...

"God, what have you done?"

He couldn't suppress the stupid grin on his face.

"So, how did you guys go?"

"Not at all. We went there in Jean's minivan, but all traffic was rerouted two blocks before we got there. We tried to reach the building, but where ever we went, streets were blocked, and we were sent away. It was a mess. We wondered what had happened, but then Michael found stuff on the net. Something about a psychopath at the BM building. You had me worried there for a bit, but I couldn't say anything, of course. And then I found something about a meteor, and I knew it was you. Jean was uncharacteristically graphic in her anger, so I doubt if she gave me any attention at all.

"We aborted the raid, of course. Any chance of doing anything unnoticed was gone. I must say, I am impressed with your thoroughness."

Impressed. He liked that.

They talked about it for a while, but then Esmee suggested that the less she knew about what he had done, the better, perhaps.

"Did you hear anything yet from ..., Mark, yet?"

"No. I haven't heard of him. Didn't expect to yet."

"Ok. There's something else I'd like to ask. There is someone ..., no. I have an idea, and I need money. More than I have. I'm not sure if it would be repaid or if it would work out. Would you mind if I ask you?"

"It's more than ten dollars, right? You don't have to beat about the bush. You can just ask. You may not get the answer you want, but I definitely won't hold asking against you."

"Well. Ok. Yes. It's rather a lot."

He told her, and he admired her for not even blinking.

"That would be about enough to get your friend out of stasis and away from Daimando. And you."

"Yes. But like I said, it isn't for me."

"No. It wouldn't be. It would be for him, wouldn't it."

"Yeah, but it isn't that. It's not for me, and it's not for him, and it won't get anyone off this planet. But I can't tell you what it's about. It's an idea. Maybe it pays off. Maybe it doesn't work out at all."

"Well. Luke. I like you. Very much, in fact. I do trust you, and I am very impressed with what you did today. But this is too much. I can't. It's not that I don't trust you or anything. But I couldn't. I have to work more than a year for that. Way more. So I would very much like to, but I can't. I won't. I'm sorry."

"No. You're right, of course. I'm ashamed to have even asked. It was just an idea, and I understand that you want to know more. To be sure, that is. But I can't talk about it. Ok? Just forget about it."

All the way home, he kept telling himself what an oaf he was. Stupid idea to begin with. And the 'I like you very much" felt as pity more than anything.

...

Dawn had been getting behind schedule with her lids, and not to run the risk of having to sell 'no" at any point in time, she had spent the entire day decorating.

She'd found out the merchant she worked for had five outlets. She had suggested that she might deliver her lids herself at each location, and they hadn't any problem with that. In fact, their tallying occurred at the outlets rather than at the shop anyway, so it saved them some work. There was one condition: if she screwed up once, that would be the end of it, which was ok by her. There was a big advantage for Dawn: now she could reuse the same design without anyone ever feeling that it was mass production. What she did was create a design on one lid, and when it pleased her, she copied it to four further lids. That way, she managed to do almost twenty lids an hour, and by the end of the day, she'd made almost two hundred lids, -- just short of twenty-five dollars, almost enough for a month.

When Luke got home, Dawn was in an exceptionally chatty mood. She proudly showed him the designs she thought were particularly good, and she explained her method of working in some detail. It took almost an hour before she noticed he was preoccupied.

"What's up, Luke. Things aren't working out with Esmee?"

"Well. Things are ok, I guess. I did something stupid today. So now I'm not sure."

"Oh, don't worry about her too much. I will tell you something about Esmee, as one friend to another, as it were. I've never known Esmee to be as outgoing and friendly as she has with you. She's great, but not what you might call, ..., chummy. Don't make anything out of it, but with you, she is. And I can't see how you doing anything might dent her. Nothing much can, and you certainly don't have it in you. I mean. Man. Don't worry. It'll be fine. I'm not telling you where she's going, mind you. I can tell you where she's going, and you wouldn't like it, but she's not going to brush you off for being who you are. She doesn't work that way."

And with that, he'd have to do. Dawn went to clean up her things, humming contentedly to herself and chatting to him about whatever entered her mind. Luke sat and drank a glass or two of lukewarm red, not noticing it in any way and not noticing what he talked about with Dawn. Far too late, they went to sleep. They had been planning to buy a bigger bed for weeks now but hadn't gotten 'round to it.

"Still not in for sex? I mean, I could sure use it right now. It must be spring or something. No? Ok, that's ok."

And then, as they lay in bed, they did, after all. Luke thinking of Esmee, trying not to think of her and at least treating Dawn with the respect and love she was entitled to, and getting frustrated with himself and with Esmee all the while. He was frustrated and felt clogged with anger with everything. Esmee, this world, this system, Xolorrr, the way they had to live, the way they had to get by. And most of all, himself. Later, he breathed in the smell of Dawn's hair and said: "Thanks. For being there. I do love you."

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I didn't mean ..., I didn't mean this. I just needed a fuck. But I do love you. Not in that way. Well, you know."

...

