that she had actually gone away, but he looked over and saw her there, unaltered.
He wanted her to be again as she'd been in the pond. He wanted her to be a dark shape cut out of the darkening sky, turning shyly to face him when he said the word 'beautiful.' But that moment had passed, and she was this again, stolid as an abandoned suitcase.
He said, 'Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems.'
'I sleep now.'
'I'm going to stay out here a little while longer.'
'Yes.'
'Goodnight.'
She rose soundlessly. He heard the soft click of the Winnebago's door as she went inside.
By midmorning of the following day, Luke had fallen ill. He was flushed and feverish. He insisted that he wasn't as sick as he appeared to be. He insisted on riding in his usual place between Simon and Catareen until he was suddenly compelled to tell Simon to stop the Winnebago immediately so he could get out and vomit, after which Catareen insisted that the regurgitated bits of meat had to be buried. Simon bore it patiently. The child and the Nadian were only doing what was required of them. Still, he thought he recalled a situation similar to this one, from a vid the image of a man on a journey, bearing up patiently as a child and a woman caused delays for which they could not reasonably be held accountable but which the man found irksome nevertheless.
Catareen put Luke to bed on Simon's bedshelf. Once the boy had been settled, they drove on.
Simon said, 'There was probably something in that water after all.'
'Yes,' Catareen answered.
'Are you a little queasy, too?'
'Yes.'
'I shouldn't have let you go in. Either of you.'
'No fault.'
'It's easy to forget,' Simon said, 'that none of this is as pure as it looks. I don't like to think what all is in these creatures we're eating. Or what kinds of genetic mutations are going on in the deer that look so lovely out there on the horizon at sunset.'
A silence passed. They drove through the heat and the light. Then she said, 'Simon?'
She had never spoken his name before. He had not been entirely sure she knew it.
'Yeah?'
'Stroth.'
'More specific, please.'
'This.'
'This is, shall we say, strothful, right now?'
'Yes.'
She sat as she always did, placid as a lawn ornament, hands folded in her lap.
'We seem to be sick from swimming in tainted water. We have radioactive groundhog breath. We have no idea what's going to happen to us. This is what you mean by 'stroth'?'
'I mean we.'
A low crackle shot through his circuitry, a quick electrical whir.
'I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy. To touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand,' he said.
'Yes.'
He said, 'We'll be in Denver in a few hours. Have you given any thought to what you want to do when we get there?'
'To do?'
'You know. Destination attained. I'll find out what, if anything, June 21 means. Luke will probably get some sort of scam going within the first ten minutes. What are you thinking of for yourself?'
'Die in Denver,' she said.
'That's what you said before. Would you mind telling me what exactly you mean by that?'
'Die in Denver.'
'I have to admit that I just don't follow you here. We seem to be having one of those Earthling/Nadian moments. Could you be a little more specific?'
Silence. The soft, breathy song.
'Okay,' he said. 'End of discussion. Your plan is to die in Denver. You could probably also get a job as a waitress, if dying doesn't work out.'
She was gone, though. She had removed herself to that lizard-eyed nowhere she seemed to call home.
Denver revealed itself toward the end of the afternoon. It was first a silver shimmer on the horizon, then an intimation of silvered spires and towers, then a great tumble of buildings laid out across the flatness, under the cascade of white summer sun.
Catareen said, 'Luke will want to see. I get.' 'Don't you think we should let him sleep?' 'I go. I see.'
He stopped the Winnebago. She got out and returned soon with Luke, whose face was still flushed and whose eyes had a pink, unhealthy cast.
Still, he positioned himself eagerly between Simon and Catareen. He said, 'There it is.'
'There it is,' Simon answered.
'Is something wrong?' Luke asked him.
'No. What would be wrong?'
'Just wondered.'
'You shouldn't be up,' Simon said. 'You're still sick.'
'I'm getting better,' Luke said. 'I just picked up a little something nasty in that water. Or maybe it was whatever that thing was we ate. Anyway, I'm fine.'
'You're not fine. Catareen should have let you sleep.'
He noticed that the boy and Catareen exchanged looks of recognition. They seemed to believe they shared some knowledge about him. When had that started? He said nothing, however. He drove on.
Denver when they reached it proved to be a series of broad avenues teeming with humans and Nadians. The air sparked with their various invisible purposes. They crossed the streets and strode along the sidewalks, past the windows of small enterprises that had been carved out of the old stores and restaurants. Empty skyscrapers towered overhead, their windows cracked or shattered. Some citizens were on foot. Some piloted hoverpods, most of them old and dented. Some rode horses. Luke said, 'The horse is making a comeback here. They're more reliable than hoverpods. They can go more places.'
They inched their way along through the traffic. Luke pointed out a store that had once, according to its faded gilt sign, been called Banana Republic and was now a saloon, a barbershop, and a haberdasher's. In front of the store, a group of Nadian settlers were loading a horse-drawn cart with sacks of what appeared to be some kind of seeds.
Simon leaned out the window and asked the drivers of several vehicles if they'd ever heard of Emory Lowell. He received only shrugs and baffled looks. Luke said, 'Just keep going straight. If Gaya's in her usual spot, she'll know.'
'Gaya?'
'A bit of local color. She was a friend of my mother's. Her turf is up ahead.'
Presently they approached a gaunt, elderly woman who stood on a corner speaking volubly and offering passersby what appeared to be a small white bowl.
Luke said, 'There she is. Pull over.'
Simon pulled to the curb as best he could, given the crowds. Luke scrambled over Catareen's lap and leaned out the window.
'Hey, Gaya,' he said.
The woman halted her imprecations and looked at Luke with an expression of fearful irritation. She appeared to be someone who did not associate the calling of her own name with the arrival of good news. She wore a Mylar
