“Neither of those is an option.”

“Sure they are.” She stared at him across the wide expanse of his desk. “Michael, I’m not sending anybody else out on the Colbys.”

“Priscilla, I’ll expect you to do what the missions require.”

“You’ll have to find someone else to do it.”

His face hardened. “Don’t force me to take action we’ll both regret.”

“Look, Michael.” She was usually even-tempered, but she kept thinking about Abdul and his passengers when the alarms went off. “I knew before the Heffernan went out that it wasn’t safe.”

He looked shocked. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Sure I did. You just don’t listen unless I beat on the table. The whole Colby line is unsafe. We’re taking people’s lives in our hands. You and me. It’s time to go talk to your friends on Capitol Hill.”

“All right,” he said. “Okay. Keep calm. Take a look at what you think we have to do. Give me a plan, and we’ll go from there. I’ll do what I can.”

MOST OF THE reporters were scattered around the world in remote locations, but twenty or so showed up physically for the briefing, which was being held on the first floor of the conference center. Hutch watched from her office.

Eric, who pretended to believe Michael Asquith was a leader of uncommon ability, made a brief opening statement, reiterating what the journalists had by then already learned, that the Heffernan, while in hyperspace, had apparently developed a problem with her engines, and was currently unaccounted for. “The Wildside is on its way, and will be on-site within twenty-four hours. The al-Jahani is also close by. We’re optimistic everything will be okay.”

The first question, the one they all knew was coming, was asked by the New York Times: “Eric, there’ve been reports of breakdowns throughout the Academy fleet recently. Just how safe are the starships? Would you put your family in one?”