Preach studied his Bordeaux in the light of a table lamp. “You want someone to go out and take a look.”

“Not exactly.” Virgil finished her drink, put down the glass, and inspected Hutch. Humans had been wandering around their local environs now for more than a half century. They’d found a handful of living worlds, a few sets of ruins, and the Noks. “Hutch, are you familiar with the Contact Society?”

“Sure. They’re a group of whackos who want to find extraterrestrial civilizations.”

“Not quite,” she said. “And I’m not sure they’re, uh, whackos. They maintain that we aren’t doing enough to school ourselves for an encounter with another intelligence. They say it’s just a matter of time, and we’re behaving as if we have the galaxy to ourselves. I’m not entirely sure I’d be prepared to argue with that.”

“What’s it matter? We’ve been out there a long time, and the place does look pretty empty.”

“Well,” said Virgil, “that’s really neither here nor there. The point is that they’ve raised an enormous amount of money for the Academy. It’s true they believe that insufficient effort is being made to see who else is in the neighborhood. That’s their holy grail, and they think of it as the prime purpose for the Academy’s existence. And that’s fine. We have no reason to disabuse them of that notion.”

“And,” said Preacher, “they’re interested in the intercept at 1107.”

“Yes, they are. They’ve been pressuring us to look into it for a long time. With this latest piece of information stirring things up, it wouldn’t be prudent to just wait for it to go away.” She sat back in her chair, tapped her fingertips on the desktop. “I don’t think there’s anything to it. I mean, how could there be? Even had the Benny actually intercepted an ET communication, why would they still be hanging around out there four years later? Okay? You understand what I’m saying? I don’t know what the explanation is, but I know it’s not Martians.” Virgil was looking directly at her. “Hutch, do you know who George Hockelmann is?”

She had no idea.

“He’s the CEO for Miranda’s Restaurants.”

“Oh. The guy with the secret recipe for tortillas.”

“Something like that. He’s also a major supporter of Academy initiatives. In fact, at the end of the year, he’ll be contributing a ship.”

“A superluminal?”

“Yes. The City of Memphis. It’s just been launched.”

“It’s named for his hometown,” said Hutch.

“That’s correct. We get it after the end of the year.”

“Why the delay?”

“It has something to do with taxes. But that’s not the point.” She was hesitating. Something she doesn’t want to tell us. “The Memphis is going out to take a look at 1107.”

“Next year.”

“Next week.”

“But you said—”

“It’s on loan.”

“Okay.”

“I’d like you to run the mission, Hutch.”

“Why me?” she asked.

“Hockelmann wants you.” She beamed at Hutch. “It’s the fallout from the Deepsix business. He thinks you’re the best we have.” She caught herself. “Not that you aren’t. We’ll pay well for this one. And when you get back, I’ll see that there’s something waiting for you.”

Eleven-oh-seven was a long way out. “That’s a haul.”

“Hutch. We want very much to keep this guy happy. I’d take it as a personal favor.”

“Who’d be leading the science team?”

“Well, that’s where it gets a little unusual. There won’t be a science team.” She stood, rotated her palms against one another, and tried to look as if everything were in perfect order. “Hutch, this would be basically a PR mission. You’ll be carrying some members of the Contact Society. Including Hockelmann. Show them what they want to see. Which will be a very heavy dead star that just sits there. Cruise around listening for radio transmissions until they get bored, then come home.” She canted her head. “Will you do it?”

It sounded harmless enough. “Which Academy job is coming open?”

“Personnel director.”

“Godwin?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “He’s going to resign.”

But he probably doesn’t know it yet. She didn’t think she’d want the job. But Brawley’s presence was having an effect. She felt uncomfortable turning down a request like this with him standing there. Not that his opinion really mattered.

“I’ll think it over,” she said.

“Hutch, we only have a few days. I’m afraid I have to know tonight.” She got up, came around the desk, and leaned against it. “I’d really like to have you do this.”

Brawley was looking carefully off in another direction.

“Okay,” Hutch said.

“Good.” She picked up a pen and scribbled something on a notepad. “If you can arrange to stop by the ops desk tomorrow, they’ll have all the details for you.” She refilled Hutch’s glass and turned her attention to the Preacher. “I’d like to offer you a commission, Captain Brawley.”

Preach’s eyebrows went up. “You want me to go along?”

“No.”

Pity, thought Hutch.

Virgil touched the desk and the lights went out. A starfield appeared in the center of the room. “Syrian Cluster,” she said. “The neutron star is here.” She moved a pointer to indicate the spot. “And the transmission.” A cursor blinked on and became a line. The line moved among the stars until it touched one, which turned a bright blue. “The Society had suggested the target might be located beyond the immediate area of 1107. That the signal is in fact interstellar.” She shrugged. “I think it’s crazy, but who am I to comment on these things?” She pointed at the blue star and began looking through papers on her desk. “The catalog number is here somewhere.”

Preach watched with rapt attention.

“You’ll note that the neutron star, the entire length of the transmission line, and Point B, the target star, are all well outside the bubble.” Beyond the 120-light-year sphere of explored space that centered, more or less, on Arlington. “The Benjamin Martin mission was our first penetration into that area.

“The Society wants to send a second mission to Point B. They’re willing to pay for it, but they want us to set it up.”

“Why me?” Preach asked. “Why not use one of your own ships?”

“These people like comfort. The Condor is a bit more luxurious than anything we have.” She glanced at Hutch. “You’ll notice that the Memphis is somewhat more than you’re accustomed to, as well.” She held a contract out to Preach: “We’d like to lease you and your ship. For approximately four months.”

He looked at the document. “Let me understand this. You want me to take these people out to Point B to do what?”

“See what’s there.”

“How far is it? From the neutron star?”

She flicked on a lamp and gazed at her notes. “Sixteen light-years.”

He looked down at the contract. “I have to check on other commitments,” he said. “I’ll let you know in the morning.”

“WHAT DID YOU think of the chicken?” Preach asked as they recrossed the bridge.

“It was okay,” she said.

The sky had clouded over, and there was a sprinkle of rain on the wind. He looked down at her with those large blue eyes. “How about a sandwich before we call it a night? Some real food.”

They took a taxi across the Potomac to the Crystal Tower. Pricey, she thought, but if Brawley wanted to show off a bit, she was willing to cooperate.

They came down on the rooftop, descended one floor to Maxie’s, and settled into a booth with a view of the Lincoln Memorial and the White House Museum, resplendent behind its dikes. Constitution Island was a smear of lights in the rain, which was growing more intense. The fireplace was crackling happily, and whispery music drifted out of the sound system. Hutch slipped out of her wrap.

“What do you think?” Preach asked. “Should I go?” He looked gorgeous in the shifting light.

She smiled. “Why would you ask me? Did you mean what you said? Are you booked?”

“I can subcontract the other assignments.”