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"
No
one
knows
.
"
There
was
a
sudden
enthusiasm
in
her
tone
that
I
liked
her
better
for
.
"
On
Mars
they
grow
to
be
a
hundred
metres
tall
,
sometimes
as
wide
as
this
house
at
the
root
.
You
can
hear
them
singing
for
kilometres
.
The
perfume
carries
as
well
.
From
the
erosion
patterns
,
we
think
that
most
of
them
are
at
least
ten
thousand
years
old
.
This
one
might
only
have
been
around
since
the
founding
of
the
Roman
empire
.
"
"
Must
have
been
expensive
.
To
bring
it
back
to
Earth
,
I
mean
.
"
"
Money
wasn
’
t
an
object
,
Mr
.
Kovacs
.
"
The
mask
was
back
in
place
.
Time
to
move
on
.
We
made
double
time
down
the
left
-
hand
corridor
,
perhaps
to
make
up
for
our
unscheduled
stop
.
With
each
step
Mrs
.
Bancroft
’
s
breasts
jiggled
under
the
thin
material
of
the
leotard
and
I
took
a
morose
interest
in
the
art
on
the
other
side
of
the
corridor
.
More
Empathist
work
,
Angin
Chandra
with
her
slender
hand
resting
on
a
thrusting
phallus
of
a
rocket
.
Not
much
help
.
The
seaward
lounge
was
built
on
the
end
of
the
house
’
s
west
wing
.
Mrs
.
Bancroft
took
me
into
it
through
an
unobtrusive
wooden
door
and
the
sun
hit
us
in
the
eyes
as
soon
as
we
entered
.
"
Laurens
.
This
is
Mr
.
Kovacs
.
"
I
lifted
a
hand
to
shade
my
eyes
and
saw
that
the
seaward
lounge
had
an
upper
level
with
sliding
glass
doors
that
accessed
a
balcony
.
Leaning
on
the
balcony
was
a
man
.
He
must
have
heard
us
come
in
;
come
to
that
,
he
must
have
heard
the
police
cruiser
arrive
and
known
what
it
signified
,
but
still
he
stayed
where
he
was
,
staring
out
to
sea
.
Coming
back
from
the
dead
sometimes
makes
you
feel
that
way
.
Or
maybe
it
was
just
arrogance
.
Mrs
.
Bancroft
nodded
me
forward
and
we
went
up
a
set
of
stairs
made
from
the
same
wood
as
the
door
.
For
the
first
time
I
noticed
that
the
walls
of
the
room
were
shelved
from
top
to
bottom
with
books
.
The
sun
was
laying
an
even
coat
of
orange
light
along
their
spines
.
As
we
came
out
onto
the
balcony
,
Bancroft
turned
to
face
us
.
There
was
a
book
in
his
hand
,
folded
closed
over
his
fingers
.
