"What did you do?"

"I went back to Luna City for the day. It's been a while. My friends had begun to think the Patrol had spirited me away."

"I see."

"Any news?" Sammi asked.

"More attacks out beyond the Hague Limit. It's gotten the brass stirred up. There's a big argument going on about whether or not to tell the Belt about what Dykstra's accomplished. One side wants to keep quiet so the Solar Union can hoard the alien technology for itself. The other side, Knoedler's group, doesn't think this is any time for humanity to be fighting itself, and wants the Belt to gear up with us and get ready to take on the Phinons if they invade."

"Hmph," Sammi said. "They're arguing in the dark. We don't know enough to know what we should do."

"Yeah. But that's fairly typical in war, Sammi." Since they both knew they would be talking about Dykstra and the plot, Sammi suggested they go to her apartment where they wouldn't be overheard. There, she got Bob coffee and settled down herself with a cup of tea. "You haven't told me how the others are doing," Sammi said. "How is Chris?"

Bob finished swallowing his coffee and set down his cup. "He's like a man possessed," Bob said. "But he's happy. You should see the old guy. He only takes his cane along when we go for walks aboveground. He grew up in the area and he's particularly fond of the lake. When he's working he's down on the floor and greasy up to his elbows just like all the younger techs. Every time I walk into the dry dock I find the trinity of Chris, Arie and Rick clustered around something and talking in that technical lingo of theirs."

"Last time you visited you weren't so cheery about things," Sammi observed. Chris, Bob, and the others had been gone almost two months now, and this was only Bob's second visit.

"Last time I was in a funk because I'd spent too much time inside. It's stupid, just a psychological thing. But I had trouble getting used to the idea that just over my head was a lake, and if the roof gave way, there would be water forcing its way in. I'd much rather live with vacuum outside."

"But you're used to it now?"

"Yeah. And besides, I haven't been stuck there as much lately. I've made a trip to Mars since last time, and taken a couple spins around Earth-Luna." The lieutenant asked if he could get some more coffee, was already standing to get it, but Sammi told him to sit down and went to take care of it herself.

As she drew the coffee, she looked Bob over. He was a good-looking man, no doubt about that. He was also the first man she'd had in her apartment other than Dykstra since she'd come here. She searched her feelings and thoughts to see if there were any incipient desires inside her. Both with relief and reluctance, she told herself there weren't.

"I gather the work has been going well," she said, handing Bob his coffee.

"So the guys tell me. The first tests out beyond the Hague Limit worked to perfection, right down to the last decimal place. Chris was delighted and Hague went off in an ecstasy of 'yeses.' "

"What about Rick Vander Kam?" Sammi thought she saw a trace of a frown cross Bob's face, but then it disappeared. "He was happy, too, of course. But working with Hague and Dykstra is a mixed blessing for him. He always was one of the best and brightest, otherwise he wouldn't have been working on the Phinon Project in the first place. But now he's teamed with the two best minds in the whole Solar System, and he's pretty much reminded every day of what he can't do."

"That's too bad," Sammi said. "He always seems like such a nice guy." There was that frown again. Sammi was starting to figure it out.

Bob changed the subject. "The one who has really taken to Earth is Dr. Hague. He just loves it there. I swear he takes the same delight in building sandcastles at the beach as he does in working on the hyperdrive. That, and feeding the squirrels. He's really got a fixation on his squirrels."

"What's going to become of him after this is all done?"

"How's that?"

"Hague. Where will he go after this war business is settled and the Phinon Project is no more?"

"I don't know," Bob said. "I never thought about it."

"I sometimes wonder about what's going to happen to all of us," Sammi said. She was thinking about what would fill the hollowness inside that Steve's death had left once the temporary and partial filling of working on the Project was over. But she wasn't going to discuss it with Bob, so she said, "Getting excited about the trip, Bob?"

The lieutenant looked wistful. "Oh, yes," he said. "I want to get to it." Then he went on. "But that's enough about me and the others. How about your own work, Sammi?"

"I'm making progress," she said. "Tell Chris it's slow but sure. They've hired another genano engineer, but he's not a Ph.D. yet. Oh, and you can also tell him I have the ampules of Promenidepromaine already prepared in what should be the right dosage."

"The what?"

