“Ghost stories,” I said. “Herzog got into your head.”

“Forget ghost stories. Let’s not lose sight of the fact there’s a security robot crawling around down there. His claim of clandestine fuckery at the site was money.”

“For a security robot, it sure wasn’t keeping the graffiti artists in check. The joint looked like a New York subway in 1975.”

“Excellent observation,” he said. “Security is designed to repel or capture trespassers. I have to assume the graffiti artists aren’t trespassing.”

“Which leads to: Why would scientists advocate wild-ass faux tribal art on a collider track?”

“You tell me and we’ll both know.”

“Huh. Maybe Shanks Mathis is responsible. Maybe the Redlick Group locked some leftover scientists in a cell. Eggheads are chained down there in the dark, solving for X.”

Lionel wasn’t dissuaded by my sarcasm.

“The site isn’t on the updated maps. I mean, it’s recorded somewhere, but not on search engines or the Internet satellite maps. It’s acknowledged in Horseheads, yet only in passing and if you bring it up first. Same deal with the Nameless Field—a blank spot on any map you’ll find.”

“Odd, yes.”

“Those women at the Black Powder,” he said. “The ones who clued me in to the strange lights and odd sounds at the abandoned site . . . one was from Colorado. She did the blabbing. Her gal pal was a local. Local girl kept mum. As time passes, fewer and fewer people will admit that the site or the colony exist. They’ll drive by the access roads and not even spare a glance. Horses in blinders of their own devising.”

“Which amounts to what? A collaboration between superstitious locals and the Redlicks? Mandibole referred to the project as ‘dreaming.’ They might be carrying on the construction piecemeal and on the sly.”

“The Redlicks are locals too, and not a bit less superstitious.”

I studied the angle of the sun. My knees were tired and my ribs had given some warning twinges. I didn’t want the rest of my body to join the chorus.

“Time to head for the car.”

“Already? Minerva is enjoying herself.”

The dog joyously rolled in a patch of dirt she’d exposed with furious digging.

“A little longer.”

“Her life is short, man. We owe her every single happy moment she can squeeze out of this ball of misery. You got no one in your world better than this dog.”

That hit me hard. Instinctively, I wanted to laugh it off.

“We see the people and animals we love through a filter,” I said as Minerva gained her feet and grinned the way she only did at me. “They loom larger in the heart than the eye. I’ve loved humans and I’ve loved dogs. You’re right. Dogs are the superior life-form.”

Why dogs are perfect: For them, your companionship is the sum total of their universe. And yet, if I could’ve explained to Minerva that I would outlive her by many, many years, and go on adventures and pet other dogs, she would wag her tail and say, I am glad. I love you.