Breakfast was hectic. Both of them smiling guiltily at each other for their own reasons but sharing nonetheless. Richard called Luke to ask how things were going with Linda, and Luke gave him the bad news. Richard merely said: "Ah, well. You can't win them all. Try to make the best of it. She doesn't have any friends or anyone, really. I wouldn't qualify as a friend myself, except that I may very well be the only one. So sad. Try to make the best of it."

Dawn asked Luke whether he would be out all day; she wanted to continue with the momentum she had felt the day before and prepare a cache of lids for lean times.

Then the post office called. Something had arrived for him, and he needed to present himself with proper identification in person in order to get it. He dropped everything and all but ran to the post office.

...

His father had made good of course and sent enough to get Xolorrr out, to ship him to the spaceport in stasis, to travel to the nearby world of Ghudarrr, where the best Urrr doctors would be available, and then for the two of them to go back home. His mother had enclosed her love, and his father grew in Luke's esteem by including a message as well:

"Lucas. You may feel that this is defeat and somehow lessens the quality of your Khar or indeed of yourself. Don't. Life isn't a series of tests that you may or may not pass. It is a continuum of challenges that we have to deal with as best we can, and asking for help is as valid as going at it single-handedly. Indeed, going at it alone is stupid if you can't cope, and alternatives exist. I wouldn't be where I am if I hadn't had the right friends and relatives at the right moments, and I dare say few would. So use this money as you see fit, and don't worry about paying it back. One day you may have children, and they may be in similar circumstances, or worse. Payback then," signed, "John."

Ever so slightly misty-eyed, Luke walked to the Pompidou. He needed to be alone and think about his next steps. He'd been postponing this, but now he had to, even though he didn't want to leave. Couldn't.

He called his lawyer to see how they could proceed. Apparently, the right to terminate a contract one-ended, the patient to be delivered in stasis, was guaranteed by law, though the law was vague on tariffs.

There was, however, quite some jurisprudence, so the lawyer was able to give Luke a figure that supposedly was doable.

And so, munching at a cream cheese and raspberry jam bagel, a luxury he had denied himself for quite a while but now felt he needed if not deserved, he faced his options and made what was the most difficult decision in his life so far. And therefore, the true core of his Khar.

...

Esmee called. Anxious, though not so much scared. She wouldn't say anything over the net, so they agreed to meet again as they had the other time, strolling at random while they talked.

"Mark called. He talked to a friend of a friend of his in Kagan. About two years ago, they were planning to build a Vault over there, on the site of an old-style hospital they wanted to tear down. The mayor was very much in favor and hammered on the city and the people having to think of the future. One of the leading opposing counselors commented that being in stasis didn't give people much time to think, and it sort of stuck as a slogan for a while: 'no time to think.'

"There was a group of activists, or really just protesters. They picketed the hospital site and handed out ultra cheap decorative watches with the text 'no time to think" imprinted on them. The watches weren't set for Daimando time, though, but rather for Carla's Forge, which meant they ran fast. And they couldn't be set.

"The demonstration went horribly awry. The paint they used to print the message turned out to contain a mildly toxic compound. They only found out when someone who wore the watch for laughs became allergic to the stuff. But when they found out, they had to call all the people that got a watch to the hospital for testing. Although nobody actually got hurt, the demonstrators were charged and jailed for assault and attempted murder. Mark says the poison was mild and couldn't have killed or even seriously hurt anyone in such small quantities.

"The people, who are still in jail, claim they never intended to poison anyone. They say there was a woman called Jessica, who participated in this action, who did the painting. They say she wasn't really part of the group and just joined this one time. She was never caught or traced or even seriously looked for. They are still appealing on the grounds that they didn't have any intent and that the police didn't do their job.

"Anyway, according to Mark, the description they gave of this Jessica fits Jean. Maybe a million other women as well, but somewhere in the transcripts, this Jessica is described as a nervous mouse, which struck me as very fitting. Jean, that is. Or maybe it was nervous vermin, I forgot.

"We have to stop her, somehow. I couldn't just leave Michael and Fiona and allow Jean or Jessica or whatever to harm them. I mean, she's bound to continue if this is her."

"Yeah. I agree. And I agree that you can't just leave them. You have to tell Michael and Fiona."

"But I can't prove anything. Not really. There's just the email, which is fairly convincing, but the rest is circumstantial. And we can't go to the police. They don't want to know about this Jessica, and besides, we'd have to admit to planning to raid BM. They wouldn't want to hear anything other than that."

"How about if we lay a trap?"

"How?"

"I don't know. Give her an opportunity she couldn't resist. Assuming Justian isn't in league with her, which he might, but still, assuming he isn't, she just saw it as an opportunity to make you guys do something that she could warp. So I'm saying, give her something else."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Maybe Mark has an idea."

"I can't call him anymore. He's moved, and I should only call him if it's really unavoidable. He'd have to move again, so I'd rather not."

"Ok. So we have to think about it."