"Promenidepromaine. PMDP. Just call them knockout drops for Phinons." She went to her workstation and returned with several clear containers of small spheres, each sphere having a hair-thin stinger sticking out. "These things. They're like ordinary injection ampules, except that I had these fabricated with honeycombed buckytube needles. They should be strong enough to penetrate the Phinon skin, assuming you can get close enough to use one."

Bob picked out a sphere and looked it over. "It's an iffy mission," he said. "We'll be lucky if we come back at all. But I don't want to dwell on that question now; I have another one. I was wondering what percentage of the aliens your genanites are going to kill. I mean, just how lethal are those things?"

"They'll kill every one they contact," Sammi said. "Why?"

"I didn't quite mean that. Every deadly virus I've ever heard of never kills everybody. Even some of the nasty things let loose in the wars of the Collapse didn't kill everybody. There are always survivors. I wondered what percentage of the Phinon species you expect your bugs to kill?"

Samantha looked very grim for a minute, then began slowly. "True, no known viral strain kills every host. It's actually a bit of a mystery as to why one never developed. Granted, if one did kill every possible host, it wouldn't survive long as a viral species itself. But there's no way the virus could know that." She looked Bob in the eye. "My genanites will not suffer from that deficiency, Lieutenant. It will kill every damn one of them."

"How?"

"Because I want them to!" she hissed viciously, revealingly, in reply.

That cooled the climate in the room considerably. Sammi knew it-she could feel the coldness inside of her. Bob was beginning to look uncomfortable.

He put down his coffee cup and rose to go. "I guess I'd better be heading out," he said. "Besides, if I hang around too long, I'll have to put up with an interrogation from Vander Kam about you." He smiled.

"About me? Why?"

"He's got a crush on you. You can see the jealousy in his eyes every time he knows I'm leaving for Luna."

Sammi knew Bob was waiting for some kind of reaction from her, no doubt looking for either a sign of interest or one of displeasure. And hoping for the latter, eh, Lieutenant? she thought. It wasn't quite fair of her-Bob had been a perfect gentleman. Still, she wasn't interested in humoring him. "I see," was all she said, and Lieutenant Nachtegall headed back to Earth no wiser.

IV.

During the course of his long life, Dykstra had many times been in the spotlight before audiences of VIPs: the movers and shakers, presidents, kings, and dictators, generals, admirals, members of the joint chiefs of staff. And so it was again this time, except now he was on the Moon in the restricted lecture hall of the System Patrol High Command.

And the stakes had never been this high.

He'd already discussed the events that had led up to his discovering the secret of the Phinon hyperdrive, and he had just ordered the projectionist to display the image of the System Patrol's first hyperdriven spacecraft.

"Gentlemen, I give you the Hyperlight. You System Patrol people will recognize the main structure as that of a standard streakbomber. We've left the core of the ship almost unmodified except for an extra mass conversion unit to power the shields and some power conduit additions from the hyperdrive engine power supply into the bomber's standard power array. Oh, and of course, it was necessary to modify the compensation fields as well." The last was a tremendous understatement. Standard compensation fields in a streakbomber could handle no more than 45 gravities of acceleration in a straight line. The Hyperlight was capable of eight times that.

Dykstra wondered if anyone would ask about that 200 million gee apparent acceleration that the ship would have when it went into hyperdrive. He'd explained it before that the acceleration and the streak of light were relics of the time interval it took the ship to transition from normal space to hyperspace. Since the craft would be going from essentially zero to twenty-four times lightspeed in a fraction of a second, to the ordinary Universe this looked like the craft was accelerating. Real fast. It was the recognition of the magnitude of the transition interval that had provided the final piece of the puzzle for Dykstra to solve the mystery of the Phinon hyperdrive.

"The most striking feature you will likely note is the addition of the two drive nacelles running from just before the center to beyond the stern underneath the main body of the ship," Dykstra continued.

"Why two engines, Doctor? The Phinon ships don't have two." The question came from an admiral several rows back. At least this was a question he hadn't answered for this group before.

