"Only by legend," Wynne answered. "He died four, five years ago, I heard."

"Yes, I know."

"Musta been past eighty. Friend of yours?"

"Sort of. And he was past ninety."

"Ninety!"

"I knew him . . . lord, it was almost ten years ago. Back when we were just starting the first Air Force manned space missions. Helluva guy."

Mary-Ellen said, "I'd better pay some attention to the other guests. There are several old friends of yours here tonight, Chet. Mix around, you'll find them."

With another rasping chuckle, Wynne said, "Guess we could give somebody else a chance to get to the bar."

Kinsman started to drift away but Wynne followed behind him.

"Murdock send you over here to soften up McGrath?"

Pushing past a pair of arguing, arm-waving cigar smok- ers, Kinsman frowned. "I was invited to this party weeks ago. I told you, the Senator and I are old friends."

"And how friendly are you with Mrs. McGrath?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Wynne let his teeth show, "Handsome astronaut, good- looking wife, busy Senator . . ."

"That's pretty foul-minded, even for a newsman."

"Just doin' my job," Wynne said, stilt smiling. "Nothing personal. Besides, you got nothing to complain about, as far as news people are concerned. The rumor is that you're the astronaut who killed that Russian cosmonaut several years ago."

It was the hundredth time since Kinsman had arrived in Washington that a reporter had faced him with the accusa- tion. The Aerospace Force public relations people had worked assiduously to keep the story "unofficial," citing the slender thread of cooperation that still remained between the Soviet and American civilian space programs. The media had backed off, spurred more than a little by the government's tough new regulations on licenses for broadcasting stations and mail permits for newspapers and magazines. But individ- ual newsmen still braced Kinsman with the story, trying to get an admission from him.

Freezing his emotions within himself. Kinsman answered merely, "I've heard that rumor myself."

"You deny that it's true?"

"I'm not a public relations officer. I don't go around denying rumors. Or confirming them."

"Look," Wynne insisted, "the Air Force can't cover up this story forever."

"Aerospace Force," Kinsman said. "The name's been changed to Aerospace Force." 173

Wynne shrugged and raised his glass in a mock salute. "I stand corrected, Major."

Kinsman turned and started working his way toward the other end of the room. A grandfather clock chimed in a corner, barely audible over the human noises and clacking of ice in glassware. Eighteen hundred. Royce and Smitty ought to be halfway to Copernicus by now.

And then he heard her. He did not have to see her, he knew it was Diane. The same pure, haunting soprano; a voice straight out of a fairy tale: