Lanier nodded. They walked on, lantern illuminating the trail in a blue circle for several meters ahead. “That’s where we met,” he said, and it sounded silly once he said it; silly and awkward, the words of an uncertain youth, not an old man. Karen smiled at him.

“We have had many good years, Garry,” she said. Then, with her usual directness, she said, “What’s more important to us now, our past together, or our future?”

He could not answer. In a way, he was being forced to stay alive. That implied that he wanted his future to be brief…. Yet he did not wish to die. He simply wanted equality and justice, and under the present circumstances, immortality did not seem just. He was willing to die for these convictions. “Just us, now,” he said.

She held his hand more firmly. “All right,” she said. “Just now.”

Lanier knew that Karen would not stay at his side forever. Once the isolation was lifted—almost certain within the next few months—she would become active again, and perhaps separation would drive them apart again. He didn’t want that, but they were no longer well matched. He could accept being old; she could not.

Still, there were many people he would like to see again.

Questions he would like to have answered.

Whatever happened to Patricia?

Was she home, or alive in some other alternate universe, or had she died trying?

Thistledown orbited Earth every five hours and fifty minutes, as it had since the Sundering. In some regions of the Earth, the asteroid’s bright star was worshipped even after decades of education and social engineering; humanity’s psychological yolk sacs could not be eliminated so easily.

The news that the Earth’s saviors might soon leave—so the stories had been simplified—caused panic in some areas, relief in others. Those who worshipped the Thistledown and its occupants believed they were leaving out of disgust for Earth’s sins. They were correct in a sense; but if the Earth could not abandon its past, neither could the Hexamon.

With the re-opening on schedule, and Korzenowski’s wonders performing flawlessly, the Nexus Special Committee set about healing some of the worst wounds in their relations with Earth.

There was not much time; nor did they expend an enormous amount of effort. The Hexamon was enthused; hysteria was not possible, or at least highly unlikely, in the population of the orbiting bodies, but an almost drugged sense of splendor reigned. They were proud of their power and cleverness; they were happy to be working to solve otherwise insoluble problems. And they felt that Earth would benefit in the long run, that the Way would bring prosperity to them all.