When Harry arrived at the address he had been given, he hesitated at the door. Trace had always been – unique, and it had been so many years since Harry had seen him. Really, Harry had been only a child at the time. But he remembered sitting next to Trace as he worked, listening to the man explain the intricate details of the inner workings of some aspect of a thruster control panel or a reactor chamber instrument.

It turned out he didn’t even need to knock. Trace opened the door and stood there, towering over Harry, distinctive eyes staring him in the face.

“Trace,” said Harry, holding out his hand and feeling about twelve years old. “It’s me, Harry.”

“I remember you,” said Trace, shaking the offered hand with the hint of a smile. Come in.”

Only then did Harry notice that Trace’s dark, powerful hands held a tea cup, which he was drying with a red plaid towel. It seemed so incongruous that the man should dry dishes – but even geniuses needed dishes dried, he supposed.

He followed Trace into the house, which was dark and sparse, as Harry could have guessed. “How’s your mother?” he asked.

Trace led the way to a kitchen, small, but brighter than what Harry could see of the rest of the place. “She is well. That is, as well as can be expected.”

“Did you tell her I was visiting?”

“No. I don’t want to upset her. Her memory is not always perfect, and trying to explain things about your mother might be confusing.”

Harry understood. The other man gestured to a seat a small metal table in one corner of the kitchen, and he sat down at it.

“So.” He set the cup and the towel neatly on the kitchen counter, pulled out the chair opposite Harry, and set down, still staring with piercing directness. “You said you needed my help?”

Harry pulled out his pad and turned it on. “I’ve been traveling for several months now, writing stories about my mother. At first… I just wanted to solidify things that she had told me. I didn’t want to lose any pieces of her life. But the more I wrote, the more I thought about her, the more I just… I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it. More to her… her death, I mean. Too many unanswered questions. My father and grandfather gave up a long time ago, but…” He looked at Trace’s still-staring eyes, and saw that the man was listening with serious attention, not merely humoring him. “Anyway. I started to make some inquiries. Then I got a call. I think it was from her, but…” He held the pad out towards Trace. “Whoever it was didn’t say much, just that she thought I might be looking for her and she didn’t want me to. I couldn’t call back. But it was her. I know it was. It might have been a long time, but…” He paused, feeling the vulnerability become almost too much to bear. “Do you think you could forget your mother’s voice?”

“No,” said Trace, eyes on the screen now. “I do not.”

There was silence for a long while. Then Trace spoke again. “You have many connections, within and without ISA. Why come to me?”

Harry smiled just a little. “I trust you to be logical.”

The smile was mirrored on Trace’s face as he looked up again. “Yes,” he said. “That is correct of you.”

Trace tapped at the screen for a moment, then turned the pad over and studied the back of it. “The chances aren’t good,” he said evenly. “I will do my best. But it will take time. And I have other work.”

“Of course.” Harry stood up. “I should get back to my hotel. I still have more stories to write.”

“You will stay here,” said Trace. Not a question, not an offer, just a statement, as if it had already been discussed and decided.

“You said you had work to do…” It was a feeble attempt at dissent. Truth be told, the idea of staying at Trace’s quiet house, where they could reminisce about the old days, was much more appealing than the idea of being holed up for goodness knew how many days in yet another lonely hotel room.

“I’ll get sheets for the couch,” said Trace, again, as if it had been discussed already. “It folds out into a decent bed.”

Harry nodded his agreement, already planning to begin his next story – her next story – that evening.