It was about dinner time, and they had more or less strolled back to the place where they had their first dinner date. Rather naturally, they decided to go there again, notwithstanding their predicament. Dawn was painting by herself, so Luke would have had to go out anyway.

They started thinking about ways to trap Jean, but their conversation gradually diverged. They talked about future plans after Jean and Xolorrr would be solved. Dreams, really. Esmee dreamed about how it would be when her ancestor was out. How she could show him her world and what had been accomplished in the last two centuries. How they could perhaps travel to other worlds, or how they might even have to, as part of any deal to get him out in the first place.

Luke dreamed, ..., about Esmee, though he kept that to himself. Beyond that, he found that while on Bethnell, he'd felt something lacking in his life, his current predicament, and that of Xolorrr, gave him a purpose and a momentum which in itself he found pleasant. Maybe not pleasant, but fulfilling. Obviously, this would change when Xolorrr was out, but the lesson would remain and would probably change him: without purpose, life is empty, even when it can be pleasant.

Esmee asked where he might want to live and work, but he didn't have an answer.

"My parents and all my friends live on Bethnell. I couldn't have imagined going away permanently, but now I'm here, there's other friends and things. There's Dawn, and Richard. And you, of course."

"Oh, don't put me in your plans, Luke. It's ok to dream and talk about it, but it's nothing but dreams. I do have a purpose, and it's to get the ancient parent out. It is my only purpose, and I won't fit in any other plan. I'm still shaken up from Jean and the raid and people in prison, so it's ok for now to spend some time with you, but don't expect anything. Once I'm up to speed again, I'm not very pleasant, I'm told. I'm sorry, but this is what I live for."

Steering away as quickly as possible, Luke asked: "What's his name, your great, great, whatever grandfather's?"

"I don't know. Some of the papers we had were lost in a fire about a century ago. It's T. Hallipirii, but that's all I know. That's all BM knows either, I think. Many of the records of the earliest times in our colonization were lost. There's something in our air that corrodes the media of that time, apparently. By the time they found out the scope of the problem, many of the earliest records had already gone. That, and saving costs by using cheap hardware and cheaper procedures, of course. It is typical of Daimando. They have money for their grand schemes and gestures, but not even to remember their parents. Bastards."

Different emotions were struggling to take hold: anger, frustration, pity, pain.

"You've seen the central station. Each of those bridges could have bought my ancestor and maybe all people out of stasis at once. Well, maybe not, but only a fraction of that money would have ensured that at least I know his fucking name. Can you imagine? Our fucking history is lost because they've been cutting costs for a fraction of what it cost them to string up some bridges. It's ..."

Anger had won, but then she returned to their table.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't. It doesn't lead anywhere. But it's so frustrating. I really don't even know his name."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked across the room.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I don't want this. Can we go? I really don't want this. It's not you. It's just that ..., I don't know. I'm not getting anywhere."

...

Laura called. She'd been thinking over his proposals and wanted to meet him to talk things over. They agreed to meet in a station close to Luke, halfway Laura's home and work, but then Luke remembered he was supposed to go out with Dawn. So he promised to come to Laura's home early in the afternoon, the next day.

Dawn had been wanting to take him to this performance for a while, but they'd never gotten around to it. She was secretive about its nature. It was, however, necessary to dress up, apparently, so they made the most of their sparse wardrobe.

They took the train to a district Luke had been in only once before. It consisted of well-lit, wide avenues lined with gargantuan office buildings. Although it was night, well after dinner time, there were still many people about, and most offices appeared to be open.

Just as Luke wanted to voice his surprise as to the location, Dawn pulled him into a dark alley all but hidden between two buildings. He would have had trouble to find it at all.

Once inside the alley, it proved more spacious, and light than his first impression had suggested, probably due to the contrast with the buildings flanking it. The passage was lit with what appeared to be turned-down gaslight, and it was pleasantly decorated with green plants and an occasional bed of flowers. Two doors were lit and gave access to a restaurant and a bar. Five tiny tables and chairs, set against the wall, made for a tiny outdoors. All seats were taken with people dressed in their office garb, apparently having an after-work drink.

But Dawn took Luke's arm and pulled him further down the alley, towards an unlit, unmarked doorway at the end. No. As they stepped in, Luke glimpsed a cheap foil sign, saying 'The Bard'.

A small hallway led to the smallest theatre Luke had ever seen. Theatre wasn't the first word to enter his mind, though. There were about twenty chairs facing one end of the room. A tiny podium had been erected from an assortment of what appeared to be surplus building materials. Next to the podium was a door leading to the lavatories, an emergency exit, and, probably, backstage. The room, including the stage, was four meters by eight, an average living room.

Once they had taken their seats, Dawn went to say hello to someone but returned within a minute. They chatted, and each time Luke attempted to get some indication of what they were about to see, Dawn blandly steered to another subject. Gradually the room filled up with people, and then the lights were turned down. Just then, Dawn said: "Woops. I need to pee," and went for the door, only just visible in an emergency light.

