Karen had said she hated them now; Lanier could not bring himself to share that emotion. Whatever his anger, his disappointment, he still admired them. They had finally admitted to a fact that had been obvious all along. Humans of the past—Old Natives—could never comfortably mesh with humans of the future. Certainly not in a matter of decades, and not with the reduced resources available.

With a suspicious eye, he tracked a white speck flying above the green hills to the south, watching it pass behind trees and out of his line of sight. He glanced at his watch. “Karen,” he called. “They’re coming.”

She pushed through the screen door, carrying a tray of repotted plants. “Supplies?”

“I’d guess,” he answered.

“How kind.” She didn’t sound bitter now; they were resigned to being pushed out of the way. “Maybe we can coax some straight news out of whomever it is.”

The small shuttle came to a frozen hover above the small square of garden and grassy yard in front of the cabin. A traction field touched the ground, extending from the craft’s nose hatch, and a young neo-Geshel homorph in black descended. They had never seen him before. Lanier gathered up his blankets and threw them over the chair arm, standing with notepad in hand.

“Hello,” the young man said. He seemed oddly familiar in manner if not in looks. “My name is Tapi Ram Olmy. Ser Lanier?”

“Hello,” Lanier said. “My wife, Karen.”

The young man smiled. “I’ve brought supplies, as scheduled.” He glanced around, still smiling but apparently ill at ease. “Pardon my awkwardness. I’m a newborn. I passed my incarnation exams three months ago. The real world is…well, it’s vivid.”

“Would you like to come in?” Karen invited.

“Yes. Thank you.” As he climbed up the steps to the porch, he removed a palm-length silver wand from a pocket in his black suit and ran his finger along a glowing green line on one side. “Your house isn’t monitored,” he said. “There are only monitors on the perimeter.”

“They don’t care what we say or do,” Karen said, no edge in her voice, only weary acquiescence.

“Well, that’s an advantage. I bring a package from my father.”

“You’re Suli Ram Kikura’s and Olmy’s son?” Lanier asked.

“That I am. Mother nobody can reach—they’re very afraid of her. But she’ll be free soon. My father is hiding, not because they’re after him…I don’t know why he’s hiding, truly. But he thought you might like a clear, clean report of what’s happening on Thistledown.” The young man looked solemn. “I could get in a fair amount of trouble. But my father took chances in his career, too.”

“They designed well,” Lanier said, translating a Hexamon picted compliment into English.