Turk knocked before he stepped inside, even though he had a sour certainty that the gesture was pointless. No answer.

He reached to his left, switched on the overhead light and blinked. The room had been trashed. The table next to Tomas's chair was lying legs-up, the lamp in pieces on the floor. The air still smelled of stale masculine sweat. He made a cursory check of the back bedroom, but it was likewise empty.

After a moment's thought, he left Tomas's small home and knocked at the door of the trailer next door.

An obese woman in a gray shift answered: a Mrs. Goudy, lately widowed. Tomas had introduced her to Turk once or twice, and Mrs. Goudy had been known to share a drink with the old man. No, Mrs.

Goudy hadn't heard from Tomas lately, but she had noticed a white van parked outside his trailer a little while ago… was anything wrong?

"I hope not. When exactly did you see this van, Mrs. Goudy?"

"Hour ago, maybe two."

"Thank you, Mrs. Goudy. I wouldn't worry about it. Best to keep your door locked, though."

"Don't I know it," Mrs. Goudy said.

He went back to Tomas's place and closed the door, making sure it was secure this time. A wind had come up, and it rattled the makeshift streetlight where Tomas's short walkway met the road. Shadows swayed fitfully.

He took his phone out of his pocket and called Lise, praying she would answer.

* * * * *

Back at the apartment, Lise had her home node read aloud the remainder of her mothers letter. The home unit, at least, had a female voice, slightly if unconvincingly modulated.

Please don't misunderstand, Lise. I'm just worried about you in the usual motherly way. I can't help thinking of you alone in that city—

Alone. Yes. Trust her mother to strike at her vulnerable place. Alone—because it was so hard to make anyone else understand what she wanted here and why it was so important to her.

— putting yourself in danger—

A danger that seemed so much more real when you were, as she said, alone …

— when you could be here at home, safe, or even with Brian, who—

Who would show the same puzzled condescension that radiated from her mothers message.

—would surely agree—

No doubt.

— that there's no use digging up the dead past.

But what if the past wasn't dead? What if she simply lacked the courage or callousness to put the past behind her, had no choice but to pursue it until it yielded its last dividend of pain or satisfaction?

"Pause," she said to the media node. She couldn't take too much of this at one time. Not with everything else that was happening. Not when an alien dust had dropped out of the sky. Not when she was being tracked and possibly bugged by DGS, for reasons not even Brian would explain. Not when she was, yes, thanks Mom for that little reminder, alone.