At eight o'clock the next morning, Lanier walked across the concrete quadrangle of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, briefcase in hand, accompanied by two new agents. He enjoyed the bright sun and the increased weight more now and almost regretted the thought of spending the day in air-conditioned offices. The first of two, perhaps three scheduled sessions would take place in the VIP conference room.

He popped a pill to knock down a runny nose, drank from a bronze fountain in a newly planted park, and slowed to a saunter past the broad black-background panel displaying JPL projects. Mars development activity schedules vied with Solar Sail reports and a hologram of the proposed Proxima Centauri probe.

There was no mention of the second ABE—asteroid belt explorer—launched two years ago.

Lanier and his gray-suited shadows climbed the steps slowly, allowing for his gravity fatigue, and passed through heavy-glass security doors. He presented his card to a monitor, and the steel gate swung wide with a pleasant hum. The agents did not enter with him. Beyond was a hallway lined by display cases. Intricate small-scale replicas of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory's past triumphs glittered in their plastic boxes: Voyager, Galileo, the Drake and the Solar Sail. There were also OTV models and diagrams explaining the Star Probe concept.

He took an aging elevator to the sixth floor, staring up at the glowing blue numbers.

Another secret service agent awaited him and asked for his ID again as the elevator door opened. Lanier took the card from his pocket and lined it up beside his badge. The agent thanked him and smiled as he walked on, unaccompanied, to the conference room.

Hoffman sat at the end of a long black table. Piles of paper, two slates and a clutter of memory blocks were arranged before her. To her left sat Peter Hague, the President's representative to ISCCOM, and on the other side, Alice Cronberry, advisor on aerospace security and project manager of the second ABE. Lanier walked around the table and shook hands, Hoffman's first—warmly cupping her hand in both of his—then Cronberry's and Hague's.

"I see Joint Space Command and the Joint Chiefs have no representatives here," he said, sitting at the opposite end of the table.

"We'll get to that in a moment," Hoffman said. She had aged since he last saw her; her hair was grayer, she looked more matronly and her wrinkles had transformed from smile to frown. "You're looking fit, Garry." She was being polite.

"Feeling less fit."

"How is Patricia Vasquez doing?"

"As well as can be expected. I was called away before I had much chance to see her at work, or before she came up with any results."

"I take it," Hoffman said, "that means you're uncertain about her."

"I am," Lanier said. "Not because I don't think she's capable, or the best in her field—whatever that may be—but because she's young. The library was quite a shock to her."

Cronberry put her right hand flat on the table, leaning away from him slightly. "It was a shock to all of us," she said.