Mark finished filling out the credit card form, submitted it, and once approved he sat there for a minute while he pondered what name he should give the star. Should he just put in her name? Maybe her nickname instead? How about his pet name of “Bubbles”? No, he would stick with her own name. After all, he was purchasing immortality for her and that requires proper solemnity. “Claire Kingman”. Done and done, star Meissa S39c to be forevermore known as Claire Kingman. Now to just wait for the official gift packet and the big day. Good thing he paid for expedited shipping.

On Valentine’s day he took her out for dinner to TGI Friday’s, not the most romantic of spots and not a place special to either of them, but his foresight in purchasing a ring and a blue giant did not extend to making dinner reservations. She was not amused, and Mark could not bring himself to pop the question there, not amidst the loud families and happy hour drinkers, and certainly not over the plate of sticky ribs she ordered. It didn’t help that he had also forgotten to get her flowers.

In the car after dinner, the chill from her matched the biting February wind outside. Mark kept his mouth zipped, not sure how to turn the mood. He had planned on taking her to a roller rink after dinner, but a quick check earlier in the day had found that the rink was closed for some event or another, and now he did not know where to go or how to salvage the evening.

“I’m sorry about tonight.” He glanced over at her, but she kept her eyes resolutely on the road ahead. “I really had meant to make reservations somewhere, but things just… got away from me.”

“Just take me home, Mark.”

Mark had an inspiration, one last ditch gambit to save the night and give him the opening he needed. He had to bite his lip to keep from smiling at the thought. He drove past her apartment complex, now not trying to hide his smile.

“What in heck are you doing?” Claire demanded, now facing him.

Mark giggled. “You’ll see.”

“This had better be good. I’m cold and I want to go home.” Mark turned onto a side street that led into the countryside. A few minutes more and he turned into a large park. “Mark, I’m not seventeen, and I don’t need to sneak off to hide and make out.” The moon illuminated the snowy sports fields and silent playground equipment. Mark parked the car under a large leafless oak tree. “Why are we here anyway?”

Mark turned to her and grabbed her mittened hands. “I promise, this will be quick. Come with me, I want to show you something.”

“Mark? Really, it’s freezing out.”

“Look, Claire, I know you think I forgot about today, and I know I forgot the flowers and dinner wasn’t ideal, but I have my reasons. Will you trust me for just five minutes, right now? It’s important.” Claire rolled her eyes, but got out of the car anyway.

“5 minutes,” she said, not needing to add the “or else” implied. Mark came around to her side of the car and made to take her hand. She stuck her hands in her coat pockets. “Get on with it.” Mark noted that her teeth were chattering.

“Um, uh, right. Well, come on.”

“I’m not tramping in the snow in these heels.”

“OK, look, uh, can we just step a little this way then?” Mark scanned the sky, then pointed. “You see, over there? Do you know that constellation? That’s Orion. You can tell by the 3 stars in his belt.” Claire tapped her foot in annoyance. “Um, well then up to the left you can see that bright one? That’s his shoulder, and across from that is his other shoulder.”

“I’m a bit underdressed for stargazing,” she said, gesturing at the short cocktail dress and heels.

“I know, sorry,” he muttered back, then rallying his confidence. “Now look where the head should be. That’s the star Meissa. And right next to it, though it’s hard to see, is a very special star. Do you know what it’s called?”

“The ice star? Hoth? Come on, Mark, what’s your point?”

“She’s called Claire Kingman.”

“What? No, Don’t be stupid.”

“No, she really is. I bought her. Well, the naming rights anyway. Flowers don’t last, 3 or 4 days and you’re tossing them out. But astronomers say she,” pointing at the star “is good for at least another 2 or 3 billion years.”

“You named a star after me? Why? Why waste the money?”

“I love you Claire Kingman. You are my star, and long after we’re gone I want others to remember you. I’m sorry I messed up with dinner. I’m sorry I forgot the flowers. I know you think I lost track of time or something, but I didn’t. My mind was always on time, just not the short term stuff.”

“Mark,” her voice softened, “that’s really sweet and all, but isn’t it kinda hokey?”

“Kinda.” He smiled at her and she smiled back. “But I like thinking long term about things, like this too.” He dropped to one knee and pulled out a small box. With a quick and practiced flip, he opened the lid. The diamond glittered in the moonlight, a faint star in terrestrial shadows. “Will you marry me?”

