Peter repeated the test and the Joey Plus, a.k.a. Pip, pulled off the scheduling task without a hitch.

"Well done," Peter said, congratulating Byron.

"That's nothing. We got the net lookup voice stuff working too."

"Hey, come look at this," Paul Trueblood said, appearing from behind one of the part.i.tions used to divide the huge room.

Peter had contacted his two favorite engineers, Paul Trueblood and Rick Boardman, after he and Byron had relocated the project to California. During a dinner Peter had arranged, Byron had talked about the ISLE vision, providing the engineers the opportunity to get to know him. Both were excited by what they heard, and the very next day both engineers resigned from Wallaby and returned to Peter's home, ready to dive into the project.

In one hand Paul held a short stylus pen, and in the other a flat display unit that connected to another Joey Plus portable computer. With the stylus he began "writing" directly on the display. As he scribbled, the computer converted his script handwriting into clear text.

"Looking good," Peter said, watching the software do its thing quickly and accurately. "Hey, no mistakes," he said when Paul finished jotting down several lines. It took him a moment to realize that what Paul had written were the lyrics to a song. A Kate McGreggor song.

Byron applauded and, noticing Peter's ruminating, elbowed him.

"Good stuff, Paul," Peter said quietly.

"Hey, Ricky," Byron called, "how'd you manage to speed up the recognition so much?"

A smiling Rick peered over the edge of another nearby part.i.tion.

"You can thank my pals at MIT. They were kind enough to slip me some new algorithms at that conference I went to last week," Rick said. "It zips up the language translation stuff, too. Watch." He punched a few keys and the text on the display suddenly changed to Spanish, accents and all, then, a keystroke later, Cyrillic.

"Okay, come on now," Peter said with a clap, putting an end to the show. "We've only got another forty-five minutes," he said, checking the clock on the wall. "I want you guys to run through it once more to make sure there aren't any glitches."

"It's all working," Paul a.s.sured him, a little defensively. Just like old times.

Peter smiled. "Okay, okay."

Byron said, "We've got the whole works all ready to show him.

It's gonna knock his socks off."

Peter had been skeptical about meeting Byron's old friend, who was due to arrive shortly. However, trusting Byron's judgment, he had ultimately given in.

"I hope so," Peter said, then, "I'm going to check on Isle." He excused himself.

"She's asleep," Grace whispered, glancing up from her book. Isle slept peacefully beside her on the sofa.

"Any calls?" Peter said. The house and lab phones were on separate lines, so that the men were not distracted while working.

Grace gave a sympathetic shake of her head.

Peter had not heard from Kate since Isle's birth. He had called her the night she'd departed, and tried to persuade her to return. She had declined, and that was the last time they had spoken.

He now had Isle, and Byron and Grace, a family of sorts, and ISLE. The project had crystallized into a wondrous thing. This afternoon's meeting could signal the beginning of something great, something bigger than anything he had ever done at Wallaby. Yet, if he could, Peter would trade all of it to have Kate back. If only he could undo his mistake...

As if reading his mind, the older woman laid a hand on his wrist.

"Petey, you can call her, you know."

He shrugged. "I told her I would leave it up to her. That she's eternally welcome, and we want her back. But I think I've lost her for good, Grace."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure. You know, after Byron had his heart attack, I almost left him."

"Really? How come?"

"His pride. He felt so incapacitated by the fact that he couldn't help himself, and that he was nearing retirement, that he sort of turned against me. When he was bedridden, I set up a room in the house with all his favorite things, maps and model ships, books he loved. But all he could do was reject my help, hurt me."

"But it's not the same."

"Isn't it? Didn't what happened between you and Ivy happen because you knew, in the back of your mind, that you were losing control at Wallaby? And maybe you thought Kate would not want you once that happened?"

Peter stared at her. What she said had never occurred to him, but when he considered it, it rang true.

"Petey, I know my husband better than anyone. And I know when I see someone who's like him. I made a decision many years ago to be his partner, till death do us part. We came close to breaking that promise, until he told me one simple thing."

"I think I know what he said."

"Then why don't you say it?"

He hesitated, then it. "I was scared."

"And so was he. But when he told me, when he came right out and said it, I understood. Yes, it's different. Infidelity is harder to forgive. But if you tell her why, as you just told me, maybe she'll give you a second chance."

"It's all so mixed up. There's the baby, and the project and everything going on today. I'm not sure now is the right time.

Everything is so up in the air."

"But if she were back in your life, Peter, wouldn't these things seem a little more tolerable?"

He looked at his baby. "Yes," he said. "You're right. I'll do it.

I'll call her."

Greta walked into the bank and faced the long line of customers.

"Ugh," she sneered, settling her sungla.s.ses in her hair.

Resigned, she labored to the end of the line, a dozen or so people between her and the front. She fished through her purse, looking for a stray form left over from a past visit. She found none, and besides, she wasn't sure which form she needed anyway.

There has to be a better way, she thought, glancing anxiously at the mult.i.tude of forms stacked on the podium beside the line.

Just then, the branch manager appeared from a small room behind the main counter, carrying a handful of papers in his hands. Ah!

There it was, a better way. She managed to catch his eye.

"Bruce! How are you?" Greta said affectionately, catching him lightly by the arm.

"Well h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Locke. How are you?" he said, patting her hand.

She leaned close to his ear. "I was fine, until I walked into this. It's becoming so difficult to bank."