The room fell into a hushed silence, and a single spotlight turned on. Somewhere between annoyance and slight concern about Dawn, it took a second before Luke noticed that in this light, the stage was transformed. Gone were the building materials, showing just a smooth surface and the backside of the stage where shadows in a relief suggested two stylized trees.

The door next to the stage opened, and Luke relaxed. But it wasn't Dawn. A gnome of a man ascended the few steps onto the stage. He was fairly short but had a huge barrel chest. His hips were narrow, in comparison. Tiny even, as were his legs and feet. In his obviously muscular arms, he held what turned out to be a musical instrument. He sat cross-legged to one side of the podium and proceeded to tune the instrument. It was a combined string and wind instrument. With his right hand, the man bowed and manipulated a small number of pistons, and with his left, he fingered the string and pressed a larger number of pistons. The sound was low. A rumble more than anything.

The door opened once again. Dawn, to Luke's amazement. She walked onto the stage and sat down as well, center stage. Luke looked at her to make sure. If he hadn't known she'd been backstage, he wouldn't have recognized her. Somehow the stage light and background made her utterly different. He did recognize her clothes, though.

The man started playing. A mournful rumble, which grew briefly in intensity but then all but died out to a whisper. Dawn started to speak.

"Mommy? I didn't mean to mommy. And I said I was sorry. I won't ever do it again, mommy. Never ever.

"Please don't go away. I will be a good girl.

"Mommy? Mommy?"

The music took on a new character. A new rhythm. In another voice, Dawn told about a life. A life full of expectation, but then full of sorrow. It was unclear if she described the mother or the daughter. Towards the end, the unsubstantiated expectations, losses, and hardship turned into scary lunacy.

Luke felt the audience hold their breath, swallow, unclench knotted-up muscles, as did he. The end came abruptly, the music stopping as the text did, almost mid-sentence. It was silent for several minutes.

The lights went out, and some rustling was heard on the stage. The spotlights came on again, and Dawn and the man stood center stage. Only then did the applause start. The two bowed and left the stage. The lights went out again, and then the normal lights went on. Within a minute, Dawn and the man came into the room. About half the audience appeared to be acquaintances. They went to Dawn and the man, embracing them, congratulating them, kissing them, and shaking hands. When Luke reached Dawn, he embraced her and said: "Wow. That was truly something."

"Come, I'll introduce you to Sergei. Sergei, this is my mate Luke Goodholland. This is Sergei Gridoniu. We've been to art school together. Well, all of two months, and then Sergei went to do something else again. Was that the longest time you stayed in one place, Sergei?"

"Haha. I stay in places. It's just the people they accept in art schools. I couldn't handle that.

"Hi Luke, it is my pleasure to meet you. Dawn may have mentioned you before, but we don't exactly keep track."

And away, he was swept by a tiny blonde woman.

"When did you do this. I mean, did you rehearse, or what is it?"

"We don't rehearse, but we've done similar things before. It's stuff I write or not really write. It's just moods and loose ends. And Sergei does the same with the oorgle. So it's improvised, even though we agree on some of the themes. "D'you like it?"

"Yeah. Unnerving, but really impressive. I didn't know you did this."

"Oh. We just do it every now and then when Sergei's around. It's nothing big, but there's always people who like it."

Most of the people had left, and they went as well. "Sergei? I'll call you, ok?"

Most seats on the tiny terrace were free. Only a few die-hards were left, and one or two people were having a bite. But Dawn preferred to go. So she took Luke into the wide avenue, and they strolled along until the avenue ended on a huge square.

All along the side, there were bars and restaurants, but Dawn crossed the road to the center of the square, which was occupied by a tower, narrow at the bottom but growing much wider overhead.

In the tower, there were narrow winding stairs, which grew a bit wider as the tower itself widened. After countless steps, when they had climbed perhaps thirty or forty yards, the stairs ended into a small doorway which led to a fairly large deck. As they stepped out, Luke saw that the tower continued much higher, culminating in a thin spire.

On the deck, twenty or thirty tables seated people having drinks or dinner. Most tables were occupied, but Dawn spotted an empty table at the very edge. The view was truly nice. Around the square stood the immensely tall office buildings, but they sat precisely at a crossing of two broad avenues, so they had an unobstructed view for hundreds of yards.

They sat and ordered wine, French bread, and cheese. While they waited, Dawn said: "I am going away for a couple of days. Sergei needs to run an errand, and there are people there that we both know. Sergei is going to ask his boss if they can pay for my ticket, but it's only $20, so I'd pay for it myself anyway, and we can stay with our friends."

"Sure. If there's anything you deserve, it's a break."

Their wine and cheese arrived, and they chatted. About Dawn's time in art school, about her friends, and about her trip. She would leave first thing the next morning.

...

Luke woke with a start. He'd gone to bed early and just woke from a nightmare. He sat up and thought about its meaning while he could still grasp the quickly dissolving thread of the dream. It was Jean.

