Solly’s friends, as custom directed, came forward to talk about him. Others simply stood, wiping their eyes.

The wind blew off the ocean. A composer whom Solly had once carried from Earth, and whom he’d befriended, had written a score, “Though Tomorrow Never Come,” for the occasion. He’d brought along a vocalist to perform it, and Kim stood listening while tears ran down her face.

Eventually, as she knew would happen, her name came up.

Solly’s brother pointed her out, standing with the Knights. “Kim Brandywine,” he said, “the young lady for whom Solly gave his life.” They all looked her way, expectantly. “Kim,” he added, “why don’t you come on up and say a few words.”

She’d hoped to be left quietly to herself. But this had been unavoidable, the least she could do, and she’d prepared. She had taken a trank to try to hold herself together, but it seemed to have done nothing to assuage the grief and loss, so her mind went blank and she forgot the lines she’d memorized, and instead talked in a halting tone, on automatic, uttering banal phrases which the wind blew away.

“—Most selfless man I’ve known—” She could see a sail receding on the horizon and it seemed less real than the seascapes she’d seen in the windows of the Hammersmith, with Solly at her side.

The sun was bright and the sky empty. “—I would not be here today—”

She fought back the tears and, at the end, her voice rose over the wind. “God help me, I loved him—” A pair of gulls soared over the surf.

And she heard a child’s voice up front: “Then why’d she leave him, Mommy?”

When she finished the brother thanked her politely, took a few more speakers, announced that refreshments were available in the south pavilion, and drew the ceremony to a close.

Kim stood for several minutes, unable to leave. Several of the Knights came over to talk to her and wish her well. Then she was startled by a glimpse of Solly’s perceptive blue eyes. They belonged to a young woman with long dark hair.

“I’m Patricia Case,” she said. “Solly’s sister. I just wanted to get a good look at you.” She bit the words off like pieces of ice, fought to hold back tears, and stalked away.

It was the only time in her life Kim could recall seeing naked contempt directed at her. “It’s not what you think,” she called after the woman. “It wasn’t like that—”

The media portrayed her in a similar light: a helpless passenger on a scientific research mission who’d needed rescuing when, shortly after emerging from hyperspace, the engines had run wild.

She received requests for interviews, guest spots on several panel shows, and lucrative offers for exclusive accounts of events on the Hammersmith. All of which she declined.

Ben Tripley had left a message for her at home. She ran it and was surprised when he looked at her sadly and only wished her well. Her heart sank. She had expected him to take her to task for destroying his father’s reputation, to point out he’d warned her something very much like this would happen. But he avoided the recriminations and only said he understood this was hard on everybody. And he expressed his regrets for Emily. “I don’t know what happened,” he said, “I can’t imagine what happened. But I’m sorry. I wish it could have been otherwise.”

How could she respond? You were right all the time? I don’t know what happened either, and maybe your father is completely innocent, but the damage is done. Maybe if your father and Kane had spoken up when they came home about whatever occurred out there, everything would have been okay. It’s not my fault.

After a long time she recorded a message, thanking him, telling him she was confident that when the investigation was complete, his father would be vindicated. She watched it through, decided it was a disaster, and deleted it.

She delayed calling Sheyel because once again she didn’t know what to say. She had no appetite for lying to him, but her agreement with Canon Woodbridge prevented disclosure. Still, she needed to talk to someone, and Sheyel seemed to be the only person left.

She punched in his code. Moments later his dragon chair appeared, and then he walked into the image and eased himself into it. “Kim,” he said. “It’s good to see you.” He wore a dark brown robe.

They exchanged pleasantries, although she could see he was anxious to hear about the flight of the Hammersmith. He looked more pale and drawn than when she’d seen him last. He was losing ground.

“I can’t tell you much,” she said. “I just wanted you to know I’m okay.”

“I understand.” His silver hair and beard had become straggly. She suspected he hadn’t adjusted well to the news about Yoshi. “You lost a friend,” he said.

“Solly Hobbs. Yes.”

“I read what he did. Such friends are rare.” He reached beside him and picked up a cup. Steam was rising from it. “What will you do now?”

Good question.

“I think I owe Ben Tripley an apology,” she said.

“When are you going to do that?”

“Maybe tomorrow if I can get an appointment.”

“You’re going up there personally?”

“Yeah. I think I should. Anyway I want to get a closer look at the Valiant.”

“The Valiant?”

She hadn’t meant to say that. But what the hell, he already knew. “The ship in the mural,” she prompted. “You remember the model?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “How could I forget?” There was, she thought, something very strange in his eyes, but she let it go. Probably the light.

She got through to Tripley’s secretary, who said she could make room for her next afternoon toward the end of the day. Kim consented, and put in a call to Tora Kane.

Tora came right on. Strictly audio. “Yes, Kimberly. What did you want?”

The key to the Hunter logs, Kim thought, had to lie with the captain’s daughter. There was no one else.

“I wanted to apologize,” she said. “I know this has been a difficult time.”

“I really needed somebody to explain that to me.” She paused, and Kim could hear the ocean in the background. “Was there anything else?”

“Yes. I wanted you to know that I don’t believe your father’s in any way responsible for the deaths.”

“That comes a little late.” Her fury was barely restrained. “You’ve ruined his name. You know that, don’t you? You’ve destroyed him.” With no warning her voice broke. She swallowed, waited, took a deep breath. “Everything he lived for, everything he did, it’s all gone now. And what they’re saying about him is a lie.”

“Maybe we can get to the truth.”

“Sure we can. You want truth? Stop by the museum and take a look.” The voice was pure venom. “Anything else?”

Yes! Where are the Hunter logs? “Do you have anything, access to anything, that might show us what really happened on the mission?”

She paused. Kim wished she could see the woman’s face. “No,” she said at last. But the hesitation put the lie to it.

“Tora,” said Kim, “I can’t do this without your help.”

“Do me a favor, Doctor,” she said. “Don’t do anything, okay? I just don’t need any more of your help.” She broke the connection.

Kim walked over to the window and looked out at the sea.

She knows.

“Shep?”

“Yes, Kim.”

“I want to talk to Solly. How long will it take to—?”

“Acquire the data and assemble the psyche? Not long. And you’ll need to fill me in on the details of the mission. But I do not advise the procedure.”

“Do it anyway.”

“Kim, you’ve often advised against—”

“How long, Shep?”

“I won’t know until I see what’s available. If there is online access, you can speak with him tonight.”

An hour later she went up the front steps into the Mighty Third Memorial Museum.

It required no shrewdness to guess what she’d find: Another hero from the battle of Armagon had replaced Markis Kane. The attack on the Hammurabi was no longer on display. The glass case which had sheltered artifacts from the 376 was empty. Signs indicated that a new exhibition, describing the exploits of fleet physicians, was being prepared.