One large wall-mounted flatscreen in Media Center displayed a stored high-res satellite image of the southern reaches of the Indonesian Archipelago. Dan Black knew that because Lieutenant Thieu had explained it when they arrived. He wasn't quite sure what the hell that all meant, though.

Lieutenant Thieu looked a lot like a Jap to Lieutenant Commander Black's way of thinking. But he sounded as though he'd spent his whole life on the beaches of California.

"Santa Monica," Thieu said, when Black asked. "My parents were deep green Earth First types. I surfed a lot to get out of the house. Then when they tried to get me to paddle my board out to hassle some longline tuna boats, I ran away and joined the navy. I don't think they'll ever forgive me."

Black had no idea what he was talking about, but the mystery of Thieu was nothing compared to the two civilian women who were straining at the leash just behind him. Black figured them for civvies because of the complete lack of respect they brought to their dealings with the lieutenant.

"And what's your job, Lieutenant?" asked Black.

"Right now, I'm just looking after you until you can get back to the Enterprise. But officially, media relations."

"And we're the media he's trying to have a relationship with," said one of the women.

Thieu exhaled slowly. "Lieutenant Commander Black, Ensign Curtis, this is Julia Duffy, a feature writer for the New York Times, and Rosanna Natoli, a reporter for CNN. You don't have it yet. It's a bit like the Movietone newsreels, I guess."

"So, what, we're supposed to talk to the press now?" asked Black, who was openly confused.

He'd felt about as useful as tits on a bull up on the flag bridge, and had been happy enough to get out from under Kolhammer's feet as the search and rescue effort accelerated. With Curtis eager to try out a "computer," they'd been escorted down to this "Media Center"-although it looked like an aid station to Black, with maybe two dozen civilians laid out on cots.

Thieu explained that they were reporters who'd been "embedded" with various elements of the Multinational Force, but that didn't make Black feel any more comfortable.

"You don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to," Thieu added quickly.

"Oh, come now," said Natoli. "I'm sure these boys wouldn't be scared of talking to a couple of lady reporters. They were on their way to kick Yamamoto's butt. They'll be safe with us, Edgar."

"And who are you going to file for?" asked Thieu. "Ms. Duffy still might be able to score a gig with the Times, but I don't know if Ted Turner's even been born yet. And if he has, he ain't hiring."

"Well, first off," Natoli argued, "you don't know for sure that we're stuck here. We could all be back home selling our stories by this time tomorrow. None of us knows anything yet. Meanwhile, you have your job. We have ours."

Black watched the exchange with growing curiosity. These women didn't defer to the officer at all. Their demeanor was challenging, bordering on ill mannered. He dismissed the idea that it was a function of Thieu's race. It was possible, he realized, that they just didn't like each other. If so, it might be useful to get to know them. They might have a different angle on what was happening. He wasn't sure he trusted Kolhammer's people yet.

Behind the women, a whole wall was taken up with what Black thought of as movie screens, displaying scenes from all over both fleets. He could even see his own ship, the Enterprise, with two helicopters just setting down on her deck.

The view seemed to be coming from on high, directly above the flight deck, and the commander assumed another helicopter was taking the photos. When he asked, though, Thieu explained that the feed was actually coming from a small, saucer-shaped "drone-cam" keeping station about three thousand five hundred meters-that meant twelve thousand feet, apparently-above the deck of the carrier. That almost made sense. Other panels on the big wall screen showed vision of a few surviving destroyers from his own group alongside sleek, flowing ships from the future, with a constant transfer of men between both.

Men and women, he corrected himself.

Nodding slowly to the Italian doll, he said, "I can't speak for Ensign Curtis, but I don't mind chatting with you while things get cleared up outside, miss. I can't do any interviews, though. You can't put me in your story, right?"

Lieutenant Thieu closed his eyes and muttered something beneath his breath. But the two reporters smiled radiantly.

"Fabbo," said Duffy.

"What about you, Ensign Curtis?" Natoli asked. "You up for a little deep background?"

Curtis blushed down to roots of his hair.

Captain Jurgen Muller arrived directly from a SAR mission and was still wearing his flight suit. Commander Enrico Prodi made his way up from the Clinton's hangar deck. And Major Pavel Ivanov of the Russian army had crossed from the Kandahar, where he had been taking part in the SEALs' tutorial on the G4 assault rifle when Pope's wormhole had swallowed them all.

The men picked at a tray of sandwiches in Kolhammer's private quarters while the admiral handed out mugs of coffee.

"Where is Colonel Gogol?" asked Ivanov.

"I'm afraid he didn't make it," said Mike Judge.

The Spetsnaz officer took in the answer, processed it, and grunted.

"Too bad."

Ivanov didn't look like he needed much commiserating. Judge restricted himself to replying, "Yeah, too bad."

A knock sounded at the door and Kolhammer called out, "Enter."

The three visitors all turned to see Sub-Lieutenant Maseo Miyazaki, acting commander of the Siranui. One arm was encased in a bright green gel tube, and he stood with the aid of a stick.

Despite his injuries, Miyazaki bowed deeply, every line in his body rigid. It was as if he had fiber-steel cable instead of muscle and bone. Kolhammer took his cue from the young officer and, rather than staring directly into his eyes, he averted his gaze, just slightly. He discreetly studied the stoic mask Miyazaki had drawn across his feelings. Grief and pain were obvious, but survivor guilt was there, as well, a gnawing sense of shame and remorse that one should live when better men had died.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," he said, bowing his head. "I served with Captain Okada on a number of occasions. He was a fine warrior. A man of giri. I would appreciate it if you let your men know how deeply we feel his loss and the death of his comrades."

The young officer carefully straightened his back.

"Thank you, sir. I understand two of Admiral Spruance's ships were destroyed by the Siranui," he said. "As the officer responsible, I now forward our most abject apologies to the admiral and place myself under arrest pending court-martial for the unauthorized killing of Allied naval personnel."

Kolhammer was stunned. Nobody moved. The other three foreigners were obviously as taken aback as he was. They looked like props placed by a director. His stateroom, paneled in oak and furnished with a leather lounge and deep blue carpets, suddenly seemed strangely artificial to him, like a stage setting. As he recovered his wits, he put down his empty coffee mug and searched for a reassuring, but authoritative tone.

"Please stand at ease, Lieutenant. In fact, sit down and take the weight off. Please, I mean it. The release of your combat mace was not unauthorized. I sanctioned an overriding autonomy for the fleet CIs, and the consequences of that decision are mine to bear, not yours. I'll be certain to forward your apologies to Admiral Spruance but I won't allow you to take the blame.

"Unfortunately, I fear that won't satisfy the demands of the situation."

Miyazaki entered the room with a small degree of difficulty. But he carefully lowered himself into a chair next to Ivanov and gratefully accepted a cup of green tea from Commander Judge.