"I assume then that he'd like to have a way to neutralize my supposed advantage. And that explains-" Dykstra began.

"Hague," Nachtegall said. "If Hague works out here-"

"He is working out," Dykstra said.

"Right. If Hague works out, then Moore can look for excuses to send you home. And Hague isn't likely to give him any trouble."

After Nachtegall left, Dykstra called up Samantha MacTavish's file. There were academic records and comments from instructors, some even reaching back to elementary school. I'll say one thing for Moore-he can be thorough.

In the personal section, he saw that she preferred to be addressed as Ms. MacTavish rather than Dr. MacTavish. Even though she'd earned her Ph.D. She also most often went by "Sammi," but some of her close friends called her "Sunshine." He looked at her picture, noted the dancing eyes and the shining smile, and understood why.

There was also an extensive section concerning Moore's own personal observations of the candidate, which ranged from neutral to overtly hostile. He could have limited my access to this stuff. He wanted me to see it.

The rest of the document contained the evidence of what Dykstra already knew-that Samantha MacTavish was a rare genius indeed.

Closing her file, on a whim, he opened another. Just what kind of a man would have been confident enough to marry a supernova like you, he thought. He looked into the Slingshot file under Ensign MacTavish, Steven J. All he found there was a link to another file, that of Ensign Smith, Steven J. Samantha's husband had taken her maiden name as his own. There was no explanation why, though Dykstra guessed that perhaps Steve had wanted a name less common than "Smith." At any rate, it revealed a secure man.

The rest of the document revealed much more.

Steve was the solar champion suicide orbiteer, having once taken a plunge that zipped him past the lunar surface close enough to leave a mark. He was the man responsible for the brilliant work Dykstra had noticed in the Slingshot file. I see you married an equal, Samantha. I'm impressed.Lieutenant Nachtegall arrived at Samantha MacTavish's door at exactly 1000 Saturday morning. He recalled their first meeting. She'd been cold and wouldn't even invite him in. Too bad, too. She was something to look at.

The door opened. Samantha was stylishly dressed, wearing a loose blouse and mid-thigh skirt. Nachtegall took in the pleasing curves of her body without once letting his eyes drop from her face. "Hello, Lieutenant." She smiled, a sunrise on a frosty morning. "You're right on time."

"Major Moore insists on it," he said. He led her up topside to the landing berths and they set out across Mare Crisium in the military courier boat. There wasn't a trace of her earlier hostility, though she seemed edgy, drumming her fingers on the armrest.

"Are you nervous, Ms. MacTavish?""Yes I am," she said without hesitation. "Have you ever met Dr. Dykstra?""Yes.""What's he like? I mean, does he seem like a legend when you're with him?""So that's it," Nachtegall laughed. "You have nothing to worry about. His genius does live up to its legendary billing, but when you're with him you'll just think he's a sweet old man."

Nachtegall's words seemed to settle her. After a bit she said, "Lieutenant, can I ask you a question?"

"Call me Bob, please, Ms. MacTavish."

"Okay. Call me Samantha."

"Done. And yes, you can ask me a question if I get to have one in return."

"Fair enough. I don't know quite how to ask this, but . . . did you think I was a bitch that first time you

stopped by?"

Yes I did, Nachtegall thought. "I thought you were rather cold, Samantha. But I didn't take it personally. Major Moore had warned me that you weren't fond of the military.""I'm not. But that doesn't excuse my behavior. I'm sorry I didn't even let you in the door."

"Apology accepted," Nachtegall said. "Now my question: Why don't you like to be called 'Doctor'?""It makes me feel old.""That's it?""Lieutenant, do I look like a Dr. MacTavish?"They landed at the High Command and the lieutenant led Samantha through the labyrinth.He left her alone in an office, but waited outside the door for Moore. Moore arrived and went in to talk with Samantha, emerging soon thereafter with a disgusted look on his face. Richard Michaels came, and

Nachtegall was directed to wait outside until Michaels and MacTavish were finished.

"Damn guard duty," Nachtegall muttered. He dozed in a chair until his subconscious notified him that an hour had passed and it was time to take Samantha to lunch.

"So what did you think of Richard Michaels?" Nachtegall asked Samantha as they sat eating.

"He's a nice guy," she said. "Haunted, though. I guess being forced to kill will do that to a person. And considering what the first thing was he killed . . ."

"Yeah. That'll sober a guy up."

"One thing he said really sticks with me," she continued.

"What's that?"

"He said, 'I don't think that morally, ethically, maybe philosophically, that we have anything in common

with them.' Weird." They went to Dykstra's apartment. Samantha was nervous again. Nachtegall felt sorry for leaving her there at the door. But she'd be okay-Chris would take good care of her. * * *

Standing outside Dykstra's door, Samantha gathered her courage. What do you say to a legend anyway?

She'd read Dykstra's biography in school, and she tried to remember some of it. She'd never forgotten the opening line: "There are geniuses, and then there are geniuses, and then there's Dykstra." But she was bothered that Dykstra had agreed to work for Major Moore, had agreed to work on a project that had as its objective the designing of means to kill the aliens. Could that ever be right? It just didn't jibe with her view of what a great, kind genius should be involved in. It wasn't the Dykstra she knew from the book.

But maybe he was seduced in, just like they're trying to do with me.

I guess I'd better buzz or knock, she thought. Waiting wouldn't make things any easier. She assured herself there was nothing to be afraid of.

Nevertheless, he was a legend.

She pressed the buzzer. The door opened. A pleasant voice said, "Come in, Mrs. MacTavish. Watch your step-the gravity is lower in here."

