(visual: FRM interviewed by GCN's Martin Boabdil) BOABDIL: "Do you want to extend the timeline on your original prediction?"

MURPHY: "It doesn't matter what I say, what you say. It happened."

BOABDIL: "What happened?"

MURPHY: "The world ended."

BOABDIL: "I'm sorry, I don't understand. I mean, isn't this a world we're both sitting in?"

MURPHY: "Not the same one. I can't explain it any better than that."

BOABDIL: "So you meant the whole thing . . . philosophically? Like, every day the old world ends and a new one begins? I suppose that makes a certain kind of sense."

MURPHY: "You really are an idiot, aren't you?"

The memorial service was a small one. The minister they hired to say a few words clearly felt something was going on that he didn't understand, but was enough of a professional not to ask too many questions.

He probably thinks we're in a good mood because we didn't like the dear departed much, or because we're making out like bandits in the will, Ramsey thought as he listened to the recorded music. Well, that part's true, anyway.

The only face in the tiny gathering that seemed to wear a wholly appropriate expression was that of the little girl Christabel-wide-eyed, confused, tearful. Ramsey and her parents had done their best to explain, but she was very young and was having trouble understanding.

Hell, he thought, I'm having trouble with it myself.

"Patrick Sellars was an aviator," the minister said. "I'm told he gave freely of himself in service to his country and to his friends, and that although he was badly injured in that service, he never lost his kindness, his sense of duty . . . or his humanity."

Welllll. . . .

"Today we say farewell to his mortal remains." The minister indicated the simple white coffin surrounded by flowers-Mrs. Sorensen's touch. "He was a gardener," she had insisted. "We have to have flowers."

"But the part of him that is immortal lives on." The minister cleared his throat-a nice man, thought Ramsey, way out of his depth. But he would never know that. "I think it might not be too great a liberty to suggest that he is flying still-going to a place none of us has yet reached, seeing things none of us has yet seen, free of the encumbrance of his wounded body, the burden of his wearisome years. He is free, now, truly free to fly." And that, thought Ramsey, is some world-class irony.

"They have a little surveillance camera in the corner of the chapel," Sellars told them when they returned.

On the wallscreen he looked just the same as he had in real life, although his surroundings were quite different. Ramsey thought the stony plain and faint stars behind him looked distinctly eerie-otherworldly, even. He could not help wondering why Sellars would choose such an odd background but preserve his image in that same strange, crippled body, unless it was to make the little girl more comfortable. "I couldn't resist the temptation to watch the service," the old man went on. "I found it unexpectedly moving." His smile was just a little wicked.

"But why are you dead?" Christabel was still close to tears. "I don't understand."

"I know, little Christabel," he said. "It's difficult. The fact is, that body of mine was just worn out. And I can't use it anymore, so I had to . . . had to use some tools I have now to transfer myself. Make a new home, I guess you'd say. I live on the net, now-or at least in this special part of it. So I'm not dead, not really. But I didn't have any more use for that old body, and it's just as well that people think I've . . .

passed on." He looked out at the others. "There will be fewer questions."

"There'll be plenty of questions anyway," said Major Sorensen.

"Yes, there will."

"I'm still not sure I forgive you," said Kaylene Sorensen. "I believe you when you say it was an accident-about Christabel, I mean-but I'm still angry." She frowned, then showed a little half-smile, her own touch of wickedness. "But I suppose we shouldn't speak ill of the dead."

The boy Cho-Cho got up and walked out of the room, stiff and uncomfortable in the dark formal clothes Kaylene Sorensen had insisted he wear to the service. Ramsey was troubled about the boy and had begun considering what might happen to him now, but he had other things to deal with first.

"Speaking of questions," he said, "we need to begin strategizing."

"I don't want to strategize," said Mrs. Sorensen. "I want to take my daughter away from this and go home. She needs to be in school." She looked around for Cho-Cho and saw the open bedroom door, Her expression was troubled. "Both these children need to be children again."

"Trust me-a little thought now will make things much easier later on," Ramsey said. "Things are going to get very strange. . . ." He paused, shook his head. "I suppose it's more accurate to say they're going to continue to be strange. We're going to court with this. We're suing some of the most powerful people in the world. This is going to be a story the tabnets dream about. I can do a lot to shield you, Mrs.

Sorensen, but I can't make it foolproof. Even the money you inherit from Sellars isn't going to make it foolproof. This is going to set the world on its ear."

"We don't want the money," Major Sorensen said. "We don't need it."

"No, you don't need it, Major," Sellars told him gently. "But you're going to get it. If you're worrying that the money is tainted somehow, I promise you there was no theft involved. I made many investments over the years, all of them quite legitimate-I had decades of all the world's information at my fingertips, and I am not a foolish man. I used most of that money upgrading myself and investigating the Grail Brotherhood. Surely you will not balk at using the small amount I have left to help protect your family, after all you've done for me."

