“The majority of Earth’s people want the probe to go, and they have the right to decide how to run their world.”

The lift they squeezed into was full, so she couldn’t answer until they reached the corridor on the lab’s level. “Don’t the Tourists have an equal right to go home?”

“Certainly. But not at such a price.” He repeated his argument that, with time, humans would be able to defend themselves. “And the Residents will help.” If we still exist. “This is our world. Home. Does that make sense?”

“Yes. But I’m sure not all Residents are like you.”

“True. No two alike. Just like humans.” He wanted to wrap her in his arms and kiss her forever. But he kept his hands to himself. They rounded the last corner, and found a squad of Brink’s security guards outside the lab doors. Their dress uniform trim gleamed, and they stood to attention at full military brace. Pretending to be an honor guard?

It took the guards five minutes to validate their identities and pass them through. Inside, his entire crew was lined up, wearing fresh lab coats and solemn expressions. Among them, Titus counted ten new faces-the plainclothes guards.

W.S. emblems had been stenciled on the consoles. Colby was giving an interview in front of his office, between a W.S. flag and a Project Hail banner that hadn’t been there before.

A young man with a clipboard rushed up to them. “You’d be Dr. Shiddehara-and you are?”

“Inea Cellura, staff astronomer.”

“Fine. Then would you please just step over there with the staff?” He checked off something on his board. “Dr. Shiddehara, would you come with me, please?”

He wanted to pull Inea over with him, but she rolled her eyes, then meekly joined Shimon and the others.

“We’ll want a shot of you at the observatory console that controls the Eighth Antenna Array-that is the one nearest this station?” At Titus’s nod, the young man continued, “A shot of you aiming the Eighth at Taurus sending a signal to Wild Goose will be splendid.” He ignored Titus’s protest that the Eighth couldn’t see Taurus today, and that Wild Goose wasn’t anywhere near Taurus. “Have you seen Dr. Nandoha?”

“No. I haven’t seen him.”

“Titus!” exclaimed Colby. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like you to meet the man responsible, Dr. Titus Shiddehara.”

People tucked notepads under their elbows to patter their hands in polite applause. Titus nodded graciously, and let himself be posed for pictures and rapid-fire interviews. Although every reporter represented more than one publication, the crowd still overtaxed the lab’s air system.

When, inevitably, the topic turned to the recent attack on Titus’s life, Colby reached behind her to bring an older woman to the fore. She was nearly Titus’s own height, and had the splendid black skin of deepest Africa and a Haitian accent.

“This is Rebecca Whithers, the lawyer representing the Project in this matter,” said Colby, listing her titles.

Titus couldn’t take his eyes off Whithers. The Project uniform clung to her revealing not a “well-presewed” figure, but contours that bespoke vast strength. Like “Ebony!”

Associations clicked into a pattern. He had seen Ebony outside the centrifuge as he went in. She was the right size to wear the ninja costume, and certainly had the strength. She’d be unlikely to have real computer wizardry. Caught in the act, she’d have forgotten any precise instructions on how to gimmick the controls.

Meanwhile, the lawyer eloquently fielded questions fired at her in three languages. Then someone shifted back to the technical, and she laughed. “Dr. Shiddehara will have to answer that!”

Titus launched into his explanation of how the orbital and extra-solar observatories and probes had tracked the stranger craft into the solar system, how one key probe, Wild Goose, had gone dark-but might yet return, giving vital data on the trajectory.

Then he explained how the craft’s approach line wasn’t sufficient data. Biomed and Engineering would soon provide spectral data. He went on to introduce their demonstrations.

“With all this data, we can choose a logical target for our probe’s message. As you’ve probably heard, we already have a broad region of space identified, the Taurus region.”

Everyone laughed. Speculation had been running wild about every known star in that area ever since Kylyd had been spotted approaching.

Titus cited probabilities to show it was unlikely any visible star was the aliens’ home. Modern instruments-great-grandchildren of the first orbital telescope used in the nineties– had revealed a few possibilities, but all the data wasn’t in yet.

A man Titus thought he recognized stepped forward. “If I might interrupt for a moment, I have something I believe it would be appropriate to present now.”

As he approached Titus, the ten guards in the lab tensed. Titus could feel the atmosphere crackle as the man proffered a small black case. “Here, Dr. Shiddehara, is a copy of your famous private star catalogue.”

“What!” exclaimed Colby.

“Don’t touch that!” yelled a Brink’s guard.

Titus’s hand froze. The guard who’d yelled ran up and whipped the black box from the reporters’ hands, apologizing to the man by name. Titus realized this reporter was famous for the integrity of his investigative reporting.

Titus caught his eye and shrugged ruefully. “Security. After that attack on me-you understand.”

“I see. Well, it is your own catalogue, a gift from sources I can’t name, made before the Project’s official copy-the one taken from your own home-was tampered with.”

“Tampered. !” Colby choked, then whirled and shot to the back of the room issuing rapid-fire orders to a Brink’s guard. He left, and Colby returned, all cameras on her.

“May I ask that you hold off reporting this until we have verified it. We have, at this time, no reason to believe the Project’s copy which arrived on your shuttle has been altered in any way. Most likely, this pirated copy is the one at fault, and I believe only Dr. Shiddehara will be able to discern the truth of the matter.”

One man objected. “The press always tries to cooperate, Dr. Colby, but in this case it might be unwise to-”

She interrupted. “By morning we’ll have an official statement for you. Arrangements will be made for those of you who wish to file copy tomorrow at noon. In the meantime, we do have a most interesting demonstration here. Doctor?”

Titus introduced Inea and she ran the demonstration.

Still Abbot had not showed up. As the reporters peered into the chemists’ tank, Colby fretted, “What could have happened to Abbot? Should I start a search?”

“No,” whispered Titus in answer while all eyes watched the marvelous prize brahma bull stamp and snort among the stars of Taurus-the stars of the constellation connected by flashing lines to show the constellation’s mythical outline changing with the centuries. “He might be coping with some embarrassing malfunction of station life-support. The reporters would love it.”

“Good point. But I’m worried. He said he’d be here.”

“He might be camera shy,” suggested Titus. Older luren avoided publicity so it would be easier to change identities. He hadn’t thought that would be Abbot’s main concern right now.

He still hadn’t shown up when Titus’s own program was ready to run. Titus had to stand amid the computers with Shimon and explain how this was a simplified version of the program they would run on the real data; how he’d inserted plausible guesses for missing facts for the sake of demonstration.

Shimon traced the route of the data through the complex system, through error checking and backup, and went into lurid technical detail for the science reporters, explaining how the system was almost as fast as it had been. Titus interrupted when the others began to stifle yawns. “All right, let’s run it and see what it says.”