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that Mr. Heflin had addressed me by my alias. My other alias, that is. This meant that no one had yet matched Lucius Guthrie’s biometric profile to that of Jules Truffaut…and that meant there was hope for me yet.
    â€œCertainly. Of course.” I deftly unsnarled the shoulder harness, then unbuckled the lap strap. “Yes?” I asked, looking back at him again. “May I help you?”
    â€œCommodore wants to see you.” He cocked his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
    I could have made a fuss about this—I’d purchased a ticket, after all, so I was technically a first-class passenger—but I had little doubt that the chief petty officer could’ve called in a couple more crewmen and had me frog-marched to the bridge. And just then, I wanted to show that I was willing to cooperate. So I stood up and left the cabin without protest. The steward stood in her alcove, her face set in prim disapproval; past her, I caught a glimpse of second-class passengers craning their necks to see what the commotion was all about. Mr. Marcuse had the sullen expression of someone who’d been betrayed; I gave him an apologetic shrug, but he just looked away. I felt sorry for him; it would be a long time before he’d trust anyone during shore leave again.
    I was heading down the passageway, with Mr. Heflin behind me and a warrant officer waiting at the hatch, when I spotted another passenger standing in the open door of his cabin. A short, middle-aged man, with a shaved scalp and sharp eyes. He studied me as I walked past, and I was about to dismiss him as another curious bystander when he favored me with a sly wink. Almost as if he knew something that I didn’t.
    This was the wrong place and time to strike up a conversation, though, and the warrant officer wasn’t interested in letting me make new friends. An unnecessary shove against my shoulder, and I ducked my head slightly to exit the hatch leading from the first-class section. Now I was back in the utilitarian confines of the rest of the ship. Mr. Heflin slammed the hatch shut behind us, then the warrant officer beckoned toward an access shaft. As I began to climb the stairs, I noticed that they went downward as well, leading to Deck One.
    A useful bit of knowledge. I tried to keep it in mind.
    IX
    The bridge was located on Deck Three, within the superstructure that rose above the ship’s bow. Although I’d seen photos of the command center during UA intelligence briefings, nonetheless I was surprised by just how small it actually was. A narrow compartment, with major flight stations on either side of a long aisle: very tight, without an inch of wasted space. Nothing like those of the Western Hemisphere Union starships that once journeyed to Coyote at sublight speeds…but then again, the Union Astronautica weren’t building them anymore, were they?
    The captain’s chair was located at the opposite end of the bridge, overlooking a split-level subdeck where the helm and navigation stations were located. Commodore Tereshkova was waiting for me; when she stood up, I almost had an urge to ask for an autograph. Or even a date. Sure, she was almost old enough to be my mother, but no command-rank officer in the Union Astronautica ever wore a uniform so well.
    Then she turned glacial eyes upon me, and my sophomoric fantasies were forgotten. “Is this our stowaway, Mr. Heflin?”
    Before he could respond, I cleared my throat. “Pardon me, but…”
    â€œWhen I want to hear from you, I’ll let you know.” She looked at her chief petty officer. “Mr. Heflin?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. Cabin 4, first-class section, just where the passenger manifest said he would be.” He paused. “He came quietly, without any resistance.”
    â€œAnd you have no idea how he got aboard?”
    â€œNo, ma’am. When Ms. Fawcett double-checked the manifest, she discovered that his