He called Esmee. "Esmee, it's Luke. I've just thought of something. About Jean. The thing is, she's crazy. We can't presume to know what she's might or might not do. So I think we have to warn Fiona and Michael immediately. We can think of a trap or whatever, but we have to warn Fiona and Michael."

"Hi, Luke. Getting lonely?"

"What?"

"Well, with Dawn gone, and already you start calling people at the oddest moments."

"What?"

"It's in the middle of the night, Luke. People sleep, mostly."

"Oh. Oh, Jeez, I'm sorry. I just woke, and I thought about what Jean ..., I didn't check. I'm sorry."

"It's ok, Luke. I was awake anyway. I was sort of thinking the same. And I think it's a good idea if Richard's in on this as well. He won't like knowing about it, but he should. He knows Jean as well.

"I'd prefer to talk to Michael later, so how about if we invite Fiona and Richard for lunch tomorrow. I'll pay if it's not too expensive."

"Ok. Yeah, tomorrow would be ok, I guess."

"Yes, Luke. Tomorrow is soon enough. They might be asleep now."

"Yeah."

"Night Luke."

"Bye-bye."

...

Both Richard and Fiona could not make it for lunch, but they most certainly would enjoy dinner. Esmee didn't give any specific reason for the invitation, but Richard pointed out that the fact that Esmee was buying was in itself worth a celebration. However, he had apparently just concluded a profitable deal, and he offered to pay half. Not to be outdone, Luke also chipped in. Fiona agreed immediately and seemed almost happy about the prospect.

Esmee disliked meat, so they went for lobster mayonnaise, buttered crab, fishcakes, bouillabaisse, steamed prawns and shells, French bread and rouille: a concoction of even parts mayonnaise and garlic, and hot pepper for good measure. With the food came chilled chardonnay which sparkled ever so slightly.

As food was heaped on their table, Esmee looked at Luke and said to Fiona: "There's something we need to discuss, and I'd rather get it over with. It's a good thing we had to abort the raid the other day because it was a setup. Or at least, I think so. I've found an email sent by Jean, which implies that she has ordered something called T41. I asked around, and apparently, it's an explosive that can be applied like paint. Also, Jean has ordered nanorobots. I'm told there was an article a while back by a sculptor who describes using this T41 together with nanorobots to blast rock faces. Well. Maybe not blast, but rather etch them. The robots are there to detonate the explosive. Apparently, there are no other uses for T41."

She let it sink in for a second and said to Richard, who started to look distasteful: "Sorry 'bout this, Richard. I think you have to hear it. I really do."

Self-consciously she picked up a crab leg and started picking out morsels of meat.

Luke nibbled at a fishcake, mostly to have something in his hands. Richard said: "Jesus."

...

The silence seemed deafening, although, in truth, other guests in the restaurant produced a constant hubbub. Esmee put down her crab leg demurely and sipped her wine instead.

Fiona said: "I can't believe this. I've known Jean for ages, and she wouldn't hurt a fly."

Richard said: "But now you're looking at appearances. People can appear to be anything. I've seen the most easygoing people spit with frustration, anger, and blood on their minds over disputes with the corporates. No one would say those people have it in them, and yet they do. In the end, anyone will do anything under the right circumstances, and there are very few exceptions. I'm not saying anything against Jean, but the fact that she appears to be harmless doesn't mean a thing. Do you remember Michael telling that Jean had been in trouble with the MIB? Maybe it means nothing, but it might mean something just all the same. Think about that. And then think about who might do what."

"But how can you be certain? What does Michael think?"

"I can't be certain, and I haven't told Michael yet. I wanted to tell you first."

"And couldn't it have been planted or something? How can we be certain it was Jean."

"Well. We can't be certain, but it was pure chance that I found this and also that I was able to find out what it meant. If this is planted, they've taken a long shot, and besides, as you say, it's not that conclusive. Why plant something inconclusive?

"But there's more. It's just hear-say, but a while back in Kagan, something similar happened. A group of activists planning like we did to make people aware and maybe get in the media planned to hand out watches with a slogan printed on them. It turned out that the paint was toxic, and people got hurt. Nothing serious, but the activists are in jail nonetheless. Except for the woman who supplied the paint. She's disappeared, but I'm told she looked like a 'nervous mouse', and that is precisely how I would describe Jean."

Luke dipped a piece of French bread in the rouille and proceeded to eat his way through it. Eye-watering, but nice. Richard said: "Jesus."

...

They sat in silence for a long time until Richard summed up: "My goodness." Then he hailed the waiter for another bottle of wine and said: "I think I'd like to eat now."

"Oh Richard, how can you?"

"What? Waste a perfectly good lobster. And besides, you've found out in time, so now you know, you can think about what to do and do it. You have to tell Michael and then do something about Jean. Maybe put this information on the net or something. You should first check with Michael, though. He won't believe it, Jean being more his friend than anyone's, but maybe he knows more. Once he puts this in the right perspective. "

Esmee said: "You're right as always, Richard. What an excellent idea. And you are right again. We shouldn't waste this meal or all of us being such good friends. Do let's enjoy this meal and talk to Michael as soon as possible. I drink to you and to a world without Corps and Jeans."