Claire’s breath caught for a moment in stunned silence. “Mark?”

“Yes?”

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Mark?”

“Yes?” Mark tried to stifle a wince from the pain and numbness in his knee.

“I’ve been a b*tch tonight. I’m so sorry.” Mark looked up and could see tears in the shadows of her face.

“You’ll notice I’m still down here proposing anyway. And my knee is quite cold now.”

“Mark?”

“Yes dear?”

“Are you sure you want me still?”

“Always. It’s why I wrote your name in the heavens. But my knee is no longer certain of much.” She giggled.

“Then Yes!” She took his hands and helped him up while he tried not to drop the ring box into the snow.

“My knees thank you and forgive you.”

“My toes, however, say let’s get the heck back to the car.”

“Not without a kiss first,” said Mark as they embraced.

Twenty minutes later they were hunkered side by side over steaming hot cups of coffee at a donut shop back in town, with the ring now firmly on Claire’s hand. “I am sorry about dinner” said Mark. “Not the most romantic of spots.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry for how I treated you over it. But tell me about this star! Is there a plaque, or something else? Will I get a call from NASA?”

“There is a certificate with your name on it. I have it framed in the back of the car. And there is a star map that shows it too.”

“What sort of star is it?”

“A hot one! Like you.”

“Har har.”

“It’s a blue giant. And it might even have its own planets.”

“Can we go visit sometime?”

“I’ll invent a rocket ship, you’ll see.”

***

Mary fingered the ring on its chain as she paced the floor of the control center. The video and data links to the rocket launch tower streamed data about the Atlas lifter during fueling. Her baby was out of her hands for now, and she would be helpless to do anything for at least the next 144 hours as first the launch crews, and then the flight directors and engineers sent her payload out beyond lunar orbit. Until the last booster burned and detached, the payload rested inside its metal cocoon – only then would the capsule open, only then would the probe wake and talk and respond to commands. Until that time, six days hence, no one here needed Mary or her crew. And yet she couldn’t leave, at least not until the rocket cleared at least the first two stages. At least launch was a scant 5 minutes away.

Mary looked down at the ring and read again the inscription, “Mark & Claire”. Grandma Claire and Grandpa Mark gave Mary the reason to be here in the first place. It was Claire who set up the telescope on her back porch on winter nights and pointed out the various stars and constellations. Grandma Claire always made a special point of starting with Orion and “her” star, the one Grandpa had named after her the night he proposed. And Grandpa Mark helped her build model rockets in the summer months, which they would launch and chase across parks and fields.

“T-Minus 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, liftoff.”

Mary held her breath.

“Cleared the tower.”

She exhaled. Tracking cameras on the ground displayed the diminishing form of the rocket as it ascended the blue sky above. As the cameras lost the lifter into the darkening sky, Mary watched a flash and a puff.

“Altitude 100 kilometers, first stage separation, 2nd stage ignition.”

There was little more to see at this point. The 2nd stage would carry the payload into a temporary orbit before it too separated, and the 3rd stage would not ignite for several more hours, once the vessel achieved the correct attitude for the push out past the lunar orbit. The flight director turned to Mary.

“The worst is over now, Dr. Atkins, we’ll get your cargo where it needs to go, then let you know.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

Mary reluctantly left the control center and headed for her car. As she neared the last security checkpoint she spotted Harold Godwin and sped up so as to clear the gate and get out to the car before he saw her.

“Mary!” Damn. “Mary? Heard the launch went off without a hitch. Boy you must be excited. When will you fire up the drive?”

Mary turned and grimaced at Harold. “Oh, thanks. Probably not for a few weeks yet. She’s got to be in just the right position, plus we have to run all the usual system checks. You know? Make sure nothing broke on the way up.”

“Oh, believe me, I know! Not that I’ve ever done anything quite at this level. You heading back to Boise tomorrow then?” Mary did not like the way he looked at her – too much eagerness, and she did not want to encourage it.

“No, tonight. In fact, I’m on my way to the airport even now.” She averted her eyes in hopes he wouldn’t spot the lie.

“Oh. Um, well, was rather hoping to take you to dinner tonight, you know, to celebrate.” She kept her eyes pointing at the exit. Harold was sweet and all, but she’d been putting him off all week.

