Metafire

"Whoever it is, we think we should stay around."

"Good. I'll bring this up with Erisa. Thanks Dave."

Then Dr. O'Leary got on his terminal, clicked on the mail icon, and selected "god@Metafire One.com."

George Oliver Davis, "god," was on the space ship and got the email a few minutes later. After reading, he commented to his wife, "O'Leary said the FBI is pissed. Well, let'em be pissed. Janet, did you post the offer for other members of our little community?"

"Yep, about an hour ago." Janet was pretty and slight. Weightlessness became her. Her blond hair was shaped nicely even in space. She and George were thirty six. They had been together for ten years. They met at Los Alamos National Laboratories. George, "god," was a bomb designer before he quit. Janet was a silicon designer.

"Any responses yet?"

"Yep, we've got two. One is just a capsule looking for another colony to live with. The other one's our Russian. It's Whitefire. The Ukrainians."