Fiona was still thinking matters over, but Esmee attacked her crab leg with gusto. For Luke, it was enough of a starting signal, and they all focused on the lobster and the crab, bouillabaisse, giant shrimps, and clams. And then even Fiona came out of her shock. Richard got up to fetch a third bottle of wine, and as he passed Fiona, he bent down and kissed her. "It'll be all right. You have many friends, you know. You'll be fine."

Gradually, the atmosphere improved. It didn't become exactly festive, and each of them would on occasion sink in thoughts, but all in all, dinner was pleasant.

At some point in time, Luke noticed he had a headache that had been getting worse and worse. At his request, they skipped dessert and said goodbye. Richard and Fiona left together. Fiona was dwarfed by the great man, who had his enormous arm protectively around her shoulders. Luke couldn't see straight for pain, so Esmee took him to the studio and said goodbye there.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"Yeah, It's just a headache, and I just need to sleep."

"Ok. We'll call then. Bye-bye."

She kissed him lightly on his cheek.

"Bye, Esmee."

...

The next morning Luke's headache had disappeared completely, and he concentrated on his work, which he had been neglecting the last couple of days.

In the afternoon, he went to revisit Linda. Then he received three calls: Richard had come up with yet another last-minute job, Esmee called to say she needed to talk to him about 'it', as she put it, and preferred not to, over the net, so she asked if he could come to her flat immediately. Finally, Dawn called that everything was ok and that she would return the next day.

Richard's latest job turned out to be interesting: it concerned an inheritance where the estate included a guardianship. The deceased didn't have any relatives and bequeathed all her assets to a small foundation, formally concerned with Daimando's malnourished children. Of which there were none. The foundation had been inactive for more than a century, and all members of its board had long since died. Though not exactly rich, the foundation did have some money, which had grown over the years into an appreciable amount. The guardianship concerned the child of an erstwhile servant of the deceased, who had been held in stasis for the last three years by First Daimando. Why there was a guardianship and not an ordinary contract was unclear.

Now, First Daimando attempted to get not only at the estate but at all assets of the foundation. Formally, Luke was concerned only as an accounting advisor, but since there were no other humans directly involved, the judge-executor allowed the AI chairman of the foundation to involve Luke more extensively, albeit only in an advisory capacity.

Since there were no humans involved, he could do everything through his 'partout. When he arrived at Esmee's flat he had already skimmed through most of the documentation.

"I've been putting it off, but I shouldn't. I agree with Richard. We should check with Michael and see what he thinks. At first, I thought I would like you to come with me, but the more I think about it, the more I feel it might have an adverse effect. He'd be all the more cautious."

Instead, they chose to plug in Luke via his 'partout. It would allow him to follow the conversation and to see, well, something. Esmee's description of the raw images as 'no-res" was by far too complimentary, but an AI in Esmee's implant was able to interpolate the stream and create a more sensible stream for Luke.

Esmee called Michael, but he couldn't be reached. She left a message with his majordomo that she needed to speak to him urgently concerning her faulty plumbing. When Luke eyed her inquiringly, afterward, she explained it was a code Michael had at some point in time suggested: faulty plumbing meant a leak, as in compromised security. It was sure to get his attention quickly and would make certain he would call alone, without Jean even knowing, should she happen to be around. When Luke said something about cloak-and-dagger stuff, Esmee laughed and said: "He's a bit paranoid, but things being as they are, I can't blame him. Clearly, he hasn't been paranoid enough."

Michael called within five minutes and asked Esmee if she remembered where they had seen wild geese. She'd almost blurted it out before she realized he was telling her where to go without saying it. She promised to be there in half an hour.

...

They sat on the train together. The goose-place was a train station where one of the exits was in the middle of a park. As they approached the station, Luke walked to the far end of the car, and walked away on the platform towards the wrong entrance. He took the escalator with giant leaps, and he was out and on the street when Esmee was still on her escalator. Luke entered the park by a side entrance and approached Esmee's exit at a more moderate pace just as she ascended. He sat on a bench where he could watch her.

The image stream he received from her was very peculiar. A series of stills, which morphed into each other. Certain objects were detailed and precise, other objects were rendered as if generated from some three-dimensional model the AI used, and the rest were just blotted blurs. Once Luke got used to it, he started to like the weird, impressionist vision of the park. Just as he was about to comment on it to Esmee, her eyes focused on Michael, stepping out of the station.

After a brief nod, they strolled into the park, and Luke followed at a safe distance. Esmee steered them towards a bench set back slightly from the path. She said: "Let's sit, first." When they sat, Esmee turned towards Michael, facing him at an angle. Luke assumed for the benefit of his view.

She explained that she had been concerned about Jean for a while, that she had found people to check up on her, and that they had intercepted an email just before their failed raid, mentioning an order for explosives that could be applied like paint.

