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She
disengaged
from
her
husband
and
twisted
round
,
smearing
the
tears
off
her
face
with
the
heel
of
one
hand
and
blinking
bright
-
eyed
at
me
.
"
Can
you
—
"
"
Sure
.
"
I
said
neutrally
.
"
I
’
ll
wait
in
the
limo
.
See
you
in
the
morning
.
"
I
caught
one
confused
look
from
Victor
Elliott
as
his
wife
bustled
him
inside
,
nodded
good
-
naturedly
at
him
and
turned
away
to
the
parked
limo
and
the
beach
.
The
door
banged
shut
behind
me
.
I
felt
in
my
pockets
and
came
up
with
Ortega
’
s
crumpled
packet
of
cigarettes
.
Wandering
past
the
limo
to
the
iron
railing
,
I
kindled
one
of
the
bent
and
flattened
cylinders
and
for
once
felt
no
sense
that
I
was
betraying
something
as
the
smoke
curled
into
my
lungs
.
Down
on
the
beach
,
the
surf
was
up
,
a
chorus
line
of
ghosts
along
the
sand
.
I
leaned
on
the
railing
and
listened
to
the
white
noise
of
the
waves
as
they
broke
,
wondering
why
I
could
feel
this
much
at
peace
with
so
much
still
unresolved
.
Ortega
had
not
come
back
.
Kadmin
was
still
out
there
.
Sarah
was
still
under
ransom
,
Kawahara
still
had
me
by
the
balls
,
and
I
still
didn
’
t
know
why
Bancroft
had
been
killed
.
And
despite
it
all
,
there
was
space
for
this
measure
of
quiet
.
Take
what
is
offered
and
that
must
sometimes
be
enough
.
My
gaze
slipped
out
past
the
breakers
.
The
ocean
beyond
was
black
and
secret
,
merging
seamlessly
with
the
night
a
scant
distance
out
from
the
shore
.
Even
the
massive
bulk
of
the
keeled
-
over
Free
Trade
Enforcer
was
hard
to
make
out
.
I
imagined
Mary
Lou
Hinchley
hurtling
down
to
her
shattering
impact
with
the
unyielding
water
,
then
slipping
broken
beneath
the
swells
to
be
cradled
in
wait
for
the
sea
’
s
predators
.
How
long
had
she
been
out
there
before
the
currents
contrived
to
carry
what
was
left
of
her
back
to
her
own
kind
?
How
long
had
the
darkness
held
her
?
My
thoughts
skipped
aimlessly
,
cushioned
on
the
vague
sense
of
acceptance
and
well
-
being
.
I
saw
Bancroft
’
s
antique
telescope
,
trained
on
the
heavens
and
the
tiny
motes
of
light
that
were
Earth
’
s
first
hesitant
steps
beyond
the
limits
of
the
solar
system
.
Fragile
arks
carrying
the
recorded
selves
of
a
million
pioneers
and
the
deep
-
frozen
embryo
banks
that
might
someday
re
-
sleeve
them
on
distant
worlds
,
if
the
promise
of
the
vaguely
understood
Martian
astrogation
charts
bore
fruit
.
If
not
they
would
drift
forever
,
because
the
universe
is
mostly
night
and
darkened
ocean
.
Raising
an
eyebrow
at
my
own
introspection
,
I
heaved
myself
off
the
rail
and
glanced
up
at
the
holographic
face
above
my
head
.
Anchana
Salomao
had
the
night
to
herself
.
Her
ghostly
countenance
gazed
down
at
repeated
intervals
along
the
promenade
,
compassionate
but
uninvolved
.
Looking
at
the
composed
features
,
it
was
easy
to
see
why
Elizabeth
Elliott
had
wanted
so
badly
to
attain
those
heights
.
I
would
have
given
a
lot
for
that
same
detached
composure
.
I
shifted
my
attention
to
the
windows
above
Elliott
’
s
.
The
lights
were
on
there
,
and
as
I
watched
a
female
form
moved
across
one
of
them
in
naked
silhouette
.
