“Okay.”

“I’ve done that, Sheyel.”

A chill settled into the room. “And—?”

“You were right. There is something there. What do you know about it?”

“Only that the area is oppressive. I saw lights in the woods a couple of times. There was never anything I could lay hands on though.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “There were some accounts that that was the real reason people left.”

“How could anyone have stayed in the village?” asked Kim. “They were taking down the dam.”

“They decided not to repair the dam because people were clearing out. It wasn’t the other way around.” His eyes were hooded. “There’s a lot of history about it. Check any of the sources.” He went to his shelves and took down several volumes. He tapped his finger on one with a gray cover and artwork depicting a moonlit phantom. “I especially recommend this: Kathryn Kline’s The Specters of Severin.” The phantom looked nothing at all like the apparition Kim had seen.

He went through the others, commenting in a similar manner, laying them before her. “People tend to get overwrought. But the evidence is striking.”

She glanced through them while he refilled their glasses. “I was up there several times. This was years after I’d talked with Kane. The dam was long gone and the place was deserted. You’ve been there, you know what I’m talking about.

“It’s disquieting. Maybe because I knew it was connected with Yoshi’s disappearance. I thought I could feel things moving in the dark. The valley scared me. I don’t think I scare easily, but that place did the deed.” He seemed to withdraw into himself. “Why don’t you tell me what it was you saw?”

“Not really anything,” she said. “It’s just very quiet out there. You understand what I mean?”

He nodded. “Have you learned anything about the Hunter? Was there a contact?”

She showed him the pictures. “I think they encountered another ship, and I think this might be what it looked like.”

He leaned forward, opened a cabinet drawer, and took out a viewing lens. He held it over the images. “You really think so?” he said. The moroseness which had marked the conversation to this point was swept away by a wave of excitement.

“Yes. I think so. There’s no proof. Probably not even strong evidence. But yes, I think it happened.”

His eyes widened as he gazed at the mural. “Why,” he said, “that’s Emily.”

The Conciliar Medal of Valor glittered in the midday sun. Tora Kane held out her hand, took it from Kim, and studied it. She read her father’s name from the obverse. “Where did you get it?” she asked.

“In the Severin Valley.”

Tora’s mood visibly darkened. “You can’t leave it alone, can you?”

“I thought you’d want to have it.”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

They were standing on the beach at Wheeling Bay, at the same point where they’d talked before. Kim’s hands were pushed into her jacket pockets. The tide was out, and a few gulls patrolled the wet sand. “It depends on what else you have to tell me. When you’re done with all this poking around, are you going to be making accusations against my father?”

“Do you think he did anything wrong?”

“Look, Kim—” Her teeth bit down on the name. “Markis wasn’t perfect by any means. He had a short temper, and he wasn’t very tactful, and sometimes he forgot he had a daughter. But he was essentially a decent man, and I know he wouldn’t have been mixed up in anything ugly.”

“Did you ever see the inside of the villa?”

“The one in the valley? Sure.”

“Were you inside it at any time after the Mount Hope explosion?”

“Yes,” she said. “I visited my father from time to time. I lived there while I was growing up. When I came of age, my parents let the marriage lapse. But I went back when I could.”

“May I ask when that was?”

“I left the villa in 569. After that I visited occasionally, once or twice a year.”

“Did you happen to notice whether there was a mural in the den?”

“In the den? No, not that I recall.”

“Would you have seen it if there had been?”

“Of course. Listen, what’s this about?”

“There’s a mural there now.”

“So what?”

“The woman in it is my sister.”

“Oh.” She gazed briefly into the sun. “Well. It’s hard for me to see what inference can be drawn from that.”

“Dr. Kane, my understanding is that your father sealed off part of the house after the last Hunter mission. Did you know anything about that?”

“Part of the house?”

“The den.”

“That was his private space. There was nothing unusual about that.”

“Did you have access?”

Kim could see her considering her answer. “No,” she said at last. “Not in the later years. He kept it locked.”

“Did he say why?”

“No. I really didn’t concern myself with it. And I don’t see what business any of this is of yours anyway.”

Kim nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

“Now if you don’t mind—”

“I’m sorry,” said Kim. “Listen, I know you don’t approve of me very much.”

Tora remained silent.

“For what it’s worth, I admire your father.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t think you need fear for his reputation.”

Tora took a deep breath and turned away.

Kim watched her walk. She was reasonably sure she believed what she had just said.

She had an afternoon engagement next day at the Mariners’ Club, which had nothing whatever to do with boating, but was rather a group of older citizens. The name referred to the members’ view of themselves as persons who had sailed through life, and who had now arrived at safe harbor, and who planned on enjoying the time they had left.

The club seal, displayed on a banner, depicted an anchor and five stars, one for each of the club’s guiding principles, and its motto Keep the Wind at Your Back. Kim had taken time to read the guiding principles and she wove them into her remarks. They were mundane feelgood truisms, like Always walk in the surf, and The only real failure is failing to try.

The Institute is a lot like the Mariners, she told them. “It’s about stretching horizons and splashing around in the cosmos. And we don’t always succeed on the first try. Life is like that. Science is like that. Like the Mariners, we’re not afraid to fail, and in fact that’s the way we learn.”

As usual, she played her audience well and when she was finished she got an enthusiastic ovation. The emcee thanked her heartily for coming, a number of individuals lingered to ask questions or deliver compliments, one tried to ask her out, and the organization’s president took her aside: 50 percent of the proceeds from the Mariners’ spring fund drive, he explained, were customarily donated to a worthy organization, usually an educational institution. He wanted her to know that he had been impressed by her presentation, that the other board members shared his feeling, and that the Institute could expect to be the recipient of this year’s gift.

It would be no small amount, she knew, and she was delighted to carry this piece of good news back to the Institute.

Matt was waiting. Kim knew it wasn’t good news by the general mood in the office. Something had happened. She suspected her coworkers didn’t know the details, but they felt the boss’s tension.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked, standing in his doorway.

He’d been talking to the AI, something about anticipated cost-benefits, and they continued the conversation while he waved her in. He managed not to look at her while doing so, but his voice took on a cooler note. When he’d finished he turned, shook his head in a gesture that suggested he lived in a universe that was out to get him, signaled for her to close the door, and without a word started the VR.

Kim sat down as an image of Ben Tripley took shape.