No, he told himself.
Allow yourself no dreams, and then there will be no disillusionments. Make the voyage; see what happens; hope for the best, but count on nothing. And perhaps this time we will do a better job of it.
Or perhaps not.
The door opened and a face peered out. For one astonished moment Carpenter thought that the ghost of Victor Farkas was standing there, waiting in the doorway to receive him.
But no—no, this wasn’t Farkas. The same eerie, eyeless domed head, yes. But this was a youngish, wiry man, much shorter than Farkas had been, olive skin, narrow shoulders, wide ironic mouth, a general expression of cool youthful insolence. Not Farkas.
Carpenter said, “I’m the new starship crewman. Paul Carpenter.”
The eyeless man nodded. “Come on in, and welcome to Project Long Jump,” he said. He put out his hand. “My name is Juanito.”
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