asked ya
that, Cap'n, pleasir. You ain't been wrong yet."

"It's O.K., Thomas," I said. "There won't be any more trouble."

EPILOGUE

On the eve of the twentieth anniversary of Reunion Day, a throng of
well-heeled celebrants filled the dining room and overflowed onto the
terraces of the Star Tower Dining Room, from whose 5,700 foot height
above the beaches, the Florida Keys, a hundred miles to the south, were
visible on clear days.

The _Era_ reporter stood beside the vast glass entry way surveying the
crowd, searching for celebrities from whom he might elicit bits of color
to spice the day's transmission.

At the far side of the room, surrounded by chattering admirers, stood
the Ambassador from the New Terran Federation; a portly, graying, jolly
ex-Naval officer. A minor actress passed at close range, looking the
other way. A cabinet member stood at the bar talking earnestly to a ball
player, ignoring a group of hopeful reporters and fans.

The _Era_ stringer, an experienced hand, passed over the hard pressed
VIP's near the center of the room and started a face-by-face check of
the less gregarious diners seated at obscure tables along the sides of
the room.

He was in luck; the straight-backed gray-haired figure in the dark
civilian suit, sitting alone at a tiny table in an alcove, caught his
eye. He moved closer, straining for a clear glimpse through the crowd.
Then he was sure. He had the biggest possible catch of the day in his
sights; Admiral of Fleets Frederick Greylorn.

The reporter hesitated; he was well aware of the Admiral's reputation
for near-absolute silence on the subject of his already legendary
cruise, the fabulous voyage of the _Galahad_. He couldn't just barge in
on the Admiral and demand answers, as was usual with publicity-hungry
politicians and show people. He could score the biggest story of the
century today; but he had to hit him right.

You couldn't hope to snow a man like the Admiral; he wasn't somebody you
could push around. You could sense the solid iron of him from here.

Nobody else had noticed the solitary diner. The _Era_ man drifted
closer, moving unhurriedly, thinking furiously. It was no good trying
some tricky approach; his best bet was the straight-from-the-shoulder
bit. No point in hesitating. He stopped beside the table.

The Admiral was looking out across the Gulf. He turned and glanced up at
the reporter.

The news man looked him squarely in the eye. "I'm