“Thanks, Harold, but I really have to get going.” She started toward the gate again, then looked back and was surprised at how much he looked like the wind had gone right out of his sails. “Maybe another time?” He perked back up a little, and she fled out the gate into the desert heat.

At the airport 2 hours away, she argued vehemently with a clerk about the possibility of catching a flight that evening. “Ma’am,” the clerk implored, “I can’t get you to Boise tonight, the best I can do is get you to Indianapolis, but then you’ll still have to stay overnight and fly to Boise from there in the morning.”

“What about routing me through St. Louis? Or Denver? The Denver flight leaves in 20 minutes!”

“I’m deeply sorry, but I can’t get you home tonight.”

Mary grabbed her duffle, stormed out of the airport, and took the shuttle on its loop of hotels until it stopped at hers. “Good thing I didn’t cancel the room for the night,” she muttered as she made her way back to her room. With nothing else to do, she shed her work clothes and threw on some jeans and a t-shirt, then grabbed her tablet and headed for the hotel bar. This was the wrong time of year for tourists, so the only people in the bar were other launch workers and scientists. She hoped none there would know her and thus out her lie to Harold.

Mary got a beer at the bar, along with a couple of tacos, then slid into the booth furthest from the door. The tablet had pop up messages of congratulations from all of her colleagues and friends, she brushed these aside. She found a note awaiting her from her father and tagged that one for later reading. Then she found the note she most wanted, from her mentor, Professor Noori. “Hearty well wishes and congratulations on the successful launch. But have you checked your math on the time delta? Wouldn’t want the ClaireMark Drive to embed itself in some asteroid!” Mary smiled at the joke, remembering how erratic her mathematics were in graduate relativity. She typed back “Don’t worry, I’ve had my own students checking my work.”

Noori replied right away. “Well, it is too late to change anything at this point. How are you feeling?”

“Tired. And ready to go home. I’m stuck here until tomorrow, and it’s frightfully dull when you aren’t working on anything.”

“What about that nice man, William was it?”

“Harold. And no, I’m not interested.”

“That’s a shame. He would at least be someone to talk to while you are waiting.”

“He’s too eager. Besides, I really should be looking over the simulations again.”

“You are making excuses. And the test will work, you know that.” Mary did not reply right away. A new reply popped up. “You work too hard. You’re 43 now, and you have devoted the last 20 years to this project. It is nearly over, what will you make of your life then? You still could have children even.”

Mary had had this argument with Noori many times. “You know my answer. Once this works, then I’ll be needed to work on the next version, and the one after that. I’ve gotten job offers at all of the major spacers. They’ll pay a fortune to us if we can scale this up.”

“Young woman, and I can still call you that despite the silver streaks in your hair, others will do the work. You have already shown them how. You will be paid a fortune on the royalties alone when this works.”

“It’s not finished, not by a long shot. Goodnight, Professor, I need to get some sleep.” Mary turned off the chat and set it to “unavailable”. Then she pulled up the note from her father – congratulations, family hoping to see her soon, brother’s 4th child safely delivered, mother sends love, grandparents would have been proud… More of the same.

Two weeks later, from the safety of her Boise offices, Mary and her team finished uploading the last of the navigation data to the ClaireMark test probe. All systems had survived the launch and functioned properly, the host’s nuclear battery had ample power reserves, and the probe’s own reactor pre-checks read nominal.

Her operations controller began the countdown. “Probe detach in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.” In reality the probe had already detatched, given the communications lag of several seconds at the probe’s distance. “RCS thrusters fired, probe at 30 meters… 60 meters… 90 meters… Reactor start sequence initiated.” Mary looked over her own terminal to watch the the reactor power up. “Reactor countdown to full power,” continued the controller. “T minus 5 minutes to optimal power on my mark… Mark. Probe at 2000 meters. Notifying Phobos Control to ready for capture.”

Mary wished she could witness the actual test, but no insurance company would underwrite anything of the sort. She glanced at the monitors of a security station, the protesters outside were still marching, declaiming that she would destroy the solar system.

“Dr. Atkins, reactor at optimal. Distance 6000 meters. Would you like the honors?”

Mary announced, “This is for you, grandma,” and entered the command sequence. “Probe connection lost, field effects within parameters… Host RCS firing… Drift within predictions. Now we wait.” Comm lag from Phobos would be at least 4 minutes. Mary paced the floor of the darkened room, while the others similarly fiddled with pens and pencils, drummed their fingers, or held their breaths.

