Throughout her story, Renford gave no indication whether he believed her or not. He simply listened quietly, his expression blank.

Even after she had finished, he remained silent for a long moment. Then, finally, he spoke.

"I'd like to believe you," he said. "I'd like to say I believed everything you just told me. But it's all too incredible. You're asking me to believe you're from another world, a world in which Bill Darcy is not Luna City's mayor, but his brother is-a brother who has been dead for a number of years. You're asking me to believe there is a universe where the mining camp is still operating, and the solar power satellite has been destroyed. Is that right?"

"Yes." And immediately Susan felt the absurdity of it all.

"You're asking me to believe that a future Hyatt, aided by a future Susan Tanner, bought my personal secretary with promises of power?"

Susan looked down at her bandaged hands laying limp and lifeless in her lap, and nodded. Somehow, she could not meet Renford's gaze.

"And you're saying that you can instantaneously jump through both time and space, ranging from Luna to Earth, and from the past to the future?"

Again she nodded.

Both were silent for a time. Finally, Susan looked up, into the admiral's eyes. He really was trying to believe her-it showed in his expression. He wanted to believe. But he could not.

"I know how impossible it all sounds," Susan said. "I know you can't believe what I've just told you. In your place, I wouldn't believe it, either."

"There's simply no proof," he said.

Susan nodded with resignation. He was right, there was no proof. Yet, somehow she had to prove it to him. Somehow she had to make him believe.

How could she do it? There was just too much to it that was absolutely unbelievable.

Still, she knew she had to convince him. If she hoped to clear herself, she had to somehow verify her story. She had to establish at least the possibility of her story being true.

Her LIN/C would do her no good. Its record could be altered.

Then, suddenly, she knew what she must do. It might not work-and even if it did work, it might not convince him-but she had to try.

As she formed the thought in her mind, she felt all three pendants hanging from their chains around her neck become hot, even through the heavy fabric of her uniform. The headache increased, and instantly she stood behind Renford as he gazed at thin air before his desk. She reached out and touched his shoulder.

He tensed, then turned around, his eyes large and round with shock. His mouth worked silently for several seconds as he tried to speak, but he made no sound.

"I know," Susan said, stepping around the desk, to its front. He turned slowly, his gaze following her, still unable to respond. "I felt the same way when I began to realize what was happening."

After a few seconds, Renford closed his eyes and shook his head. "That's…something," he said when he finally opened his eyes.

Susan nodded. "Now do you believe? Can you believe that what I said happened actually took place?"

"Let's say I'm a lot closer to believing you than I was a moment ago. At least now I can believe in the possibility of it all."

"Is that enough for you to help me?"

He stared thoughtfully at Susan. Finally he said, "Yes, I'll help you. You know orders have been issued to shoot you on sight?"

"No, I didn't know. Then what do I do? How do I get out of here?"

What made me say that? she wondered. She knew she could leave any time she wanted. Although she didn't know where on the lunar surface Photon was located, all she had to do was think herself aboard, and the pendant would do the rest.

Then, she knew why she had asked.

"You can't leave here wearing a Fleet uniform," Renford said. "They'll be looking for a woman in a Fleet Captain's jumpsuit."

He stood and went to the door on the far side of his office, and Susan followed. The door irised open and she followed him through.

They were in Renford's living quarters. A desk almost as large and ornate as the one in his office sat in the middle of the room, and against the far wall sat the largest bed she had ever seen. Several holo-phones filled the wall to her left. On the right wall hung more paintings like the ones that hung in the Admiral's office, all of which she knew were authentic.

Renford went to the closet on the far side of the room and it opened. Hanging in it were more clothes than Susan could have possibly imagined. He took out a black jumpsuit, then turned and held it out to Susan.

"This should fit fairly well," he said.

It was a Base Security uniform-the sword and shield insignia stood out over its breast. She looked at him questioningly.

"Sometimes it's necessary for me to be out in public without being recognized," he said. "And sometimes I have to go places and do things only Security can go and do."

Susan nodded and took the jumpsuit, and Renford turned back to the closet. He took a Base Security cap from the top shelf, and a holstered blaster pistol, then turned and gave both to her.

"Put the uniform on," he said. "I'll be waiting in my office." He turned and walked to the door. It irised open and he turned back to her. "Remember, make yourself look as different as possible," he said. Then he again turned to the door and stepped through. It irised closed behind him.

In spite of everything, she couldn't help but smile as she stripped out of her soiled, burned and torn Fleet jumpsuit. Renford was certainly a citizen of Luna. He had been stationed here so long, its provincialism had become ingrained into his personality. She knew exactly what he had meant when he said to try to make herself look as different as possible. He had meant she should bind her breasts. But he'd been unable to say it.

She removed the soiled wrappings on her hands and arms, then stepped to the mirror beside the closet. She stood for a few seconds, observing her nude body. There was certainly no doubt that Renford had been right. The more she could look like a man, the better off she would be.

She went to the closet and found a long silk scarf in among the items of clothing. Tucking one end under her right arm, she brought it tightly across her breasts, flattening them against her chest, then tucked it under the other arm. Leaning to one side, she caught the loose end and tightened it around her back, then again stretched it across her breasts. There was enough scarf to go around her once more before she tucked the end in beneath her left arm.

Again she stood before the mirror. Not the best job, but it would have to do. Concealed beneath the jumpsuit, she might just pass for a man.

She got quickly into the jumpsuit and fastened it up the front. After strapping on the holster, she put the cap on her head and again looked at her reflection in the mirror. It was no good. Although her breasts would no longer betray her, her hair hung long and shining from beneath the cap. And her prosthetic hands-the plastic synthetic skin burned off-would give her away, as well.

Turning from the mirror, she scanned the room. The drawers set into the wall beside the bed had to hold a pair of scissors. She went to the drawers and searched. Within seconds she found them.

She went back to the mirror and took off the cap. Taking a deep breath, she hacked at her hair with the scissors. After less than a minute, she was finished. It wasn't a very good job, but it would have to do.

As she placed the soiled bandages back on her hands, she asked herself, What next? And suddenly, she knew. She didn't know how she knew; she simply knew.