They served chicken and rice with green beans and an array of fruit and desserts. As banquets usually went, the food wasn’t bad.

Sylvia Virgil, the Academy’s Director of Operations, emceed the program, introduced the guests, and gave special recognition to Matthew Brawley, who, alerted by Barber, had “arrived at the critical moment” to rescue Dr. Dimenna, his team, and their dependents. Preach came forward, received a plaque, and got a round of applause. He looked like a hero. He was only a bit over average height, but he walked like a man who would not hesitate to tangle with a tiger. Somehow, he also managed a self-deprecating aw-shucks smile that suggested we are all heroes, that he just happened to be in the right place.

Hutch watched him and became conscious of her heartbeat. Well, why not? She was entitled.

Virgil next asked all the persons to stand who had been at Renaissance Station when the catastrophe developed. They were seated more or less together in the front of the banquet hall on the left. They got up and smiled back at the audience while imagers homed in and applause rolled through the room. One of the smaller children looked around, bewildered.

The director next summoned Senator Allen Nazarian to present the award to Barber.

Nazarian sat on the Science and Research Committee, where he functioned as a champion of Academy funding. He was one of the widest human beings Hutch had ever seen, but despite his girth, he rose with grace, acknowledged the applause, strode to the lectern, and looked out across the tables. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in his Boston Brahmin tones, “it’s an honor to be with you tonight on this auspicious occasion.”

He went on in a high-flown manner for several minutes, talking about the dangers and rigors of doing research in the hostile environment beyond Earth. “Our people constantly put their lives at risk. And one has only to stroll through these buildings to see plaques commemorating those who have made the ultimate sacrifice.

“Fortunately, tonight, there’ll be no memorial. No monument. And we owe that happy fact to the judgment and swift response of one man. Everyone here knows the story, how Barber correctly interpreted the danger when communications were lost almost simultaneously with both Renaissance Station and with the Wildside.”

Hutch’s emotions must have been showing: A young man on her right asked if she were okay.

“Clay recognized the fingerprint of an EMP event,” Nazarian continued. “And he realized that the disruption meant conditions at Proteus had worsened. It was possible that both Renaissance Station and the ship were in danger. He could not know for certain what was happening, and there was only one vessel, the Condor, that could be sent to the rescue. But the distance between the Condor and the people at Proteus was increasing every minute he delayed.

“In the best traditions of the Academy, he assumed the worst and diverted the Condor, and to that happy judgment, we owe the lives of the men, women, and children who had been living and working at Proteus.” He turned and looked to his left. “Dr. Barber.”

Barber, who’d been seated at a front table, rose with all due modesty. Smiled at the audience. Started forward.

Nazarian bent down behind the lectern, retrieved an object wrapped in green cloth. It was a medallion. “It gives me great pleasure…”

Barber beamed.

Nazarian read from the inscription. “…for exercising judgment and initiative, resulting in the rescue of the fifty-six persons at Renaissance Station. Given in recognition by the commissioner, September 29, 2224.”

Dimenna, seated a table away from Hutch, glanced over his shoulder at her, then leaned toward her. “Bet you’re glad he was there to pull your chestnuts out of the fire, Hutchins.”

Barber held the award high for everyone to see, shook Nazarian’s hand, and turned to the audience. He confessed he had done nothing that any other operations chief under the circumstances wouldn’t have done. The inference to be drawn from the evidence had been clear enough. He thanked Sara Smith, a watch officer who’d called his attention to the anomaly. And Preacher—Barber dropped the Matthew and used the name by which the man was really known—Brawley who, when alerted to the danger, had not hesitated to go to the rescue. At his insistence, Matt stood for a second round of cheers. Oh, and Priscilla Hutchins, who helped get some of the staff out on the Wildside, was here also. Hutch rose to scattered applause.

WHEN IT WAS over, she noticed that Preach began to head her way. She idled out through a rear door, giving him time. She was talking to a couple of the Academy’s administrative people when he caught up, beamed a smile at her, bent down, and kissed her chastely on one cheek. “Good to see you again, Hutch,” he said.

There’d been no chance to talk during the rescue. She’d had to replace her damaged electronics while the Condor waited to dock. And while she scrambled across the hull, locking in the new gear, Preach had fidgeted. “I don’t want to rush you, babe,” he’d said. And, “It’s not getting any earlier out here.”

She’d wrapped the job in seventeen minutes flat, and three minutes later wished him luck and cleared the area.

She was well ahead of the flare and knew the Wildside would have no problem. The Condor, though, was going to need a quick getaway and lots of acceleration. It would be a bumpy ride, accompanied by a serious scare. But the Preacher brought them through and delivered everyone several days later to Serenity Station. By then Hutch was gone, on her way home.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” he said. “They told me you were on assignment.”

Hutch nodded. “I’m not surprised. They think everybody’s always on assignment.”

“Does the Academy really give awards when people are smart enough to overcome a screwup that shouldn’t have happened in the first place?”

She laughed and waved the question away. “I was never so glad to see anybody in my life, Preach.” She’d told him from the Wildside how grateful she was for his timely appearance, and he’d smiled and shrugged and allowed as how he was glad to have been in a position to help.

“I’ll say this for him though,” said Preach. “I have to like anybody who gives me the chance to win the gratitude of a beautiful woman.” He looked around the banquet hall. “How about joining me,” he said, “for a drink at the Skyway?”

“If you’ll show me your plaque.”

He nodded and unwrapped it for her. It carried an image of the Condor, and the legend, Salvation Express. It was made of burnished oak, and she felt mildly jealous.

“Salvation Express?” she said.

He let his amusement show. “Better than The Preacher Rides Again, which they tell me was their first choice.”

They were starting for the door when Virgil spotted them, signaled that they should wait, and came over. “Well,” she said, glancing from one to the other, “imagine finding you two together.”

Hutch introduced the director. “We’re indebted to you both,” she said, shaking Preach’s hand. She moved them off to one side. “That could have been a disaster out there. If you two hadn’t gotten everybody out, we’d have been looking at a public relations debacle that might have shut us down altogether.”

And people would have been dead, too. But never mind.

She had good reason to be grateful: The director had had a role in approving the decision to keep Renaissance open.

“You were lucky,” rumbled Preach, looking solemnly at her. He was extraordinarily handsome, Hutch decided, in evening clothes. Blue jacket, white shirt, blue cravat. An eagle ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. It was silver and had been awarded to him by the World Humanitarian Commission for taking emergency medical supplies to Quraqua at his own expense. All in all, he was quite dashing.