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about piloting the damned thing before you try to take it anywhere else.”
    “If my friend’s still alive, he may have that data.” Alec reached for another taco.
    “He was going after Dr. Zeus’s database ?” I felt ice around my heart. “Oh, Alec. There aren’t even words for how dangerous that is.”
    “We did it once already and got out okay,” Alec said. But I buried my face in my hands.
    “Don’t tell me, darling. The less I know, the safer you’ll be.”
    We lingered over breakfast. He helped me wash up again. I helped him into his armored suit that had been airing out on a hook by the door all night, like a sealskin temporarily abandoned by its owner. I wanted to see if we might contrive a way to make love while he was encased in it, but he’s a man on a mission, after all, with places to go and things to do.
    The rain had stopped and the clouds blown away by the time we walked back to the shuttle. It was going to be a hot day. Steam was already rising up from the sparkling fields. When we got to the shuttle and Alec stood there staring up at it, I could tell from the look on his face he was uncertain what he was supposed to do next.
    So I drove the third nail into my coffin.
    I leaned close to him and put my arms around his neck. “You’ll remember,” I said, finding the torque with my fingers. “It’s just the effect of the crash. Calm down. Think.” I tapped into his database and nearly passed out at its immensity. If he were to download even half of what he has access to, my brain would burst. But I did experience the world through his senses for a moment, and that was nearly as disturbing.
    He has … SENSES. His hearing, his eyesight, touch, are all hyperacute and informative. He draws in a breath of air and its component scents tell him more about where he is than even a hunting dog could discern, at least as much as an immortal like me. He sees farther into certain light ranges than a mortal is supposed to be able to, and the sensitivity of his skin … no wonder he likes his physical pleasures.
    Is my mortal darling even human? I wondered.
    I always thought he’d make a better immortal than any of the people the Company ever chose, and now I know it for a fact. If only his skull fit the optimum parameters!
    I mustered my thoughts and probed for the information he needed. There it was; he simply hadn’t learned how to access it yet. I pulled it up and said: “I have the impression that the cyborgs who normally pilot these ships access them through a file with a designation of TTMIX333.” I fed it to him surreptitiously. “Does that sound right?”
    His brain took it with remarkable ease. I felt him gasp in pleasure as it all made sense, suddenly. He began to download from me, lifting a subroutine for fast access by content with such speed I felt like a wrung-out sponge.
    “I think—Hey!” he said in delight, as the hatch popped open. I teetered back from him, dizzy and frightened.
    “There you are,” I said, determined to sound cheery. “You see? You had it in your memory all the time. Dear me, though, this fancy carpet’s gotten soggy.” I climbed inside and stopped, staring as he climbed in after me.
    Fancy carpet indeed. What luxury! I hadn’t bothered to look around much when I’d been in here removing the bomb.
    Floral pattern in the carpet and the beautifully cushioned passengers’ seats. Drink rests, crystal vases set in the wall, for God’s sake, full of pink roses! Spacious, lots of head room for anyone but Alec. Tasteful color scheme. Minibar. Entertainment console. All this to keep the Future Children happy on their weekend escapes from their own world. Not how we immortals travel. I was sent to this station in a raw-edged metal box barely big enough to accommodate my body. It couldn’t be bigger, we were always told. The extra time-field drag would take more energy, cost more money, which couldn’t be spared for inessentials like comfort.
    What did it cost to