“—I said ‘third’ but this Message small-bot heard ‘turd’ so—”

“—tried on five different outfits and settled on one that would say I’m not the sort who tries on five different outfits—”

“—Squishy or swank?”

“—I had to look up what ‘servile toady’ meant—”

“—Hey, trying to define yourself is like trying to bite your own teeth.”

It was a fun flurry of left-handed compliments, irony abounding, revelations slid into metaphors, and most of all, funny. Plenty of laughter cemented them all. She saw that the Hounds and Seekers of Script were like the old-time hackers and digital sleuths. They loved their coding crafts, roving through the digital dynasties in the Message labyrinths. They had their fandoms for digital detective methods and contested variant views gladly. They seemed deferential toward her, as a Trainee allowed into the pods. But they showed this in sly jokes and wry twists of laughing mouths.

They were a gang, all right, and one she was glad to be in. Loonies, yes. By the time Geoffrey escorted her home she felt mellow. They had not discussed Ruby much, just exchanged mutual shrugs. She let him guide her up into the surface corridors as she rummaged through all that had happened—Siloh, the Sagittarius, Ruby. They came upon a broad square with a view of the pale Lunar night.

She was getting used to how the darkness lasted fourteen Earth days, with temperatures dropping into a cold so punishing it made Antarctica seem like a hot tub, an icy low of minus 190 degrees Celsius. Earth’s crescent lit the gray land, where miner bots worked perpetually, arcing debris behind them like silvery fountains.

To her surprise, they came to a large dining circle with a broad view of the night. Gilded chandeliers suspended from the ceiling and lamps shone above marble tables gleaming. People of stately mien wore distinguished smart clothes that adjusted to fit as they danced to Bach, sat on plush chairs, read tabletops while waiters dressed like dignitaries brought delicacies.

“Tourists,” Geoffrey said with a tone of steely disdain.

“The Library allows that?”

“Helps with the funding. There’s even a ceiling screen show of alien landscapes and pictures.”

“Sounds like fun, must admit.”

“I’ll take you.”

“Oh, yes.” She had to admire how he had slid in a date invite.

He glanced at her, smiled, and said, “I liked how you twirled Ruby away.”

“She’s big but not strong.”

“Her opinions are. Earlier she was going on about ‘It’s Sapiens to Be Homo,’ one of the Earthside Ministry of Infertility’s slogans.”

“Oog,” Rachel managed.

“She’s bi anyway, so it was just for show,” he added matter-of-factly.

The next morning Rachel woke up and realized that she had decided. Going out, the fun talk, Geoffrey, even Ruby—all had conspired to relax her enough that she had somehow figured out the issue, her fears, and knew now she would do as the Sagittarius wished.

Still, she was puzzled. Human-made Artificials always worked with total transparency. The Sagittarius could work that way, or it could mask portions of its own mind from itself, and so attain something like that notorious cliché, the Human Condition.