Samantha entered, and the pseudograv field left her feeling only half as heavy as a footstep ago. We share a minor indulgence, she thought. Sitting in the middle of the room in the comfy chair was the old man himself, looking like a well preserved seventy. For a moment, she doubted he could be Dykstra at all. But he arose and said, "Hello. I'm James Christian Dykstra. My friends call me Chris. You may call me whatever you feel most comfortable with."

"I'd probably be most comfortable with Dr. Dykstra," she said.

He smiled at that, a soft smile. He looked at her, eyes twinkling, crystal clear, and infinitely penetrating. "As you wish," he said.

"But you can call me Samantha."

And after that Samantha didn't have a clue as to how to begin. Fortunately, Dykstra did.

"We will have to fight them, you know," he began. "Now that we're able to get out to the Oort cloud we've become a threat to them."

"But I don't understand why it has to be that way," Samantha replied. "Space is so big. Why can't we just leave each other alone?" She stopped; she was arguing with the foremost genius of the age.

He was grinning. "Very good, Samantha! I thought if I made a blunt statement you'd forget about being intimidated by my reputation and just say what you thought. I'm counting on you to continue to do so." There was a gentleness to his manner, and yet a certainty in the way he spoke, that both put her at ease and increased her already immense respect for the man. It was obvious that, despite his unique genius, he had no shred of egomania.

"So you don't think we'll have to fight them after all?"

"No. We will have to fight them, I believe. I said that I was blunt, not that I was kidding."

"Your reasons?"

"First, why don't you take a seat, Samantha. I hope you don't mind the gravity, but my doctor insists that at my age, well, I think you understand." She sat on the couch and he back in his comfy chair. "Now, as for my reasons, I'm sure Mr. Michaels told you that he thinks the aliens are all through the cometary halo. It's hardly likely that there was only one ship, or that he'd find them almost immediately upon arriving in the cloud."

"He told me that," Samantha said. "But even if they do occupy the halo, what difference do we make to them? We like it close in to the Sun, and for all practical purposes, they're living in interstellar space. Do we even have anything they want? And if we do, why haven't they attacked us a long time ago?"

"Your points are well taken, Samantha. It's not at all unlikely that the cometary halos of nearby stars overlap each other. The aliens could very well be a true interstellar race, living only between the stars. At least now." He paused for effect. "But what did they used to be?"

Samantha thought about it for a second, said, "They must have evolved on a planet-their physical structure allows no other conclusion. But that doesn't mean they're interested in stars now."

"But they might be. The prudent military man must consider that," Dykstra said.

"I almost forgot you're working for them, Doctor."

"You need not fear me trying to verbally coerce you into joining, Samantha. I'm genuinely interested in your opinions."

"Why? I'm barely out of school," Samantha said, protesting, yet glowing inside. And she knew he was being honest.

"I'll get to that. But let me remind you that I was still in school when I first formulated the Dykstra field equations."

"I recall reading that."

"Another factor I've considered is the way they behaved when they first came upon OEV 1. We have two things to consider. The aliens have either encountered other intelligent life before us, or they have not. Assuming the two who met Michaels were representative of the race as a whole-"

"Then in either case," Samantha interrupted, "it would make them xenophobes."

"You've got it. And there is one other thing. I'm sure Richard Michaels conveyed to you his visceral impression of them?"

Samantha recalled what Michaels had said. "He did, yes. He was quite disturbed by it, I thought."

"Are you a religious woman, Samantha?" Dykstra asked.

Puzzled, she said, "Sure. I believe in God and heaven, and I go to church. Er, now and then. Steve, my

husband, is the more religious of the two of us, though. Why do you ask?"

"You believe you have a soul?"

"Yes. And Michaels thinks he didn't sense any common ground because the aliens don't."

"Yes. You are delightfully quick, Samantha," Dykstra said, smiling.

"Call me Sammi now," she said. She liked this old, brilliant man.

"May I be so bold as to throw in an occasional 'Sunshine'? I see how you got the nickname."

"I'd be honored . . . Chris."

"To answer your questions, I think it's possible that the aliens have no souls. But I have no idea how you

go about proving something like that. The whole thing scares me." Dykstra got up then and brought

them refreshments from the kitchen.

Looking at the clock, Dykstra said, "I see we're almost out of time. I have a meeting in ten minutes. Let me tell you a couple of other things.

"It's entirely possible that the aliens' faster-than-light drive-we're certain that they do have one-won't work deep in a gravity well. Perhaps they've left us alone up until now because they can't keep the advantage of FTL travel near the Sun. A scientist named Arie Hague pointed out that for any spherical gravitating body there's one unique distance from the center where my field equations don't seem to work at all. A discontinuity. It's called the Hague Limit. For years people have wondered, myself included, if the discontinuity had any physical implications. It's my intuition that the alien FTL drive doesn't work inside the Hague radius, which for our Sun is about 57.4 astronomical units."

"But Chris, aren't they so far ahead of us technologically that it wouldn't matter whether or not they could use their FTL drive? I mean, aren't they way ahead of us?"

"You know, you're only the second person who has spotted that objection without having it pointed out.

And it makes perfect sense, except that I have examined some of their devices-"

"Like what?"

"You'll have to sign up before I'll tell you that," Dykstra said.

"I see.""Anyway, they are not that far ahead of us." To her, he looked a little puzzled by that, even as he spoke, and he seemed distracted. "In fact, I saw a couple of obvious inefficiencies in one of the devices . . ." But then he trailed off and wouldn't continue.

He didn't seem like he was going to start the conversation again, so Samantha said, "Before I go you said

you'd tell me why you wanted the major to get me on the project?"

Dykstra came back from wherever his mind was trekking. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sunshine. Forgive an old man for absentmindedness. The reason I want you for the project is that, of the other genano engineers I've seen, you have the most obvious intuitive genius."

"I'm not a genius," Samantha protested. "I'm good, but Chang is-"