"It's funny," he said. "People come to the Port for all kinds of reasons. Some of them find reasons to stay, some don't. I think people just cross a certain line. You get off the boat for the first time and you realize you're literally on another planet—the air smells different, the water tastes different, the moon's the wrong size and it rises too fast. The day's still divided into twelve hours but the hours run long. After a few weeks or a few months people get disoriented on some deep level. So they turn around and go home. Or else it snaps into place and starts to feel normal. That's when they have second thoughts about going back to the anthill cities and bad air and septic oceans and all that stuff they used to take for granted."

"Is that why you're here?"

"In part, I guess," he said. "Sure."

Their meals arrived, and they ate and talked about nothing in particular for a while. The sky darkened, the city glittered, the waiter came back to clear the table. Turk ordered coffee. Lise summoned her courage and said, "Will you look at a photograph for me? Before they dim the lights."

"Sure. What kind of photograph?"

"A picture of someone who might have chartered a flight with you. This would have been a few months ago."

"You've been looking at my passenger manifests?"

"No! I mean, not me… you file manifests with the PG, right?"

"What's this about, Lise?"

"There's a lot I can't explain right now. Will you look at the picture first?"

He was frowning. "Show me."

Lise took her bag into her lap and withdrew the envelope. "But you said you had a favor to ask, too—"

"You first."

She passed the envelope across the linen tablecloth. He pulled out the picture. His expression didn't change. Finally he said, "I assume there's a story goes with this?"

"It was taken by a security camera at the docks late last year. The image has been enlarged and enhanced."

"You have access to security camera downloads, too?"

"No, but—"

"So you got these from someone else. One of your friends at the consulate. Brian, or one of his buddies."

"I can't go into that."

"Can you at least tell me why you're curious about—" He gestured at the image. "An old lady?"

"You know I've been trying to interview people who were connected with my father. She's one of them.

Ideally, I'd like to make contact with her."

"Any particular reason? I mean, why this woman?"

"Well… I can't go into that."

"The conclusion I'm drawing here is that all roads lead back to Brian. What's his interest in this woman?"

"Brian works for the Department of Genomic Security. I don't."

"But someone there is doing you favors."

"Turk, I—"

"No, never mind. Don't ask, don't tell, right? Obviously, somebody knows I flew with this person. Which means somebody besides yourself would like to find her."