The time comes for Judge Andrew H. Tobiason of the Fourth Court of Appeals of the District of Columbia to make his judgment in the case of Laguna Space Research versus the United States Air Force. Dennis McPherson is there in the courtroom with Louis Goldman, seated just behind the plaintiff’s bench that is occupied by three of Goldman’s colleagues from his firm. On the other side are the Air Force lawyers, and McPherson is unpleasantly surprised to see behind them Major Tom Feldkirk, the man who got him into this in the first place. Feldkirk sits at attention and stares straight ahead at nothing.

Behind the parties in the case, the rather formal and imposing neoclassical room is filled with reporters. McPherson recognizes one of the main feature writers from Aviation Week, in a big crowd of others from the aerospace press. It’s hard for McPherson to remember that much of this is taking place in public; it seems to him a very private thing. And yet here they are in front of everybody, part of tomorrow’s business page without a doubt, if not the front pages. Newsheets and magazines everywhere, filled with LSR vs. USAF! It’s too strange.

And it’s too fast. McPherson has barely gotten seated, and used to the room and the seashell roar of its muttering crowd, when the judge comes in his side door and everyone stands. He’s barely down again when the sergeant-at-arms or some official of the court like that declares, “Laguna Space Research versus United States Air Force, Case 2294875, blah blah blah blah…” McPherson stops listening to the announcement and stares curiously at Feldkirk, whose gaze never leaves the judge. If only he could stand up and say across the room, “What about the time you gave us this program as our own project, Feldkirk? Why don’t you tell the judge about that?”

Well. No use getting angry. The judge no doubt knows about that anyway. And now he’s saying something—McPherson bears down, focuses his attention, tries to ignore the feeling that he’s caught in a trap he doesn’t understand.

Judge Tobiason is saying, in a quick, clipped voice, “So in the interests of national security, I am letting the contract stand as awarded.”

Goldman makes a quick tick with his teeth. The gavel falls. Case closed, court dismissed. The seashell mutters rise to a loud chatter, filling the room like the real sound of the ocean. McPherson stands with Goldman, they walk down the crowded central aisle.

By chance McPherson comes face to face with Tom Feldkirk. Feldkirk stares right through him, without even a blink, and marches out with the other Air Force people there. No looking back.