Well, yes. She had seen the statistics. In the past year there had been half a dozen violent assaults at the local internment camp, not to mention deaths from drug overdoses or deliberate suicide. On a per-capita basis the State camps were relatively safe—far safer, statistically, than living on the street. But, yes, things could happen. Maybe things could even be arranged to happen.

“So how do we stop them?”

Bose smiled. “Slow down.”

“I mean, tell me what I can do.”

“Let me give it some thought.”

“We don’t have a lot of time, Bose.” Orrin’s final review was scheduled for Friday, and Congreve could call it sooner if he felt pressured.

“I know. But it’s past midnight and we both need to get some sleep. I’ll stay here tonight—if that’s okay with you?”

“Of course it is.”

“I can sleep on the couch if you like.”

“Don’t you dare.”

*   *   *

In the morning, over breakfast, sitting at her kitchen table and watching Bose plow through the eggs she had scrambled for him, Sandra thought about what the anonymous caller had said about Kyle.

“The longevity drug,” she said, “would it really help someone like my brother?”

Last night, in the dark of her bedroom, she had told Bose about Kyle and her father. Bose had put his arms around her while she told the story. When she finished he hadn’t said anything falsely consoling—hadn’t said anything at all; he had just kissed her forehead, gently, and that was enough.

“It might repair the physical damage. But it wouldn’t restore him to what he was before. It wouldn’t bring back his memories or his skills or even his original personality.”

She remembered scans of Kyle’s brain the neurologist at Live Oaks had shown her, huge patches of necrotic tissue like the wings of a deadly black moth. Even if those areas were magically repaired they would still be blank and empty. After the treatment Kyle might be trainable, he might even learn to speak … but he would never recover completely. (Or, if he did, he wouldn’t be Kyle. Did that matter?)

“And,” Bose said, “the treatment would change him in another way. Once the biotech infiltrates your cells, it’s there for good. Some people find that idea abhorrent.”

“Because it’s derived from Hypothetical technology?”

“Presumably.”

“According to Orrin’s notebook,” Sandra said, “the Martians eventually abolished the procedure.”

“Yeah, well—on that subject Orrin’s guess is as good as anybody’s.”

“We still don’t know where he came up with all that stuff.”

“No,” Bose said.

“But I guess we don’t have to, right? All we have to do is keep him safe.”

Bose was silent for a while. Sandra had come to respect these silences, the cadences of his thought. She opened the kitchen window, wanting fresh air, but the breeze that blew through was hot and faintly metallic.