lunar craters. ‘That doesn’t mean I understand you. And I don’t love you.’

      ‘I know that,’ he said, and he felt his heart tear.

      Bill Tybee:

      … June, I know you want me to tell you everything, good and bad, so here goes.

      The good is that Tom loves the Heart you sent him for his birthday. He carries it around everywhere, and he tells it everything that happens to him, though to tell you the truth I don’t understand the half of what he says to it myself.

      Here’s the bad. I had to take Tom out of school yesterday.

      Some kids picked on him.

      I know we’ve had this shit before, and we want him to learn to tough it out. But this time it went beyond the usual bully-the-Brainiac routine. The kids got a little rough, and it sounds as if there was a teacher there who should have intervened but didn’t. By the time the Principal was called, it had gotten pretty serious.

      Tom spent a night in hospital. It was only one night, just bruising and cuts and one broken bone, in his little finger. But he’s home now.

      If I turn this screen around … wait … You can see him. Fine, isn’t he?

      He’s a little withdrawn. I know we discourage that rocking thing he does, but today’s not the day.

      You can see he’s reading. I have to admit I still find it a little scary the way he flips over the pages like that, one after the other, a page a second. But he’s fine, just our Tom.

      So you aren’t to worry. But I’ll want assurances from that damn school before I let Tom go back there again.

      Anyway, enough. I want to show you Billie’s painting.

      Emma Stoney:

      When she heard Malenfant had hauled Dan Ystebo out from Florida, Emma stormed down to Malenfant’s office.

      ‘…Here’s the question, Dan,’ Malenfant was saying. ‘How would you detect a signal from the future?’

      Behind his beard, Dan Ystebo’s mouth was gaping. His face and crimson hair shone, greasy, and there were two neat half-moons of dampness under his armpits: souvenirs, Emma thought, of his flight from Florida, the first available, and his Yellow SmartCab ride from the airport. ‘What are you talking about, Malenfant?’

      ‘A signal from the future. What would you do? How would you build a receiver?’

      Dan looked, confused, from Malenfant to Emma. ‘Malenfant, for Christ’s sake, I’ve got work to do. Sheena 5 –’

      ‘You’ve got a good team down there,’ said Malenfant. ‘Cut them a little slack. This is more important.’ He pulled out a chair and pushed at Dan’s shoulders, almost forcing him down. He had a half-drunk can of Shit; now he shoved it to Dan. ‘Thirsty? Drink. Hungry? Eat. Meantime, think.’

      ‘Yo,’ Dan said uncertainly.

      ‘You’re my Mr Science, Dan. Signals from the future. What, how? Wait until you hear the stuff I’m onto here. It’s incredible. If it pans out it will be the most important thing we’ve ever done – Christ, it will change the world. I want an answer in twenty-four hours.’

      Dan looked bewildered. Then a broad smile spread over his face. ‘God, I love this job. Okay. You got connections in here?’

      Malenfant stood over him, and showed him how to log on from the softscreen built into the desk.

      When Dan was up and running, Emma pulled at Malenfant’s sleeve and took him to one side. ‘So once again you’re ripping up the car park.’

      Malenfant grinned and ran his big hand over his bare scalp. ‘I’m impulsive. You used to like that in me.’

      ‘Don’t bullshit, Malenfant. First I find we’ve invested millions in Key Largo. Then I learn that Dan, the key to that operation, is reassigned to this la-la Eschatology bullshit –’

      ‘But he’s done his job at Largo. His juniors can run with the ball a while …’

      ‘Malenfant, Dan isn’t some general purpose boffin like in the movies. He’s a specialist, a marine biologist. If you want someone to work on time travel signals you need a physicist, or an engineer. Better yet a sci fi writer.’

      He just snorted at that. ‘People are what counts. Dan is my alpha geek, Emma.’

      ‘I don’t know why I stay with you, Malenfant.’

      He grinned. ‘For the ride, girl. For the ride.’

      ‘All right. But now we’re going to sit down and do some real work. We have three days before your stakeholder presentation and the private polls do not look good for us … Are you listening to me, Malenfant?’

      ‘Yeah.’ But Malenfant was watching Dan. ‘Yeah. Sorry. Come on. We’ll use your office.’

      Reid Malenfant:

      Malenfant had called the stakeholder presentation to head off a flight of capital after the exposure of his off-Earth projects.

      He hired a meeting room at the old McDonnell Douglas Huntingdon Beach complex in California. McDonnell had been responsible for the Mercury and Gemini spacecraft back in spaceflight’s Stone Age – or Golden Age, depending on your point of view. Mercury and Gemini, ‘little ships that could’, had been highly popular with the astronaut corps. Also he had the room lined with displays of pieces of hardware taken from his Mojave development shops: hydraulic actuators and auto-pilots and vernier motors, real, scorch-marked rocket engineering.

      To the smart operator, Malenfant liked to say, everything is a symbol.

      Emma nudged him. It was time.

      He stood up and climbed onto the stage. The audience buzz dropped, and the lights dimmed.

      Once again, a turning point, he thought, another make or break crisis. If I succeed today, then the Big Dumb Booster flies. If I fail – then, hell, I find another way.

      He was confident, in command. He began.

      ‘…We at Bootstrap believe it is possible that America can dominate space in the twenty-first century – making money doing it – just as we dominated commercial aviation in the twentieth century. In fact, as I will try to explain, I believe we have a duty to the nation, indeed the human species, at least to try.

      ‘But the first thing we have to do is to bring down Earth-to-orbit costs,’ he said. ‘And there are two ways to achieve that. One way is to build a new generation of reusable spacecraft.’

      The first challenge came, a voice floating from the back of the room. We already have a reusable spacecraft. We’ve been flying it for thirty years.

      Malenfant held his hands up. ‘Much as I admire NASA’s achievements, to call the Space Shuttle reusable is to stretch the word to yield point. After each Shuttle flight the Orbiter has to be stripped down, reassembled and re-certified from component level up. It would actually be cheaper to build a whole new Orbiter every time.’

       So you’re proposing a new reusable craft? Lockheed have spent gigabucks and years developing –

      ‘I’m not aiming for reusability at all, if you’ll forgive me. Because the other approach to cutting launch costs