It was late afternoon when they stood by Cal’s ship again. Clouds had moved in from the north, bringing a chill. Libby told herself that was the reason she felt cold. She hugged the short jacket tighter, but the cold came from inside.

“I’m standing here, looking at it, knowing it’s real, but I still can’t understand it.”

Cal nodded. His contented, relaxed mood had fled, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. “I get the same sensation whenever I look at your cabin.” There was a headache building behind his eyes, the kind he knew came from tension. “Look, I know you’ve got work of your own, and I don’t want to hold you up, but would you mind waiting a few minutes while I check the cycle?”

“No.” She’d been hoping he’d ask her to stay all day. Masking her disappointment, she smiled at him. “Actually, I’d like to see it.”

“I’ll be right back.”

He opened the hatch and disappeared inside.

He would do that again soon, and for the last time, Libby thought. She had to be prepared for it. Strange, but she’d imagined he’d told her he loved her that morning. It was a nice, soothing thought, though she understood he didn’t really. He couldn’t. He cared for her, more than anyone had ever cared for her, but he hadn’t fallen deeply, completely in love with her, as she had with him.

Because she loved him, she was going to do everything she could to help him, starting with accepting limitations. It was a beautiful day, after the most beautiful night of her life. Smiling, really smiling, she looked up at the cloudy sky. The rain would come by evening, and it would be welcome.

She glanced back at the ship when she heard a low, metallic hum. Another door opened—the cargo door, she assumed because of its size and location. Her mouth dropped open as Cal, on the back of a small, streamlined bike, raced out, six inches above the ground.

It made a sound that was something like a purr, not catlike or motorlike, more like the sound of air parting. It was shaped something like a motorcycle, but without the bulk. There were two wheels for ground transportation, and a narrow, padded seat to accommodate riders. The body itself was a long, curving cylinder that forked into two slender handlebars.

He drove—or flew—it over to her, then sat grinning on the seat like a ten-year-old showing off his first twelve-speed.

“It runs great.” He made some small movement with his hand on the handgrips that had the purr deepening. “Want a ride?”

Frowning, she eyed the little gauges and buttons on the stock beneath the handlebars. It looked like a toy. “I don’t know.”