“Dr. Henckel here was the assistant director of the project, of course, and I'm sure she will have much to offer. The same applies to Dr. Judd, here on my right, who is the only other surviving member. You, Mr. Pratt, and Ms. Yount next to you, and Dr. Fisk there, as close relatives of the three young people who lost their lives, are in a position to provide many insights into their personalities and characters, of which I could hardly be aware."

He paused for a beat, as they liked to say in television. “I need hardly add that all of your contributions will be gratefully acknowledged in the book."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Anna Henckel stiffen at that. He was right, then. Still nursing that ancient and absurd grudge, was she? Well, he'd forgotten it long ago. Not that her savagely vindictive letters to the Journal of Systematic Botany wouldn't rankle even now, if he let them. And what about that virulent and unjustified attack on him at the 1969 American Society of Plant Taxonomists congress in Phoenix? If anyone had the right to a grudge, he did. Fortunately, that wasn't the kind of person he was. As far as he was concerned, bygones were bygones. Water under the bridge.

He smiled again at Pratt. “Does that clarify things, Mr. Pratt?"

"I suppose so,” Pratt said with a shrug. He poked with a finger at his thin, dark mustache. “Tell the truth, though, I don't really see what I can add."

There Tremaine agreed with him. He didn't see what any of them could add-for what he'd told Pratt hadn't been quite true. This gathering hadn't been his idea at all. It had come from Javelin Press; from their attorney. Javelin had been on the losing end of an invasion-of-privacy settlement not long before, and they were still skittish. The best way to avoid problems, the attorney had said, was to “co-opt potential adversaries by involving them in the developmental process.” If they chose not to participate, they would be asked to sign a statement so indicating. But they had chosen to participate.