"Small amount! Forty-six million credits!"

Sellars smiled. "You won't be forced to take all of it. It will be split among several . . . volunteers."

"It's tiny compared to what we're going to get when we drag Telemorphix and some of these others into court," Ramsey said. "But most of that will go to, the parents of the Tandagore kids, the ones put into comas by the Grail network's operating system. Oh, and to one other thing, which I might as well tell you about now. We're planning to build a hospital-the Olga Pirofsky Memorial Children's Hospital."

Sellars nodded slowly. "I did not know Ms. Pirofsky as well as you did, Mr. Ramsey, but may I make a suggestion? I suspect she would have preferred to call it the Daniel Pirofsky Children's Hospital."

It took him a moment to understand. "Of . . . of course. Yes, I think you're right."

"But why do we have to take these people to court?" asked Kaylene Sorensen. "After all we've been through?"

"You don't," Ramsey said carefully. "I have no qualms about filing a class-action suit. But when General Yacoubian's role in this comes out, I think it will be difficult to keep you folks out of it entirely. This is going to be the biggest story since the Antarctica War. Hell, it's going to be bigger than that-we've got a cloud of smoke over most of southeastern Louisiana, the J Corporation island is a melted slab at the middle of a federal disaster zone, and that's just a tiny piece of the goddamned puzzle." He saw Mrs.

Sorensen's look and couldn't help smiling. Things were returning to normal, even if she didn't recognize it yet. "Sorry for the language. But there may be a court-martial ahead for your husband, too, I'm sure with Captain Parkins' testimony we won't have any trouble winning. . . ."

"We?" asked Christabel's father.

Ramsey paused, nodded. "Actually, I may be . . . a bit busy in the months to come. But I'm sure any decent military lawyer will be able to get it handled. We'll find one if you don't know one already."

"Please, take the money, Mrs. Sorensen," said Sellars. "Buy yourself a house off the base. Insulate yourself a little. This will go on for a long time. I'm sure you will have to struggle to keep your privacy."

"I don't want to move off the base," she replied angrily.

"As you choose. But take the money. Use it to give Christabel some freedom."

"What about the boy?" Ramsey asked. "I can make some arrangements if you'd like-before things get too hectic. Find him a good foster home. . . ."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Kaylene Sorensen was not going to be jollied or led. Ramsey suspected she was going to be a very good trial witness. "That boy's not going anywhere. I haven't spent all that time washing and feeding him just to hand him off to someone who wouldn't care. He's staying with us, the poor little thing." She looked at her husband. "Isn't that right, Michael?"

Major Sorensen had the good grace to smile. "Uh . . . yeah. Sure. The more the merrier."

"Christabel," her mother said, "go get. . . ." She frowned and turned to Sellars. "What's his name? His real name?"

"Carlos, I believe." Sellars was smiling, too. "But I don't think he likes it much."

"Then we'll think of something else. I'm not going to have a foster son named Cho-Cho. It sounds like a train or something." She waved at her daughter. "Go on, honey-go get him."

Christabel looked at her strangely. "He's going to live with us?"

"Yes, he is. He doesn't have anywhere else to go."

The little girl thought this over for a moment. "Okay," she said, then trotted into the bedroom. She emerged a moment later pulling the protesting boy by the arm. He had taken off his suit, but as if he had been uncertain of what to do next, wore only his T-shirt and underwear.

"You're going to come live with us," Kaylene Sorensen said. "Is that all right?"

He looked at her as though peering up out of a hole. Ramsey thought he might actually try to run away.

"Live with you?" he asked. "Like, su casa? In your house?"

"Yes." She nodded emphatically. "Tell him, Mike."

"We want you to live with us," the major said. To his credit, he definitely sounded like he meant it now.

"We want you . . . to be part of our family."

The boy stared from one to the other. "Not going to school," he said.

"You most certainly are," Kaylene Sorensen told him. "And you will take regular baths, too. And we'll get those teeth fixed."

"Teeth. . . ?" He looked a little stunned. One hand crept up to finger his mouth. Then his expression changed. "Gonna live with the weenit?"

"If you mean Christabel, yes. She'll be . . . your sister, I guess."

He stared at them again, calculating, still suspicious, but also glimpsing the outlines of something about which Ramsey could only guess.

"Okay," he said.

"If you don't say bad words, I'll let you play with Prince Pikapik," Christabel promised.

He rolled his eyes, then the two of them wandered off to the other room-lawsuits, court-martials, even a dead man talking on the wallscreen not enough to keep them around while grown-ups were doing boring grown-up things.