"Think of them as two engine elements. By using these two elements working in resonance, the Hyperlight will be able to vastly outperform anything of the Phinons' that we've seen so far. Not only does the use of two elements greatly lower the energy requirements for transitioning to hyperspace, but they provide a reactionless space drive that will work within the Hague volume. As far as we can tell, the Phinons don't have that. We don't know why. But the engine brought in from Slingshot was only suitable to provide reactionless propulsion outside the Hague Limit, and then only with significantly less efficiency than the Hyperlight has." While Dykstra was answering the question, the view had changed to one of the Hyperlight going through her paces in near Earth space. They watched as the ship performed an impressive series of maneuvers, then gasped when they saw the wild acrobatics to which Lieutenant Nachtegall had next subjected the craft-twists, turns, and right angle vector changes impossible for anything that had to throw mass to move. Dykstra tried to hide the pride he felt swelling inside.

"So what you're saying is that our first attempt, or should I say, your first attempt at developing a faster-than-light drive, is superior to what the aliens have despite the fact that they've obviously been an interstellar species for a long time?" The question came after the oohs and aahs had died down, from the slender but tough-looking form of Colonel Knoedler.

His question was expected. The script was familiar. Knoedler and he had continued to butt heads over the ideal use of the Hyperlight during teleconferences with the strategy group while Dykstra was on Earth. Sometime in the past months Dykstra had become convinced that Knoedler had other reasons for pushing his position so strenuously in addition to his stated fear of the Phinons finding out too much or of their running a ruse. In any case, the colonel was up to his same rhetorical tricks, this time trying to win support for his position among this collection of brass.

Dykstra met the question head on. "That is exactly what I am saying, Colonel." He noticed that Bob had entered at the back of the room.

"Doesn't that strike you as odd, Doctor? Wouldn't you expect that our first attempt should seem primitive compared to theirs?" Knoedler continued.

Dykstra decided to seize the initiative. In some ways, he liked the colonel, since the man was one of the few actually willing to question the judgment of the "smartest man in the world." But the stakes were just too high now, what with the Hyperlight preparing to leave soon. He needed every ounce of veneration he could get.

"Perhaps, Colonel. But that is an entirely anthropocentric view. Having never encountered aliens before, it is presumptuous to assume we'd have any understanding whatsoever of how they behave, or of what passes for a design and development philosophy among them. All I can tell you for sure is that the Hyperlight will vastly outperform anything of theirs that we've seen so far."

"I think that's a bit presumptuous, Doctor."

"How can you tell, Colonel? How many hyperdrives have you invented lately? How much grime from alien machinery have you had to wash off your hands?" Laughter rippled through the chamber. Dykstra knew how terribly unfair he'd just been. He also knew how satisfying it felt.

The Phinon problem was one of reconciling the mystery of their technology with a rational plan of attack. During his investigations of the alien artifacts, Dykstra had noticed curious omissions in the designs of their implements. One in particular, the hand weapon, had really set him off into wondering just what kinds of beings these were.

To hear Knoedler tell it, these omissions marked a clear devious intent. Convinced that the Union's acquisition of FTL capability had come without sufficient blood, sweat, and tears, he'd been arguing that it was part of an alien plot to make humanity dependent upon a technology new to it (but probably obsolete to them) for which they knew the Achilles' heel. For him, that the Phinon hyperengines used only one element was clear evidence that they were feeding the Union the minimum amount of technological know-how to achieve their purposes.

Dykstra thought asking a Phinon why his hyperdrive didn't use two elements was like asking a human why his hand didn't have two thumbs.

The meeting broke up and after taking some additional questions from assorted generals, Dykstra set out to join Bob in the back. On the way, Colonel Knoedler passed him, but he was smiling when he shook his finger at him and said, "That was playing dirty, Doctor. But that round went to you." He then went on his way, whistling. At least with Colonel "Tommy," this was nothing personal.

"What did the colonel say to you?" Bob asked as they set off for Dykstra's quarters.

"He conceded that I'd bested him today at the meeting."

"You made him look like a fool, Chris. I saw."

"I'll do penance after the Phinons are taken care of. Have you finished settling your affairs on Luna?" There was no point in being roundabout. They both knew Bob might never come back.

"Sure thing. I even said good-bye to Sammi. Was that ever chilly. She just punched me on the shoulder and said, 'Good luck.' "

"Hmm," Dykstra said. "Perhaps we shouldn't find that too surprising. Are you leaving soon?"

"I'm saying good-bye to you, then I'm out of here."

They had reached Dykstra's door, and the lieutenant declined to come in. "Will a handshake and a 'Godspeed' do?"

"I guess it will have to," Bob said, and took Dykstra's hand firmly, but being careful not to crush old fingers, Dykstra noted.

