“I have just closed a deal on a new BG-4502 long-haul mining ship, with custom options and a few upgrades. Cash sale, with a bonus for quick delivery. I admit to feeling a bit giddy.”

Kemp laughed out loud. That explained a lot. “Wow, yeah, I can see it. I’m just not thinking that big. So what happens to the Astra?”

“Would you like to take her over?”

“Er, excuse me?”

The captain chuckled. “The military, bless their orderly souls, put her back together good as new after finding no trace of nanites. She’s still at dock at the Lagrange Four station. They’ve threatened to start charging me moorage soon.”

“What are you going to do with her?” Kemp asked.

“Craigslist.”

Again, Kemp found himself laughing. He liked this new, more human Captain Jennings.

“Seriously, though, Doctor. I will be putting her up for sale. A member of the crew would get an especially good deal.”

“Thanks, Captain. I, however, don’t have the spacer’s wanderlust. I’ll be shopping for a sailboat, next.”

“To each his own. Now, did you call about something specific?”

“Yes, of course. I just talked to Ivan Pritchard, and I thought I should bring you up to date.”

Jennings’s voice was immediately all business. “All right. Shoot.”

Dr. Kemp relayed the contents of the conversation, along with his suspicions about the move. When he was done, Jennings said, “You seemed to be on fairly easy terms with the doctor in charge of the ICDC contingent, Dr. Narang, was it? Maybe you should give her a call.”

“My thoughts exactly, Captain. She gave me her card.”

“And I will talk to my lawyers. Keep me updated, Doctor. Out.”

Kemp retrieved the card from his desk and gazed at it for several moments. He and Dr. Narang had gotten along on more than easy terms. They’d ended up on a first-names basis, and Dr. Kemp was sure there’d been some chemistry as well—at least to the extent you could have chemistry when separated by industrial glass and a hermetic seal.

He had no idea if that familiarity would persist now that circumstances were no longer forcing them together. Shaking his head at his own hesitancy, he dialed the direct line for Dr. Narang.

He got voice mail.

Kemp waited for the usual disclaimer and instructions, then spoke after the beep. “Maddie, this is Charlie Kemp. I’ve just had a somewhat disturbing conversation with Ivan Pritchard, and I wonder if you have some insight into the Navy’s contingency plans. I have a bad feeling that Ivan may be in danger. Please give me a call.”

He left his number and hung up. He was just picking up his tablet to continue his search for a new home, when the phone rang.

“Charlie? This is Maddie. I got your message.”