Takahashi seemed a bright and conscientious fellow, but Patricia hadn't felt like talking as the expedition had gathered, and so she knew little about him. Takahashi and Carrolson would be her seconds in almost everything from now on, Lanier had said.

The road ended fifty kilometers from the base camp. The truck lurched into a shallow gully, its rubber-tired band-metal-spoke wheels making their queer singing noise on the dirt. The forward aspect of the corridor didn't change as they advanced. The southern cap receded slowly, steadily, and became less overwhelming. Patricia didn't feel comfortable angling for a view, however, so she caught only brief glimpses as they traveled. Carrolson, Farley and Takahashi played chess on a slate as Patricia watched inattentively.

"Halfway," Lake said two hours later. The chess players recorded their moves and cleared the slate as the truck slowed and came to a smooth stop. The doors slid aside and the marines climbed down with groans of relief. Patricia slid after them and stood on the dry dirt, stretching and yawning. Carrolson came around from the opposite side of the truck, water cooler in hand, and poured drinks into their cups. "All the luxuries," she said.

"Beer?" Reynolds asked.

"Sacrificed to science," Carrolson said. "Anybody hungry?"

Patricia removed a sandwich from the kit and walked with Takahashi a few dozen meters away from the truck. For a time, she had felt a floating sense of anxiety and nausea, but that had dissipated. How could there be anything to fear in an endless stretch of desert, devoid even of insects? The very blandness was comforting, a blank slate.

"'The sea was wet as wet could be, the sand was dry as dry,'" she said.

"Indeed," Takahashi agreed. She squatted on the dirt and he sat beside her, folding his legs into an easy lotus. "Do you know why I'm along on this trip?"

His approach was awkwardly direct. She looked away from him. "No doubt to keep an eye on me."

"Yes. Lanier said you should be observed diligently. How are you holding up?"

"Well enough."

"The library. . .” He lowered his voice and stared back at the cap. "It isn't easy."

"Pretty soon I'm going to feel like a royal princess, surrounded by retainers."

Takahashi chuckled. "It won't get that bad. I'll keep Lanier's worries in check. But I have to ask one important question. Can you work?"

Patricia knew precisely what he meant. "I am working. Right this minute."

"Good." No more needed to be said on that topic.

She plucked a branch of scrub to see if the growth differed from the variety near the camp. It didn't—small leaves, waxy surfaces. Even the dry grass was the same. "Not a garden spot," she said. "At least I expected some more dwarf forests."

"It gets worse," Takahashi said.

"Have you ever considered how much dirt they had to bring into the corridor?" she asked, standing up. She had taken only a few bites from her sandwich. She hadn't been hungry for two days. "If the dirt is about a quarter kilometer deep—"