If people found out, there’d be no holding them back. Everybody with access to a ship would be headed for Alnitak. Where they’d encounter what? A species made hostile by the apparent hijacking of one of their ships?

The flyer dropped onto a rooftop pad at the National Security Center. By then rain was falling heavily. The vehicle taxied into one of the shelters and Kim found a young female escort waiting for her.

She was taken down several floors and shown into a small office. Moments later a door opened and Woodbridge appeared. He shook her hand, asked whether everything was going well at the Institute. Before she had a chance to answer, an assistant looked in and told him they were ready.

“Good,” Woodbridge said. Showing no interest whatsoever in conditions at the Institute, he led the way across a corridor into a conference room where roughly twenty people were milling about. It was a festive occasion. Cheeses, pastry, and wine had been laid out. Woodbridge began introducing her to the room’s occupants—all seemed to have titles, Director This and Commissioner That—when a side door opened and everyone fell silent. The few who were not already on their feet rose.

Kim couldn’t see who was coming in, but she heard voices just outside in the corridor and then the commotion was in the room and she saw that it was Talbott Edward, one of the members of the Council. He strode to the front, while people made way on both sides, and took his position behind a lectern. He waited for everyone to find a seat.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “It’s good to see you all again. I don’t get up here often enough.” Edward was tall, extraordinarily thin, immaculately groomed. He wore bracelets on both wrists, and his gaze had the quality of reflecting from his aides and guests, as if he didn’t quite see anyone around him.

“Today I have an especially gratifying task to perform.” He looked out over his audience, picked out Kim, and seemed to recognize her. Did recognize her, probably, she decided, because he was searching out the young woman seated beside Woodbridge. “Dr. Brandywine, would you come up here, please? And Canon, you too.”

He welcomed her with a hearty handshake, his glance meanwhile returned upward. He smiled at Woodbridge, and proceeded to go on for several minutes about the advances of science and technology and how important it was that the Republic remain at the forefront of scientific research.

“Periodically, we at the Progress Directorate like to take time to honor the people who lead the charge.” He seemed to think that was an especially telling phrase, because he delivered it again. “—Who lead the charge into the future. Today we want to express our appreciation to Dr. Kimberly Brandywine, for special contributions in the field of cosmology.” Woodbridge produced a small white box and held it out to him.

Edward took the box, opened it, and extracted a silver medal with a red ribbon, which he held so the audience could see. “The Brays Stilwell Award for Special Achievement,” he said. His hand moved in a graceful arc ending at her lapel, to which he affixed the medal. “Congratulations.” He shook her hand, and shook Woodbridge’s hand.

Kim had never heard of the Brays Stilwell. She said thanks, felt a rush of gratitude, and smiled at Woodbridge and at the Councilor.

Edward told her he knew she would continue her fine work. Then he shook a few more hands, glanced at the time, and disappeared.

The people in the audience approached her to look at the award and wish her well. “It’s nice,” she told Woodbridge. “Thank you.”

“It’s really quite a high honor,” he said. “The highest we can give. But nobody’ll ever really know why you got it. Except you, me, the councilman, and a few staff people.”

She wasn’t sure herself why she’d gotten it.

He put his hands on her shoulders, as if he were sending her off to battle. “Now, can I talk you into having lunch with me?”

It had just begun to get dark when Kim arrived at Tora Kane’s home. Tora was standing at the pad, sipping a drink, when the taxi touched down and Kim stepped out. “Good evening, Brandywine,” she said.

Kim nodded and looked at the cab. “Should I have it wait?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.”

It was a pleasant evening toward the end of April, just after sunset. The air was filled with the scent of the woods. A pair of squirrels stopped chasing each other around the bole of an ancient oak to watch the two women.

They climbed onto the porch and Tora invited Kim to sit down. She picked out a rickety wooden chair; Tora took the swing. There was a pitcher and an extra glass on a side table. “Blue riggers,” said her hostess. “Would you like one?”

“Thank you,” Kim said, determined to avoid returning the woman’s surliness.

Tora filled a glass and held it out for her. “How did you find out where they were?”

“The logs?” Kim shrugged. “It seemed like a place that would have appealed to him.”

“Hidden in a museum? On public display? Oh yes, he liked that.”

The blue rigger was quite good.

Kim met her eyes. “You knew all along, didn’t you? You knew what happened on the Hunter?”

“Yes,” she said. “I knew.”

“You’ve seen the logs?”

“No.” She put her drink down. Rocked back and forth. Stared into the growing dusk. “No. I had no wish to see the gory details. But I knew what happened. He was tortured by it.”

“What about Mount Hope? What’s the rest of the story?”

She opened a drawer on the side table and took out a disk. “He knew that somebody would eventually do what you have done, somebody would get at least part of the truth. If it hadn’t been you, it would have been somebody else.” A lamp burned inside the window. “My instructions were that, if the logs were found, this statement should be made available to the authorities. That’s not you, but it seems that you’re the logical person to receive it nonetheless.”

Kim took it. “Do you want to watch it?”

“I’ve seen it.”

Kim slipped it into a jacket pocket. “You should be aware that I haven’t decided yet whether I’ll make any of this public.”

She shrugged. “Make it public and be damned.”

Kim got up and turned to go.

Tora stayed on the swing. “You should be aware,” she said, “that what you have is a copy. No part of the Hunter story is to be made public unless all of it is. If you don’t see to it, I will.”

When she got home, Kim put it on the flat screen.

The first image was the Valiant. A timer in the lower right hand corner gave the date April 3,573, 6:48 P.M. The Mount Hope explosion, she recalled, had occurred on that same date at a little after seven o’clock in the evening.

The Valiant was on a table. It was bathed in light, and she could see part of a device that looked like a sensor suspended overhead. She couldn’t make out anything else, but the table looked like the one she’d seen in Tripley’s basement lab.

An arm came into the picture, adjusted the sensor. And she heard Kile’s voice: “How’s that, Yosh?” The arm was in a white sleeve. It withdrew, and Kim could see nothing except the microship and the tabletop.

“That’s good. That’ll do it.”

And Kile again: “Markis, we’re ready to start.”

“Be right down.”

The timer continued to run.

“Ready?” asked Tripley.

Yoshi again: “All set.” Then her voice going higher: “Hey, Kile, what’s that?”

Kim saw nothing.

“Not sure.” The arm came back, went behind the ship on the port side, and blocked the imager’s view. “Hey, we’ve got an open hatch! “

The table and the ship rippled.

Mist rose from a dozen places on the Valiant, as if the spacecraft were venting.

The arm jerked away.

And now the voices became confused.