There was a long pause. I glanced up at the sky, and spotted the faint row of evenly spaced dots, drifting slowly eastward against the stars, which still bound me to the world I knew.

“There are five thousand and seventeen other meanings, including specialist jargon, subcultural slang, and registered businesses, charities, and political organizations.”

“Then … anything which might fit the way it was used by Akili Kuwale a few minutes ago.” My notepad kept twenty-four hours of audio in memory. I added, “Kuwale is probably asex.”

Sisyphus digested the conversation, rescanned its list, and said, “The thirty most plausible meanings are: Absolute Control, a Fijian security consultancy who work throughout the South Pacific; Asex Catholique, a Paris-based group which advocates reform of the policies of the Roman Catholic Church toward asex gender migrants; Advanced Cartography, a South African satellite data reduction firm … ” I listened to all thirty, then thirty more, but the connections were all so ludicrous as to amount to nothing but noise.

“So what’s the meaning which makes perfect sense – but isn’t listed in any respectable database? What’s the one answer I can’t get out of my favorite electronic teat?”

Sisyphus didn’t dignify that with a reply.

I nearly apologized, but I caught myself in time.

Chapter 11

I woke at six-thirty, a few seconds before my alarm sounded. I caught fragments of a retreating dream: images of waves crashing against disintegrating coral and limestone – but if the mood had been threatening, it was rapidly dispelled. Sunlight filled the room, shining off the smooth silver-gray walls of polished reef-rock. There were people talking on the street below; I couldn’t make out any words, but the tone sounded relaxed, amiable, civilized. If this was anarchy, it beat waking up to police sirens in Shanghai or New York. I felt more refreshed and optimistic than I had for a very long time.

And I was finally going to meet my subject.

I’d received a message the night before, from Mosala’s assistant, Karin De Groot. Mosala was giving a media conference at eight; after that, she’d be busy for most of the day – starting at nine, when Henry Buzzo from Caltech was delivering a paper which he claimed would cast doubt on a whole class of ATMs. Between the media conference and Buzzo’s paper, though, I’d have a chance to discuss the documentary with her, at last. Although nothing had to be concluded on Stateless – I’d be able to interview her at length back in Cape Town, if necessary – I’d been beginning to wonder if I’d be forced to cover her time here as just another journalist in the pack.