"It's very unlikely. I've been thinking about Way theory. Part of me keeps pursuing those problems. We understood the geometry stacks so little. When Patricia expressed her theories, they seemed right at the time. . . and they very nearly were. But not right enough to take her home."

"So where is she now?"

"That I cannot say." Korzenowski held one hand to the side of his head. "This persistence, though. . . this pressure to keep working on the problems. . . I can't say I object. The theory is fascinating. Thinking about it is one of the most enjoyable things I can do. And perhaps some day we can try again."

"From Earth?" Olmy asked.

"We still have the sixth chamber," Korzenowski said. "It wouldn't be nearly as difficult as it was before. And we could do it better."

Olmy didn't reply for some moments. "It may be inevitable," he conceded, "but let's not mention it to the Nexus right away."

"Of course," Korzenowski said. "After all this time, we—I am very patient." The Engineer's intense, sharp gaze, like that of a cat waiting to pounce, made the hair on Olmy's neck tingle.

He hadn't experienced such an atavistic response in years.

"Let's go fight the good fight with your advocate," Korzenowski suggested. They turned away from the view of Earth and took an elevator to the Nexus antechambers, where Suli Ram Kikura waited.

Three - Pavel Mirsky: Personal Record

If I am not too far off—or the distorting effects of our journey are not too difficult to calculate—then today is my thirty-second birthday.

I have settled in to life in the Central City, taking part in the rituals and exchanges of the Geshel life. I update my personality copies each week and make the acquaintance of dozens of citizens every day, many anxious to converse with me; and I work.

I study history. Those who assign work here believe that my perceptions and abilities make me a unique lens through which to view and interpret the past. Rodzhensky helps. He has adapted far more completely than I, and even plans, in his next incarnation, to take on a custom neomorph body.

I often meet with Joseph Rimskaya, but he is still morose and not very stimulating. I believe he is homesick and perhaps should not have defected. He plans to undergo Talsit therapy soon, though he has said that before. Beryl Wallace, the other American, we seldom see. She has been assigned to an observation party; a unique and sought-after job, in which I believe she must be serving more as a mascot than anything else, but I could be wrong. The implants can perform wonders.

I was never an intellectual. Philosophy bored me; questions of ultimate meaning and reality seemed pointless. I did not have the capacity for far stretches of the imagination. With the implants, all that has changed. I have taken a dozen more steps on the road to being a different person.