"Godspeed, Bob."

Rick hadn't been in the corporate headquarters building of Capitol Products in five years, though when he walked through the front doors not a one of the security people questioned him, even guys that had been hired recently, and every secretary or executive who passed him in the hall greeted him with a cheery "Good day," and then either a "Mister" or a "Doctor" Vander Kam. So it was for the owner's son, even though said owner was still angry with him for not following in the family footsteps.

Rick could hear the conversation in his head without even trying, note the emphasis his father would put on each word in the fixed speech: "Your great-grandfather started this company, and your grandfather built this company with his own hands, and his own sweat, and his own genius, and your father is struggling to keep it growing, and the least you can do, son, is to help him do it."

But that's not me, Dad, Rick thought as he stepped off the elevator on the eightieth floor, which opened up directly across from the door to the executive suite.

This was the only place Rick felt he had to visit before he left with Bob on what they'd been calling "the great adventure." He'd taken a ground car to the building since it was in Grand Rapids, only fifty kilometers away from the entrance to the black dock facilities, and he wanted to see the West Michigan countryside of his youth-one more time? That was the question that went unspoken but acknowledged by them all.

But he hadn't come to just say good-bye to his father, or to make up, or to suggest some kind of restitution. Despite the lectures, his father was man enough to know that his son couldn't be pushed around, since he himself had raised Rick that way.

Rick had a favor to ask.

The door to the suite opened as he approached, and his father's secretary Anne smiled at him and said, "He's waiting for you," then she studiously turned away to whatever work she had been doing. Although Rick was not exactly estranged from his father, loud, verbal battles had not been uncommon in the past, nor had stormy exits from the building by Rick been either. The entire building-indeed, the entire vast empire that was Capitol Products-knew of the tension between Rick and his dad. But they also knew how much the father loved the son.

His father was sitting behind the surprisingly inornate (for a man of his station) oak desk that Rick's grandfather had bought the day that venerated Vander Kam had signed the contract that ultimately changed Capitol Products from a small factory making aluminum doors and windows into the vast conglomerate that now made the best of everything. His dad looked tired. And scared? He said, "Hello, son."

"Hello, Dad. How is Mom?"

"Good. And you?"

"Couldn't be better."

"I don't know how to say good-bye, Rick. I messed it up when you went to join the Patrol. The stakes are higher now. I don't want to blow it again," his dad blurted out.

Rick didn't know what to say. He'd expected to find the usual gruff, hyperconfident man that his father had always been. He did not expect to see his dad's heart on his sleeve.

"But Dad, we're only taking the Hyperlight for her first FTL tests. It's not that dangerous." And his father couldn't possibly know what they were really going to do. Of course, the man would know about the Phinons-the president of Capitol Products ranked higher than some heads of state in the Solar Union. But the real nature of the mission was known only to Dykstra's inner sanctum.

"Rick, do you know what the highest security clearance in the Solar System is right now? It's to have known James Christian Dykstra for going on sixty years. When I was a child the man used to read to me while I sat on his lap. Chris came to me right after he figured out the hyperdrive and told me what he had in mind. And do you know why he did that?"

"No," Rick said. None of this was like his father. Rick liked it. He wished he'd seen more of this when he was growing up.

"He came to ask my permission to let you go."

"He what? But I'm an adult, and . . . What did you tell him?"

"I said 'Okay.' " There were tears in his father's eyes, and the man actually came from around his desk and embraced Rick. Rick was embarrassed, but also, somehow, humbled. Rick returned the hug.

Finally Rick disengaged himself and said, "I need to ask you a favor, Dad. You know Dr. Hague? I don't want him to stay with the Patrol after this is all done. I want Capitol Products to take care of him. I don't want there to be any chance that he'll be thrown away when he's no longer useful."

"You've grown fond of the little guy, haven't you?"

"Yes, Father, I have. And there's also a question of justice. But one more thing. Arie had an older sister. Her name was Sarobi. Somehow or other they were separated when he was only six. He stayed in the Belt and she was supposed to have been on her way to Earth. Do you think we might be able to find out what happened to her?"

"I'll do my best, Son. But in return I want you to do something."

"What?"

"Come back."

After that, father and son said things without really saying anything, and Rick left the building and

returned to the little beach house where he and the others had been staying when not working at the