“I can’t understand that.” I couldn’t understand why she didn’t hate me. Worse, all my questions were sure to be the wrong ones. I picked one that might be right and asked, “What was he doing?”

“Dying. He’d run out of things to do. He’d have taken greater and greater chances until one of them killed him. One day I’ll reach the same point. Maybe I’ll know it in time.”

“What will you do then?”

“Don’t ask me,” she said with finality. I never did again.

“And what will you do now?”

“I have an idea,” she said carefully, watching me. “Sharrol Janss is bearing children on Earth for you to raise. I can’t have children myself. My ovaries have long since run out of ova. But is there any reason why we shouldn’t spend two years together?”

“I can’t think of any. But what would you get out of it?”

“I’ve never known a crashlander.”

“And you’re curious.”

“Yes. Don’t be offended.”

“I’m not. Your flattery has turned my head.” After all, there were two years to fill, and Margo was lovely.

I was alone on Jinx two years later, waiting for the next ship to Earth. As it turned out, Lloobee’s latest works were there, too, on loan to the Institute of Knowledge. To the Institute I went, to see what my protégé had produced.

Seeing them was a shock.

That was the first shock: that they should make sense when seen. Touch sculpture is to be felt: it has no meaning otherwise. But these were busts and statuettes. Someone had even advised Lloobee on color.

I looked closer.

First: a group of human statuettes, some seated, some standing, all staring with great intensity at a flat pane of clear glass.

Second: a pair of heads. Human, humane, handsome, noble as all hell, but child’s play to recognize nonetheless. I touched them, and they felt like warm human faces. My face and Emil’s.

Third and last: a group of four, a woman and three men. They showed a definite kinship with the ape and a second admixture of what must have been demon blood. Yet they were quite recognizable. Three felt like human faces, though somehow…repellent. But the fourth felt horribly dead.

The kidnappers had neglected to include Lloobee in their contract. And Lloobee has been talking to newsmen, telling them all about how his latest works had come to be.

✴
GHOST: FIVE

“Can I ghost that story for you?” Ander asked. “Might be money in it.”

“Old news. Everyone’s seen Lloobee’s version,” I said, thinking that my story, even edited, could call too much attention to Margo. Lloobee hadn’t known of Margo’s involvement in the kidnapping, and I hadn’t told Ander. I watched him, wondering if he knew.