Michael interjected with various questions. Could she be certain that the email did, in fact, come from Jean? Couldn't it have been planted by the people Esmee had used to watch Jean, or indeed by the BM. Was the email sufficiently specific but not too specific? Luke was amused by Michael's reasoning here. Michael said, more or less in one breath, that if the information was insufficiently detailed, no conclusions could be drawn. If it was too specific, it suggested, to Michael, a plant.

Esmee gave him the email verbatim and the additional information on T41, but Michael was unimpressed. He suggested that maybe Jean intended some rock etching or that the order wasn't for herself at all but rather for a friend.

Then Esmee told him how a woman much like Jean had turned another non-violent action into something very nasty, for the single apparent purpose of putting the people involved in jail. But Michael was skeptical, again. How could she be certain that it was Jean? Hear-say concerning events at the other side of the world that might never even have happened.

When Esmee asked how long he had known Jean and what he knew about her before he first met her, he had to admit the timing made Esmee's story possible, in principle. He had met Jean twenty months earlier and didn't really know much about her from before that time. But still, as he put it, it was impossible that Jean would do something like this. He'd spent very much time with her, and he would know for certain.

Then he suggested, again, that if there was anything to this at all, it would be BM, or the MIB, trying to cause dissent and internal struggle in the group. When Esmee asked why they would plant anything so inconclusive, he countered: "Precisely for this reason. Precisely because otherwise we would know it was a plant."

To Luke, Esmee's frustration was almost palpable. She asked a number of questions about the incident and about Jean, but Michael continued to point at BM or the MIB. After twenty minutes, Esmee gave up. She asked Michael what to do about it, and he merely said: "Nothing. The security measures we use are sufficient. That's one of the reasons I can't believe this is Jean. She would never send unencrypted emails. I've explained time and again how to communicate, and she just wouldn't do anything like this."

"And what do we do about BM and the MIB?"

"Nothing. They are trying to cause dissent and make us go at each other, and we simply don't do that. I can't say, 'forget about it,' because we have to stay alert, but I'm certain there's nothing in it. Quite certain."

And with that, they said goodbye. He left, and Esmee stayed at the bench, not knowing where Luke was. So he told her which direction he was and suggested they walk to another station to avoid meeting Michael.

...

Esmee almost spat with anger. She'd felt patronized and belittled, and she couldn't stop going on about Michael's one-dimensional paranoia. Luke agreed that he couldn't imagine how BM or the MIB would be involved in this. If there hadn't been any explosives, the email just being a ruse to set them up against each other, it could very easily have been recognized for a lie. They could have just checked the paint. But if there had been an explosive, what would be the point of informing them beforehand?

They started talking about it on the train, but soon they were getting awkward stares, so they just sat back, Esmee looking angrily out of the window. Luke got a sympathetic smile from a man who had apparently concluded they had a row. This made him laugh and whisper to Esmee: "God, you're beautiful when you're angry."

She turned around, furious for the briefest of moments, and then smiled. "Idiot. Thanks for being there."

At her flat, Esmee's anger had died down a bit. They had a glass of wine and thought about their own reasoning and about setting a trap for Jean. Gradually they became less and less certain about their interpretation of events and were accordingly less capable of thinking of a suitable trap. Or maybe it was the other way around: thinking about a trap in terms of real consequences, leading to Jean being arrested or injured in any way, forced them to weigh their own reasoning.

Late at night, his attorney called: all inquiries had been made satisfactorily, and an agreement was set up with First Daimando. Luke was to present himself first thing in the morning. Luke almost collapsed. For better or for worse, an end would come to his stay on Daimando.

He considered asking Esmee if he could stay with her that night but then decided not to. He had been getting mixed messages from her, at best, and besides, in this hashed-up situation, he wasn't at all certain about his own feelings. All he felt was hollow. He definitely couldn't tell Esmee about it, so when she looked at him quizzically, he shrugged and made some vague comment. Then he suggested for them to sleep on the matter, as they were, and look at things again the next day.

Esmee seemed genuinely disappointed that he left, and for the briefest of moments, he reconsidered but then went home anyway.

...

The meeting at the First Daimando Health Care offices was straightforward and unceremonial. Luke went there with mixed feelings of trepidation and eagerness. He ascribed some special, almost solemn relevance to the meeting, but it was over in five minutes. Signatures were placed, hands were shaken, artificial smiles were exchanged, and he was led to a cargo platform where a transport robot waited for him with the capsule in a travel unit, capable of powering the unit for several weeks, and capable of being charged from ordinary wall sockets.

The transport robot was on loan from First Daimando, and one of the many documents he'd signed stated that Luke paid for the use of the robot but that First Daimando did not undertake any specific responsibility for its contents once it had left First Daimando premises.

Luke had rented a small storage space not far from the studio where the unit would remain while Luke was arranging his affairs. The robot was only just able to bring the unit inside, and as soon as Luke indicated that the unit could be left as it was, the robot departed.

Luke looked at the complex controls. He had been given a virtual reality course on how to use the unit, in the unlikely event that that was necessary on his journey.

He did the course.

