I am on the verge of making contact with an intelligent species.

Sure I am.

She could have undoubtedly gotten a job somewhere as a fundraiser, but she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life pleading for money. Might as well simply retire to a leisurely existence like the majority of the population. Accept her monthly government allotment and sit on the porch.

She took to haunting the shoreline. The beach was especially appealing in winter, and its bleakness fit her mood. There was rarely anyone else out. Dressed in an insulated suit, she circled the island every day, moving at a rapid clip, stopping occasionally to look at the shells.

A seacoast is a special kind of place, she thought. It’s like the edge of a forest, or the foothills of a mountain range, where we stand at the rim of our daily existence, looking out at something quite different. Occasionally Kim would stay out past twilight, watching the tide run, letting the night roll into her soul. The beach was a sacred place to her, one of those areas where the infinite touches down.

She was in the presence of two oceans, one of water and one of space-time, and they somehow tended, after dark, to get mixed together. Pick the right spot, where the only real sound is the murmur of the surf, and it was possible to stroll along the damp sand and feel her blood run in sync with the tides.

An ocean’s edge is by definition a meeting place between the magnificent and the mundane. We listen to seashells and hear our own heartbeat.

When she got home each day, there was a message waiting from Solly: You okay? How’s everything going? I’ve talked to the people at Albestaadt. They’ve got a position for you if you want it. You’ll have to interview for it, of course, but the fix is in. I’ve told them about you and they’re excited at the prospect.

She responded by thanking him politely: Thanks for your efforts but I don’t think so.

The Moritami Orbital Research Center surprised her by inviting her in to interview for an entry-level researcher’s position. It was conducted at their administrative offices in Marathon and she did well. Interviews were one of her specialties. When they informed her she’d have to live off-world, she knew she had the job. They told her they’d call her and she came back out into the hard sunlight with mixed feelings. But the bright side was she’d be doing astrophysics again.

Again.

Truth was, she’d never really functioned within her specialty.

When she got home, Solly was waiting.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

She wasn’t surprised that he knew. The world community of physicists and astronomers was tight-knit. Information usually got around pretty quickly. “Okay,” she said. “I think they’re going to take me on.”

He was dressed in seagoing casuals, and wore his captain’s cap with its anchor emblem. The cap was pushed over to one side, an affectation he indulged only in her presence because he knew it made him look ridiculous and inevitably cheered her. “So you finally got what you want.”

“Yes.”

“No more fundraising.”

“Nope.”

“Maybe this thing’ll turn out to be a blessing.”

There was something about the phrase, or maybe his tone, or maybe simply his presence. Because suddenly she was angry and her eyes were damp. She wanted so desperately to follow the track of the Hunter. To find out what was out there. To find out what had happened to Emily.

“It’s okay, babe,” he said. He pulled her close and stroked her hair.

“You’re getting your cheek wet,” she said.

He held onto her until she calmed down. Then he stepped back and his blue eyes grew intense. “Listen.” He took off his cap, ran his fingers through his hair, and put it back on. Straight, this time. “If you’re still up to it, we can take the Hammersmith.”

She looked at him, not sure she’d heard correctly. “You talked them into letting us use one of the ships?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “But I guess maybe we could take it.”

Twenty minutes later, she called Moritami. “Thanks for considering me,” she told them. “But I’m going to be unavailable for awhile.”

“Do you know,” asked Solly, “how long it would take to get out into the area where the Hunter was?”

“It’s forty days, seventeen hours, and twenty-six minutes to the target site.”

“I’m impressed. You’ve done your homework.”

“Thank you.”

“Now all you need is a means of transportation.” His gaze turned inward. “If we do this, we’re putting everything on the line. Career, freedom, reputation, you name it. So my question to you is, are you sure?”

“Solly,” she said. “It’ll work. I know it’ll work.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“Am I sure I want to do whatever’s necessary to get at the truth? Yes. Absolutely. Am I sure we’re on the right track?” She had to think about that one. But the cold mad gaze of the thing in the water had imprinted itself in her soul, where it exercised a dual effect: something had happened out there, and part of it has infected the Severin Valley; but she wasn’t sure she wanted to get any closer to it. This was a truth that she’d just as soon avoid.

And yet.

“Yes,” she said.

“Okay then. We’ll do it. Fortunately the Hammersmith is prepped, groceries on board, water tanks full, and ready to leave for Taratuba.”

She watched him breathe. “Solly,” she said, “it’ll be okay. We do this, they’ll get upset for a while. But we’ll bring back evidence of a contact. They’ll meet us with a brass band.”

Taking the Hammersmith should have been childishly easy. The Institute was meticulous about having its maintenance routines performed early. Solly, who’d been assisting with logistics for the mission, had already seen to stocking the vessel, so it should just have been a matter of walking on board, powering up, passing a satisfactory story to operations, and launching. But Worldwide Interiors had offered to redesign the living and working quarters on the Hammersmith, gratis, and several of their people were still on the ship when Kim and Solly arrived, twenty-two hours prior to scheduled departure for Taratuba.

Kim had never before been on the Hammersmith. After a quick inspection, Solly admitted that Worldwide had indeed improved the interior. “Although there was plenty of room for improvement,” he added.

Four workers were laying carpet, installing furniture, and redesigning cosmetics throughout the ship. Even the cargo hold had acquired a fresh coat of mahogany paint.

The Institute’s fleet, which consisted of five vessels, was maintained at the Marlin Orbital Dock. They’d ridden over from Sky Harbor in a shuttle, picked up their bags at the service desk, and walked them on board, past the Marlin crew chief and a couple of operations people. As Solly had assured her would happen, no one asked any questions.

She’d gotten a look at the Hammersmith from the approach shuttle. It was a reconverted yacht, a boxy vehicle with three levels. Living quarters, including the pilot’s room, were located on the top floor; labs, more living quarters and recreational areas were in the middle section; the utility deck, housing cargo, life support, and storage were below.

Engineering occupied the lower two levels at the rear of the craft.

Whatever ambiance might have existed in its luxury days had later been sacrificed to the gods of utility. Despite the new paint and the new carpets, Hammersmith felt like a small hotel that had been let go and was now being refurbished for a new buyer. There was something essentially threadbare about it that no amount of restoration could hide.