“Come in,” he invited, opening the door and liberating a faint smell of dust and old, cool air.

From this room, Lanier had worked after his official retirement to advise and guide those following in his footsteps. Karen had wanted them both to continue on full active duty, but he had refused; he had had enough. Perhaps that had been the beginning of their rift. More unpleasant memories returned as he stared at the projectors and control console mounted in the south wall of the room. So much misery and confusion communicated; so many missions assigned here, leading to the diagnosis or treatment of so many indescribable horrors.

Mirsky entered the room. “Your own Earth station. Very important for you even now?”

Lanier half-shrugged again, as if to be rid of it all. He sat at the console and activated it. A rolling red status pict formed and then resolved into a live picture of Earth as seen from the Stone, wrapped in a coil of DNA. A smooth simulated voice asked, “What services, please?”

“I need to speak to Olmy. Prior reference individual. Or to Konrad Korzenowski. Either or both.”

“Is this official communication or personal?”

“Personal,” Lanier replied.

The rolling status pict returned, a beautiful spherical skein of intertwined red strands.

“Do you want to meet with them personally?” Lanier asked Mirsky. The man nodded. Lanier lifted his eyebrows and faced the pict again. More suspicious. Yet who could or would want to mount an assassination attempt? Such things were not unheard-of-Terrestrial Hexamon politics—not recently, at least—but they were rare. And Old Natives did not have the technology to create physical duplicates. The more complicated his surmise became, the easier it was to assume the man actually was Mirsky.

“Ser Olmy refuses communication at this period,” the console informed him. “I have located Konrad Korzenowski.”

An image of Korzenowski appeared in the study, projected two meters to one side of Lanier. The legendary Engineer, who had retired from the Recovery to do basic research, glanced with intense eyes at Lanier, smiled abruptly, and faced Mirsky. The image resonated slightly with some unavoidable energy lag or off-world interference, then steadied, seeming as solid as anything else in the room. “Garry. It’s been years. Is Karen well? And yourself?”

“We’re fine. Ser Korzenowski, this man tells me he must speak with you.” Lanier cleared his throat. “He claims to be—”

“He bears an amazing resemblance to General Pavel Mirsky, does he not?” Korzenowski asked.

“I didn’t know you had ever met,” Lanier said.

“We did not meet in person. I’ve studied the records many times since. You are Ser Mirsky?”

“I am, sir. I am honored to meet such a distinguished individual, and pleased that you are well.”

“Is this man Pavel Mirsky, Garry?” Korzenowski asked.

“I don’t see how he could be, Ser Konrad.”

“Where did he come from?”

“I don’t know. He met me on a mountainside near my home…”