“Who’s James Bond?” Cal asked.

Bond, James. Code name 007. Fictional character created by twentieth-century writer Ian Fleming. Novels include—

“Disengage,” Cal ordered, dragging a frustrated hand through his hair. One look at Libby’s face told him he was in deep. “Maybe you should sit down.”

With a weak nod, she sat on the edge of the bed.

Though it was a bit late for precautions, Cal unhooked the wire and slipped it and his unit into his pocket. “You want an explanation.”

She wasn’t so sure anymore. Calling herself a coward, she gave a quick, jerky nod. “Yes.”

“Okay, but you’re not going to like it.” He sat in her chair and crossed his ankles. “I was making a routine run from the Brigston colony.”

“Excuse me?”

“The Brigston colony,” Cal repeated. Then he took the plunge. “On Mars.”

Libby closed her eyes and rubbed a hand over her face. “Give me a break, Hornblower.”

“I told you you wouldn’t like it.”

“You want me to believe you’re a Martian.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

She dropped her hand into her lap. “I’m ridiculous? You sit there and try to feed me some story about coming from Mars and I’m ridiculous?” For lack of anything better to do, she tossed a pillow across the room, then rose and began to pace. “Look, it’s not as though I’m prying into your personal life, or even that I expect some kind of humble gratitude for dragging you in out of that storm, but I think some mutual respect is in order here. You’re in my home, Hornblower, and I deserve the truth.”

“Yes, I think you do. I’m trying to give it to you.”

“Fine.” Temper wasn’t going to help, she thought. She dropped back on the bed and spread her arms. “So you’re from Mars.”

“No, I’m from Philadelphia.”

“Ah.” She let out a long, relieved breath. “Now we’re getting somewhere. You were on your way to Los Angeles when you crashed your plane.”

“My ship.”

Her face remained calm and impassive. “That would be your spaceship.”

“You’d call it that.” He leaned forward. “I had to reroute because of a meteor shower. I was off course . . . farther, I realize, than I had first thought, because my instruments were unstable. I ran into a black hole, an uncharted one.”

“A black hole.” She no longer felt like laughing. His eyes were absolutely sincere. He believed it, she realized as she folded her hands tightly in her lap. His concussion was obviously much more serious than she had originally thought.

“That’s a compressed star. Very dense, very powerful. Its gravity sucks up everything—stellar dust, gas, even light.”

“Yes, I know what a black hole is.” She had to keep him calm, Libby reasoned. She would humor him, express a friendly interest in his story, then get him back into bed. “So you were flying your spaceship, ran into a black hole and crashed.”

“In simple terms. I’m not sure exactly what happened. That’s why I hooked my wrist unit up to your computer. I need more information before I can calculate how to get back.”