Forster had rid them of one problem. Yet, Samuel lamented on the remaining laundry list of ills to overcome.

His friends, had he had any, would've complained about his lack of optimism. Always with the downside. Samuel considered it the careful, practical approach.

Like acknowledging that even as he possessed the ingredients for a cure, it didn't do much good if they couldn't get back to Earth within a reasonable amount of time.

"Travel to Earth will take approximately 391 days," Genly informed the crew.

"But what about the green shit? Isn't that helping us power up faster?" Russ asked.

Genly nodded a glowing lucite head. "The timetable is because of the accelerant, calculated with the current trajectory."

Another non-science person chimed in, and Samuel closed his eyes to take a deep breath.

"What if we change the trajectory?"

"The S.S. Delaney is on the optimal trajectory," Genly replied to Tiptree.

She drew her knees to her chest, horror gripping her features. "But it's already been ten years," she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Russ patted her arm, saying, "I'm sure Kass will be okay."

"Time may be a small factor," Forster announced. Bags hung under his eyes, and his celebrity vibrancy had waned. He looked as drained as Samuel felt, but continued, "The bigger worry is the radio silence from Control."

He shared how Kathar had faked new Control transmissions to trick them. The real comms satellite was disabled, but with time, Hainish promised to fix it.

Samuel clutched the device. He intended to describe his latest findings. This was the second meeting they'd had this last week.

They went like clockwork:

-Genly made guesstimates
-Non-science types asked asinine questions
-Forster made a nominally important announcement

Nothing else. Even as Samuel walked away feeling as though he should say something, he never did.

Estrenar would've brought it up. But she was too busy healing in a dura-chamber.

The idea was too radical, and might cost them their lives. At least this other slower way, they would make it.

~*~

As Forster requested of him and Russ, Samuel went through the files and personal effects of the remaining crew.

"Make sure there's no more of those green fucks," had been Forster's command.

Russ had tossed Kathar's living quarters, and Samuel had searched Estrenar's. It was there he pocketed her interface, later scrolling through her notes in the privacy of his cot.

Most of her observations had been cutting, to say the least:

-Crewmember Rodriguez radiates trauma. Could be useful.

-Crewmember Tiptree is too whiny for space. Send help.

-The Captain is only the fifth-best lay I've ever had.

-Crewmember Skeegan looks perpetually out of sync.

He had rested the device on his chest. What did that mean? It was the sort of statement that rang true, but only because it wasn't quantifiable.

When he flipped to the next set of notes, instead of scathing remarks, he found what he'd been hoping for: scientific entries.

-Due to the scant details provided by the janitor-lady Russ, I can only theorize what occurred with the S.S. Delaney. The possibility of a temporal anomaly is too large to ignore.

At the next meeting, Russ stood close enough to nudge him. Looking at his expression, she did nudge him with her one severed arm.

"What's up?"

Samuel chewed the inside of his cheek. The interface that belonged to someone else suddenly weighed like a stone in his pocket.

"Well, there's really no changes," Forster began.

Except this time, Samuel raised a hand. "Not entirely true."

Forster smiled. "Please enlighten us."

Samuel addressed the ragtag group, "In four months, we'll approach another anomaly, or as Estrenar's notes indicate," he held up the interface, "a stretching of space. This expansion distorts time. Russ felt this, to some degree," he looked from her confused face onward to the nearest bot, "Genly theorizes we can use the distortion to send a message to Earth."

No one spoke. He waited for the chorus of dumb questions that never came.

Russ cleared her throat. "How will this message get sent?"

Samuel had to begrudgingly admit it wasn't a dumb question.

"Using the dura-chambers, in combination with astral protection," Genly said.

Samuel was grateful the bot had answered. He didn't want to peddle this Olaf Stapledon bullshit he only half-believed in. After telling Genly what he'd learned, the bot had spouted theories.

"What message would we be sending?" Russ asked.

"The vaccine instructions."

Forster and Russ nodded, but a few others held blank expressions.

"Why?" Martin, a bot engineer, asked.

"Insurance," Forster answered, and Samuel was grateful. The next part was a sensitive one and he didn't want to be the one to deliver the news. "Back-up protocol was sabotaged by Kathar. There is no second chance. The vaccine is the only chance. And if we somehow can't or don't make it back, it's better to relay what Samuel finds in order to save who we can back on Earth."

Russ cleared her throat. "But, how will that help, if they don't have the synthesized samples from Sanctus?"

It was a great question, but from the tone, Samuel knew he had her. "Having it is better than not. It will force them to send another ship, if needed."

"Well, if we know we're not going to make it, can't we all get home that same way, with astral protection?"

Samuel nodded, ignoring Martin's semi-sarcastic comment.

Tiptree was frowning, and Samuel couldn't blame her. He hadn't been aware of astral projection outside of storybooks.

"Are you kidding?" Tiptree asked.

"Practicality aside," Samuel broke in, "first I have to synthesize a vaccination for The Storm, which could take months."

In truth, vaccinations took years, decades even. The efficacy of a vaccine rendered in months would be suspect, but he was bent on trying.

"Astral projection is a joke, right?" Tiptree said. Still, she was sitting straight for the first time, no longer in her worried cocoon.

"It's essentially a form of meditation that will allow a transmission of a consciousness into the anomaly. The training will take weeks, and everyone but a volunteer and Samuel must retire to the dura-chamber," Genly said.

Said like that, it all didn't sound completely crazy.

"I volunteer," Russ said.

And that was the moment Samuel's regret skyrocketed.

~*~

Everyone had cleared off breakfast, and it would be their last before dura-sleep. Samuel and Russ finished up, one chewing slowly and the other barely eating.

He hadn't been able to eat these last few days, after finally sharing at the meeting. He thought his anxiety would subside if he offloaded the burden, but things had worked in the exact opposite.

With Russ chewing so easily, not worried, or not showing it, he thought about why she had such piece of mind.

Samuel hadn't told her yet, but figured this was as good a time as any.

"I saw what you did."

"What do you mean?" Though, the way she refused to meet his eyes told him she knew to what he referred.

"On the way back from Sanctus, the interface relayed the oxygen depletion. I was worried, and the interface on my starsuit showed me surveillance of the launch bay. I saw you, on the other side of the particle wall, just standing there."

"Yeah I watched," Russ locked on his eyes, challenging him. "So what?"

He chuckled darkly. "Wow. But still, I understand the impulse. To get rid of something bad, it takes some bad doing."

"I didn't purge that room."

"But you made sure he died," Samuel pointed out.

"I did."

Somehow, they were kissing after that. Gently, then more insistent.

They made love that night. When they woke up, Russ rolled on top of him, pinned him down, and they did the whole thing again.

Then the next night, and the next morning.

Samuel liked to think they understood each other, needed each other. Maybe it was like that. But they were both workaholics, intent on fixing things. When they weren't getting sweaty together, they were in their respective spaces, one practicing astral projection, and the other tinkering with chemicals and failed vaccines.

The realist in him recognized their frenzied coupling was also a way to curtail the crippling anxiety. It was a good way to pass the time, and to, even for a few delicious hours, forget that they still might fail in their endeavors.