That should be easy.

...

"Esmee. I'd like you to meet Thorvald Hallipirii."

"Sorry, what's your name?"

"Hallipirii."

"And you're from here? Can't be. There are no Hallipirii on this planet. I checked. Very thoroughly. What's this about, Luke?"

"Of course, there are Hallipirii on this planet. You're here."

"Yes. I'm here, my ancestor is here, but apart from us, there is no one. I'm the last of my family, so if I fail, at least the family has succeeded in releasing my ancestor."

"Ah, but you already have."

"What?"

"Esmee, this is your ancestor, Thorvald Hallipirii."

Sparks.

"Can't be. If this is some weird Bethnell humor, I must say it's beyond me. What's your point."

"I wouldn't make fun of that. This is your ancestor. I can show you the papers. This morning I went and had him released. Thorvald, say something."

"I am Thorvald Hallipirii, and I have just recovered from a liver injury. Luke here has told me I was in stasis for more than two centuries. I bought a newspaper, or rather, Luke did, and it appears that he is right. Nevertheless, I am Thorvald Hallipirii."

"But how's that possible? Where do you get the money? I mean ...."

And then Luke explained. What he could, at least.

"Some of it I can't tell you. The bottom line is that I went to get out Xolorrr, and I did, and somehow they had mislaid Xolorrr and returned Thorvald into my custody without knowing it. Stupid, really."

"But didn't they check? I mean, they can't have too many Urrr around. They must have noticed."

"Oh, they gave me a capsule. They didn't get him out of stasis. They just checked the labels, which, as I said, were wrong."

It was then that it hit home. Esmee sagged into a chair and cried. The two men looked at each other in slight embarrassment.

Over the following hour, Luke told what he was willing to tell. How he had replaced the labels of two specific capsules being held at the Vault, or rather, how he had exchanged the capsules and then exchanged the labels back again. And how he had subsequently negotiated Xolorrr to be released together with his capsule.

Every couple of minutes, Esmee would stare hard at Thorvald and then start crying again.

Gradually, Esmee came to accept the facts of the matter and started to ask pertinent questions again.

"What about your liver?"

"They fixed that. Don't know when really. They don't tell you too much. It was a hospital, but I don't know where. There was a mountain view and trees, but it may all have been artificial. They have an AI that generates movies and shows, but there is no news and no humans, really. Bored the hell out of me. You can complain, and then they give answers to your questions, but it's always not what you were looking for. I got angry at some point in time, and from then on, they drugged me. Walked around like a zombie."

"Luke: was it legal, what you did? Are we fugitives?"

"Well. Most of it is legal, so there's no immediate worry. There's no way within reason that they would find out, and as long as they don't know, everything is ok. You still owe them what you did, of course, so when they find out, they will seize every asset you have immediately. I'd suggest doing something with your money over the next couple of days. When they find out, it should be ..., very far away. Unless you feel obliged to give it to them, of course. In any event, we just have to avoid them finding out that Thorvald's out for the moment."

"And what about your friend? How will you get him out?

"Ah. Yes. Well, I have a plan. It's pretty failsafe, I think."

"A pretty failsafe plan? Are you crazy? It may be centuries before he gets out. How could you do that? Why not take someone else. Well. No. But this, I mean, how could you do that?"

"Look. This way, we have Thorvald out in your lifetime without paying. Well ..., not much, at least, in comparison. And I am confident we'll get Xolorrr out. As long as they're unaware, it'll be fine."

"All you can say is 'it'll be fine'? Have you completely snapped?" She turned to Thorvald. "Do you know his failsafe plan?"

"No. Didn't he ...?"

They sat in silence, the two men looking at Esmee. Guiltily, Luke thought that she was indeed beautiful when she was angry. Very much so.

"Well. I don't know about you, but what I need is a huge steak and a decent pot of beer. Feels like I haven't had a decent meal in ages. Hahaha. Come on, Luke. Let's give Esmee time to put on some clothes, and then we'll go out. I'm buying. Haha. Do I have any money, Esmee? We'll go out and see you just outside, ok?"

Thorvald more or less pushed Luke out of the room. "Don't know her, but I do know women. What she needs to do is fuss, so give her some time to fuss, and she'll be alright."

"Sure, Thorvald. I'm sorry about springing all this on you."

"You ***are*** crazy. Wouldn't miss it. A couple of weeks ago I was on this no fat no alcohol diet and dying. Now they stuck this thing in my gut, and I can have anything I want again. There's nothing you can do to spoil my mood, my boy. Nothing."

"Ok. Thanks. Hey, would you mind if we invite some friends? People very close to Esmee. They helped her a lot. And me. You'll like them."

"Sure. If they can live with steak and beer, that is."

As Esmee stepped out of the door, she and Luke said, at the same time: "Should we call Richard? And Dawn should be back about now."

So they did.

Richard was in a meeting but would be done in thirty minutes or so. Dawn was still on the train and could just as easily go to the station near Esmee's apartment, where she would be in twenty minutes.