'The Maat forgave you,' Munk says.
'No.' Buddy's small smile carries no malice. 'They altered my brain.' Shau approaches with his arms full of bubble-wrapped packages. 'It's all
here,' he exults with exaggerated enthusiasm. 'I am again the eyes of millions!' Rey returns Buddy's credit clip and helps Shau unpack. The recorder jacket and
mantle are desert-ready, tailored in sturdy canvas, dark brown and sere. The reporter slings it over his shoulders, and a delighted Rey assumes his most ingratiating air for the camera and takes Shau on a tour of the shop.
Munk stands in the port, staring out into the Martian night. Buddy pats him affectionately on the arm, then crawls back into the rental car to sleep. The crystal music of a silicon and chimes from farther down the Avenue of Limits,
too far away to be a threat just now. Nearby, he hears the journalist's recorder whispering to itself. Then it, too, is silent. Soon everyone is asleep, their brains as disengaged from the continuum of actual events as is Charles's in his plasteel sleep.
A jeweldust of stars gleams in galactic vapor trails over the black horizon. There is much for Munk to add to his anthropic model and review, but before he does, he tracks the night sky. In the heavens' swirling turbulence, Earth's silver-blue star stares over them unblinking.
At the first smear of dawn, a skim-flight truck pulls up before Rey Raza's garage and mindless loader handroids begin depositing large high-impact crates. A mocha-skinned woman with long eyes and short black hair braided in tight designs on her pattern-shaved head emerges from the cab. She is dressed in a
slinky green gown of firepoints that fluoresce like auroras as she walks forward under the tracking laser cannon. Standing before Munk, she places her thin fingers on Charles.
'Dear man,' she whispers to the archaic brain, 'we meet going in opposite directions. By the grace and acts of light, I will get you to Solis, and you will be the last of the first men with whom I speak.'
'That is a touching sentiment,' Munk states.
The angular woman cocks a fine eyebrow. 'What does an androne know of sentiment?'
'Enough to recognize it when I see it. You must be Grielle Aspect.'
Her dark, elongated eyes, assess Munk calmly. 'I've liked you from the moment you defied the Moot. I believe we will be famous friends.'
'How do you know of me and Mr. Charlie?'
'I watch the news clips,' she says, turning her chin to her shoulder, revealing a clean, haughty profile as she peers into the garage. 'I'm leaving this world, dear androne, not my mind. Knowledge still is power-as it was in Mr. Charlie's time. As it ever will be.'
Rey emerges from the floodlit ranks of sand rovers, his scarlet, satiny loose suit like a gray cloud around him in the dusky light. 'Grielle! All is in readiness for this happy, happy occasion.'
'Fine, Rey.' She waves wearily at the mounting stack of crates. 'I have decided to bring a larger offering to the good workers of Solis. Lux tubing, psyonic core units, semblor parts-'
'Psyonics?' Rey shakes his bald head. 'No, no, Grielle, we can't have that. Essentia won't stand for it. We'll have fanatics and pirates all over us. It's going to be hard enough with the shrieks and the devil storms. We don't need psychopaths intent on destroying us.'
Shau Bandar hurries out of the garage, pulling his recorder mantle over his desert jacket. 'Fanatics? Come on, Rey. Softcopy viewers regard the Anthropos Essentia favorably. Maybe you can soften your tone for the clips.' He shows his palms to Grielle Aspect. 'So you're the passager funding this trek. My viewers would love to hear your-'
'Turn that thing off,' Grielle snaps. 'My passage is not some curiosity item for a damn news-clip service.'
'Hey, Softcopy is helping fund this trek, too,' Shau retorts indignantly. 'The anthro commune respects what you're doing, Outlander Aspect. How about a little respect for them?'
'Why should I respect people who live redundant lives?' She tilts her head back as if peeking, at something very small. 'They're never going to experience revelation coddled in their commune. The icky mess of a caterpillar in its cocoon. The light is out here, Bandar, shining on the world as it is. The truth of the world is in its suffering. Now, turn that thing off, or I'll scratch your corneas.'
'Save the speeches, Aspect,' Shau goads her as he steps closer, the small blue recorder light shining from the collar of his mantle. 'What Softcopy wants to know is how you amassed your fortune. Is it true that you run zombie vats and staff your farms with distorts?'
Grielle lunges at him, and he dances backward with an angry laugh, crowing, 'Another act of light, Outlander Aspect?'
Rey steps between them, deftly catching the journalist by the pleat of his jacket while stopping Grielle's attack with one knurled finger touching her firmly between the eyes. 'You,' he says sternly to Shau, 'will refrain from recording the passager, or I will have to put my penury aside and cancel our contract. And you,' he levels his mean squint on Grielle. 'Our contract says nothing about exporting psyonics to Solis. I won't allow it.'
Grielle stands taller, adjusts the flounce of her gown. 'You will have to compromise, Rey dear. Elsewise, I will make other arrangements.'
'With whom?' he asks archly. 'I am the only wilds runner you can trust to get you there alive. Unless, of course, as you are on a death passage, Grielle, you don't mind dying in the wilds.'
During this minor fracas, Buddy pulls himself out of the electric car parked on the concrete apron and stands rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
'Who the hell is he?' Grielle gripes.
'He's an old one, Outlander,' Shau says from over Rey's shoulder. 'You know-the icky mess inside the
