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After Captain Gold said his farewells to Saadya and Paulos, and beamed back to the da Vinci, Soloman remained aboard Ishtar Station. He had busied himself alongside Paulos and her frantically busy staff ever since the careful lowering of the force-field grid had allowed the Ground Station Vesper crew to be beamed up to the station, along with many of the other surface-based personnel. As he walked the length of the orbital complex, heading toward the docking port where the Kwolek was moored, he realized he wasn’t entirely certain why he’d opted not to beam back to the da Vinci with the captain.

Perhaps he was merely stalling. He knew, after all, that Dr. Lense would want to examine him—and interrogate him about his informational ordeal with the other Bynars—the moment he returned to the da Vinci.

Soloman entered the corridor adjacent to the docking port. He saw 1011 and 1110 approaching from an adjoining corridor, as though summoned by his thoughts.

He saw in their hard, dark eyes that their contemptuous feelings for him had softened not at all.

“So you—”

“—are still—”

“—aboard—”

“—Ishtar Station.”

Soloman found their grasp of the obvious just as keen as ever. Trying to maintain a guarded expression, he said, “As are both of you, I see.”

“Only—”

“—temporarily.”

“Bynaus has—”

“—summoned us—”

“—home.”

Home. From the smug manner with which 1110 had delivered that word, Soloman knew it had been intended to wound. As long as he remained a singleton—an informational cripple and a social deviant in the eyes of his people—he knew he could never again use that word to describe Bynaus.

Then a completely unaccustomed feeling abruptly seized him. His facial muscles grew involuntarily tight and he heard a rhythmic, high-pitched, hiccup-like noise start up and repeat itself spasmodically.

Nearly three full seconds elapsed before Soloman realized that he was the source of the sound.

The other Bynars watched him in evident perplexity as he surrendered himself to the fit of laughter. Their disgust swiftly gave way to fear, and they quickly withdrew down the corridor as though certain that he had gone mad.

Perhaps I have.

Uncountable moments later, Soloman’s laughter faltered, slowed, and finally ceased. He felt limp and wrung out. But also strangely joyful.

Bynaus rejects me, even though I have accomplished things that linked Bynars clearly cannot. That new moon forming over Venus proves it.

But something more fundamental vexed him: Try as he might, he could feel no sorrow over having lost Bynaus. Especially a Bynaus that would embrace the likes of 1011 and 1110.

“Hey, what was that all about?” said Fabian Stevens, whom Soloman belatedly realized must have been standing for quite some time behind him in the open hatchway leading to the docked shuttle. The nearby sounds of Bynar conversation and hysterical laughter must have made him curious.

Soloman instinctively raised his shields. “I merely had to conclude some…unfinished business.”

The tactical specialist eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then shrugged in apparent resignation. “I understand. It’s a Bynar thing, so you probably don’t feel comfortable talking about it with any of your human friends.”

Soloman thought about that for a moment. Were he still bonded to 111—and had circumstances not forced him to improvise with Project Ishtar’s data in a most un-Bynar-like fashion—he would no doubt have agreed with Stevens’s assessment.

Now he wasn’t so sure. He only knew that the disapproval of Stevens and the rest of his shipmates suddenly mattered to him far more than any amount of opprobrium his fellow Bynars could heap upon him.

Just as Stevens was starting to turn back toward the hatchway, Soloman came to a decision. “Fabian…”

Turning back toward Soloman, Stevens asked, “Is something wrong, Soloman?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

Stevens smiled. “Well, only three choices. That narrows things down a bit. How can I help?”

“I would be very interested…in hearing your advice on some of my…unfinished business.”

Still smiling, Stevens gestured toward the waiting