“Phobos Control is reporting….” announced her operations. “Probe spotted, trajectory deviated… Probe lost… Debris detected….” The room fell silent.

Mary cleared her throat. “Ladies and Gentlemen, it still worked. The ClaireMark drive still got there. We were right, let’s break out the bubbly!”

***

The stars on the viewers shimmered and flashed, blinked out, then blinked back in completely different places and patterns. Michael’s stomach churned as it always did during these hops, and he clamped his teeth harder on the waste tube, trying not to heave. He was glad he had skipped all meals for the last eight hours, but the sounds in his earpiece told that others probably should have too. For at least the next thirty minutes no one would be in any shape to move about, and even the nav systems would be offline while the field effects abated from outside the heavy shielding.

Michael’s nausea faded as the med packs dosed him and adjusted the oxygen ratio in his suit. He tentatively wiggled his fingers, then his toes, then he flexed his other joints as much as the restraints would allow. He locked his eyes on the retinal cursor and blinked it to life, then pulled up the ship stats. Reactor levels nominal, enough material remaining for the return hops to the outpost, and enough scout probes to look ahead for those hops. Few spares, though.

“Is the room still spinning?” asked Marissa, the flight engineer.

“Nyet, just my brain,” groaned Pjotr.

“If you are dead, raise your right hand,” said Titus. A series of clicks as the restraints released, then everyone’s right hands drifted upwards. “Good, we are unanimous. What shall we do in the hereafter?”

“Are we in the right spot?” asked Captain Anand. “Micheal? This was your call.”

“Are the externals online yet?”

Titus flicked his eyes over his own terminal. “20 minutes? Maybe more. This was a long hop. All we have is visual.”

“I can’t get at the star chart comparator yet,” said Theo, “so no reference frame yet.”

“Michael, do you remember how many planets were spotted?”

Michael remembered by heart everything discovered about the Claire Kingman system. “CK is a blue giant, with a diameter approximately 20 times that of Sol. No known inner system, likely wiped out during helium expansion. Outer system known to have seven small rocky worlds, and a couple of distant Neptune-sized gas giants.”

“So, a dying system of no use to us?” asked Pjotr. “Why are we here again?”

“Family” said Michael. “My great-great-great grandfather bought the star for my great-great-great grandmother.”

“What, was he hoping to cash in on mineral rights?” asked Marissa with a giggle.

Michael continued. “And my great-aunt Mary made the spacers promise to get a ship here eventually.”

“She’s the one who developed the ClaireMark drive,” said the captain. “We’re here to fulfil an old contract, assuming we really are here.”

“We’ll know in maybe ten minutes. Or fifteen,” said Titus.

The crew gradually detached themselves from their jump seats and set about awaking the ship from its post-hop coma. They would need a good 24 hours before they could ready it for the return hop, which was also enough time for Michael to verify the location and prepare the beacon. They had aimed their terminus at well above the northern pole of the star, well past the radiation dead zone of their shielding. And for once on a new star their aim had been true (large stars were always easier targets), instead of dumping them 5 weeks off target at heavy burn. This was indeed the star, the family star, the gift to his great-great-great grandmother and the obsession of his Aunt Mary.

At 12 hours post-hop, the crew stood at attention in the hold. Captain Anand addressed them. “Today we fulfil a promise made over a century ago, and a promise renewed twice since. Today we commit the remains of Mark and Claire Atkins, and their grand-daughter Mary, to whom we owe the freedom of the stars, to their eternal rest at the star their family loved. We have with us today their descendant, Michael Hansen, to dedicate this beacon, that it might broadcast as a memorial to these great people.”

Michael approached the beacon, carrying a case with 3 urns. He opened a compartment at one end and strapped each urn inside. Then he took a chain from around his neck and affixed it too inside. “Mark, Claire, Mary, I never got to meet any of you in person, but I’m proud to be a part of your family. All of humanity owes you beyond measure, and in repayment for your dreams, we are at last fulfilling a promise to get you to your star. Thanks for all you did for us.” A diamond ring, much worn with care, glittered on the chain until Michael closed the compartment back up.

Michael slid the beacon into the launch airlock and shut the door, and the crew saluted as the captain launched the beacon outwards. As it came to life outside the ship, the ship’s comm link played its first signal, a song. When You Wish Upon A Star.