She updated Asquith. Got him out of bed to do it. He listened, frowned, nodded, shook his head. “Let’s keep the lid on this,” he said, “until we know what’s happening.”

“I’ve cautioned our people, Michael. But we’re not going to be able to sit on it long. The story’s too big.”

“Do what you can.”

“You might want to think about holding a press conference later this morning. Tell the media what we know. Control things a bit. It’s just a matter of time before it gets out.”

“Okay,” he said. “See to it.”

“Michael,” she said, making no effort to hide her annoyance, “Eric works for you.”

He nodded. “Coordinate with him. Make sure he has everything he needs.”

THERE WAS STILL no word from the Heffernan when she got to the office an hour later. Not a good sign. She turned on her desk lamp, said hello to Marla, her AI, and collapsed into a chair.

If Abdul’s hypercomm was down, they had a serious problem. They could not precisely compute the ship’s position in hyperspace. Where transdimensional space was concerned, there was always a fudge factor. Academy pilots were trained, in the event they had to exit, to send a message immediately before they took the action. His failure to do so left them operating from guesswork.

Vehicles moving through hyperspace traveled at an equivalent rate of approximately 1.1 billion kilometers per second. Not knowing precisely when Abdul made his jump meant they could be anywhere along a track billions of kilometers long. Abdul and his people might be pretty hungry by the time help arrived.

She listened to the original message, in which Abdul said he was having engine trouble, and they were going to make their jump. And she decided she was worrying unnecessarily. The guy was a veteran, and he was telling them he was seconds away from pulling the trigger. The Wildside should have no trouble finding them.