The hull was crowded with antennas, sensor dishes, and a host of other devices of whose use Kim had no idea. Its name and designator were imprinted forward, and SEABRIGHT INSTITUTE, in large black letters, ran the length of the ship.

Solly told her to choose any compartment she liked. There were eight dedicated to passengers, each designed for two people. The middle units on either side of the hall comprised the pilot’s room and a mission control center. A conference room occupied the rear of the top floor.

She said hello to a man installing stained panels, and saw several others working in the rec room. She picked her quarters, just aft of the pilot’s room, and stowed her gear.

Solly was in the hallway, munching toast. “How are we doing?” she asked.

He held out his hands in a helpless gesture. “Ready to go, as soon as Worldwide gets off.”

“When’s that going to happen?”

“Hard to tell. They don’t seem to be sure themselves.”

“Can’t we ask them to leave?”

“Not without raising some eyebrows.”

She punched in a request for cheese and coffee. “How many are there, Solly? Workers?”

“Four Worldwide people, plus one technician from Marlin.” He looked at the time. “They’ll probably all shut down in a little while for lunch. If they do that, we’ll clear out.”

She looked doubtfully at the food dispenser. “What happens if this thing breaks down?”

Solly went into mission control and opened a panel in the back wall, exposing the automated kitchen. “We can do it manually if we have to.” He smiled at her. “How about some toast to go with your cheese?”

“No, thanks,” she said.

“We can make twenty pieces at a time,” he observed.

“We have enough food for four months or so?”

“Have no fear. We’ll eat well. Ham is stocked for seventeen people for a half-year.” His expression turned serious. “But there is something we should talk about.”

“Yes?”

“I know we’re assuming your idea’s going to work, and that coming back here with big news is going to get us off the hook for stealing this little buggy.”

“It’ll happen, Solly.” She picked up her coffee and cheese.

“Maybe. But my experience is that nothing ever goes according to plan. Especially something like this.” They crossed the corridor and looked into the pilot’s room. Three chairs, some consoles, an overhead screen, two auxiliaries each left and right. Two big screens which would act as windows in the left-hand wall. “To be honest, I’m not optimistic. I suspect we’re not seeing something clearly, and I just can’t believe we’re going to go out there and accomplish what you think we will.”

“Okay.” Kim would have liked to have his confidence, but she’d known all along that he was skeptical. No surprise there. Still, hearing it like this: Had he come simply because she needed him? “It’ll be there,” she insisted.

“Okay. Maybe it will. I hope so. But in the meantime we’d be smart to develop an alternative plan.”

“For what happens if we come back with nothing?”

“For what happens if we discover it would be a good idea not to come back.” He took a deep breath. “Look, Kim, neither of us is going to want to face a court.”

“Solly,” she said, “you can still back out if you want.”

“If I did, what would you do?”

She stared silently at her coffee cup.

“Right,” he said. “So I’ll do it—”

“Thanks.”

“No. Not for you. I’m not that crazy. But there’s enough of a chance that you’re right to make it worthwhile. I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering. So I’m willing to gamble. But if it doesn’t work, Kim, I have friends on Tigris.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve made arrangements with them. Just in case.”

She nodded.

“If things don’t go the way we want, we’ll retire to a mountaintop on Tigris. They have an extradition treaty with Greenway but it only covers capital crimes. So we’d be safe.”

The Marlin technician went to lunch, but the Worldwide people broke into shifts and the noon hour came and went with no opportunity to leave.

In midafternoon a young beefy man showed up with his luggage. “Uh-oh,” Solly said.

“Who is it?” asked Kim.

“Webley. He’s a cosmologist assigned to the Taratuba team.” They heard him talking in the passageway and Solly went out to greet him. Kim followed.

One of the technicians was pointing Webley in the direction of the living quarters. He wore a self-important smile and when he saw Kim his gaze swept past her as if she were of no consequence. “Solly,” he said, “good to see you. Are the others here yet?”

Solly did the introductions first, and then informed Webley that no one else had yet arrived.

Webley wore a jacket of the type favored in the Kalipik Islands, white shirt with fluffy collar, dark slacks, and a red neckerchief. His voice seemed set quite low so that one had to strain to hear him, but his manner implied it was well worth the effort. He had an unkempt red beard, of a slightly different shade from the neckerchief. “Is everything on schedule?” he asked.

“Yes,” Solly said briskly. “To the minute.”

“Good.” He adjusted his sleeves and checked the time. “May I ask which room is mine?”

“Unit eight,” said Kim. End of the passageway.

When he was gone, Solly turned a worried gaze on her. “This isn’t going so well,” he said. “We may have to cancel.”

Kim shook her head. “Let’s not give up too easily.” She walked down the corridor and passed Webley’s door. Music had begun to play within. Heavy classical stuff. Vorwerk, probably. Or Benado.

She needed to get rid of the workmen first.

The Worldwide crew were still mounting trim, touching up window frames, hanging curtains in the conference room, bolting down a table in the rec area, and installing cabinets on the bottom level. The one who seemed to be in charge was an older man, a candidate for membership with the Mariners.

“How we doing?” she asked casually.

“We’re getting there. We’re a man short on this job,” he said, wiping his sleeve against his mouth. He looked overheated. “Happens every time. They let something go to the last minute and then somebody decides to take time off.”

“Why’d they wait until the last minute?” asked Kim.

He made a face. “Uh, well, you know, these things happen.” His eyes never met hers and she understood he was lying. The truth, she guessed, was that no money was passing hands. This was a tax write-off job, not high on Worldwide’s priority list.

“Will you be finished by five?” she asked.

“Hard to say.” His expression took her into his confidence. “If we don’t make it, it’s overtime, you know?”

Across the room, the Marlin technician closed a panel and began gathering his gear together.

“Done?” she asked.

“That’s it.” He asked her to initial his work order. He’d updated the VR equipment. She signed; he thanked her and left.

She turned back to the Mariner and asked what his name was.

“Leo Eastley,” he said.

She put on her best executive demeanor. “Leo, you and your crew have done a good job, but we’re going to have to proceed as is. Leave things where they are. We’ll finish up.”

He looked at her. His silver hair was hanging in his eyes.

“No time left,” she explained.

“Why’s that?” he asked. “I thought we had all day. We’re not finished.”

“We have to run some tests.”

“Go ahead. We won’t get in the way.”

“No, you don’t understand. These are precision mass-acceleration tests. The presence of extra people will skew the results.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Sorry, but we don’t have any choice.”

“We won’t be coming back. Job’s supposed to be finished today.”

“It’s okay.”

He produced a notepad. “You’ll have to sign that everything’s done and you’re satisfied. “

“Sure. I can do that.”

“I’ll make a notation here about what happened. Warranties may be affected.”