Bose drove side streets until he was sure they weren’t being followed, then stopped at an anonymous two-story motel near the airport. By this time Orrin was functional enough to climb out of the car and stagger to his room on the arm of his sister. Sandra waited in the motel’s small lobby while Bose carried Ariel’s suitcase.

Getting late now, and she’d had almost no sleep herself, but she was alert and slightly buzzed, still processing the adrenaline she had generated back at State Care. Ariel’s rough tenderness toward Orrin made her think of her own brother, passing the night in an institution far kinder than State and vastly more expensive. She thought about the man on the phone who had tried to bribe her by offering the longevity drug.

To which Bose’s anonymous friends also had access—the original Martian drug, not the hacked commercial version. Would such people also be willing to help Kyle? If so, what would they ask in return?

“It isn’t some kind of elaborate secret society,” Bose had said—was it really only yesterday? “The original group consisted of people Jason Lawton happened to know.” Jason Lawton, the scientist, to whom Wun Ngo Wen had entrusted his inventory of pharmaceuticals. “Not people who took the treatment, necessarily, though some did, but people who were willing to make themselves custodians of it. To distribute it ethically and, until the laws are changed, secretly. The circle expanded over the years. It’s not foolproof and it’s not airtight, but we try to take care of each other.”

We, she had noticed.

Bose came back to the lobby alone. He said, “It’s not a good idea for you to be home by yourself. I figured I’d take a room here for the night.” He smiled. “I’ll make it a double, if you want to save money.”

“So that’s what, an economic proposition?”

“No,” he said, “not quite.”

*   *   *

The air-conditioning was anemic, but some things were worth sweating for.

After they made love, lying in the dim and intermittent light cast by passing headlights on the blinds of their room, Sandra ran her finger along the line of Bose’s scar, belly to shoulder. When he realized what she was doing he flinched, but then—maybe by sheer force of will—relaxed. She said, “What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

He was silent long enough that she guessed he did mind. Then he sat up, bracing himself against the backboard of the bed.