"Good," said Sellars. "This is all good. Now we have a few more matters to discuss."

This truly is the story of the century, Ramsey marveled. I wonder if someday, half a millennium from now, people will be studying what we're saying here today. He looked at the bedroom doorway. The other wallscreen was on. Christabel was lying on the floor talking to a stuffed toy. Cho-Cho was watching cars explode.

No, he thought, and turned his attention back to what Sellars was saying. People never remember this stuff, no matter how important it is.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I've only been back a day and I still feel . . . pretty strange. And you know how slow the buses are downtown." Renie looked around. "The office isn't quite what I expected."

Del Ray laughed and waved his good hand dismissively at the windowless space, the small screen on the unadorned white wall. His other arm was pulled tightly against his chest in a sling, the damaged hand invisible under a knot of bandages. "It's only temporary-I've got my eye on a much nicer one at the main UN building on Farewell Square." He settled back in his chair. "Bureaucracies are a funny thing. Three months ago you would have thought I had a communicable disease. Now I am suddenly everyone's best friend again because the smell of a wrongful-termination suit is on the wind and my face is on the newsnets." He looked at her. "But not your face. It's too bad-it's a nice face, Renie."

"I don't want it-the attention, anything. I'm tired. I just want some quiet." She lowered herself into the chair facing the desk. "It's a miracle I'm up and walking around, but those old-fashioned tanks were actually better than what some of the other people in the network went through. Let us move our limbs so the muscles didn't atrophy, things like that. And, of course, we didn't get bedsores."

"You'll have to tell me one day about the others. I still don't entirely understand."

"It will be a long conversation," she said. "But yes, I'll tell you. It's quite a story."

"So was our end. How is your father?"

"Grumpy. But also a bit different, somehow. Actually, I'm on my way to see him."

He hesitated. "And your brother?"

She tried to smile but it wasn't easy. "No change yet. But at least I can touch him now."

Del Ray nodded, then began to look around on his desk and in the drawers. For a moment Renie thought that he was pretending to be busy-that he wanted her to leave. "I don't think there's such a thing as an ashtray in this office," he said at last. "Shall I go find you one?"

It took her a moment. "You know, I haven't started smoking again. I wanted one so bad while I was stuck in that place, the VR network, but once I got out, it just seemed. . . ." She moved nervously in the chair. "Things just seemed different. But I don't want to keep you away from your work, Del Ray. I just wanted to thank you face-to-face for getting things smoothed out-with the military, the police; all that."

"Still a long way to go. But the military doesn't know that it was Sellars who tipped them off, and they're more than a bit embarrassed a bunch of armed mercenaries were about to take over one of their bases without them even noticing, so they will be just as happy if it all goes away quietly. And as I said, people want to be my friends now. Important people."

He liked it, she realized. Did she begrudge it to him? She didn't think so. "But I still want to say thanks.

After all that, I think I would have gone mad if they'd kept me in some government cell."

"So would I," he laughed. "The first time I saw the sky again I burst into tears."

"I didn't have much crying left in me," Renie said. "But I know what you mean." She cautiously levered herself up out of the chair. I might as well be an old woman, she thought. "Like I said Del Ray I won't keep you, got to get going if I'm going to catch my bus."

He reached into his pocket with his good hand. "Here, Renie. For God's sake, take a taxi. A real one."

It hurt. "I don't want any more money from you, Del Ray."

For a moment he too looked stung, then he shook his head slowly. "You don't understand. There's a lot more where that comes from, and it doesn't come from me. I've been talking to our friend Sellars while you've been out of touch. He's hooked me up with a man named Ramsey. You're going to get a surprise, Renie. But trust me, Sellars would want you to take a taxi. Use this."

She stared at the card for a moment, then took it. "Okay. But only this once, because my legs hurt."

He smiled as he came around the desk. "Same old Renie." He put out his arms and she moved into them. For a moment she rested her head on his chest, then, suddenly uncomfortable, tried to pull away.

He held against her pressure, kissed her gently on the cheek, then leaned back to look at her face. "And your new man?" he asked. "Is it serious?"

"Yes, I believe it is. Yes. I'm meeting him at the hospital. He's been getting his things from his landlady's house. We're going to look for a flat."

He nodded. She wondered if she was imagining a little sadness in his smile. "Ah. Well, then I wish you two good luck. But let's not be strangers, okay? I am not just saying that-not after what we've been through."

She looked at the white club of bandages at the end of his arm. The doctors had sewed two of the fingers back on, he had told her when she called, but they had been badly mangled and there was little chance they would ever function. None of us will ever be the same, she thought. Not ever. "I know, Del Ray." She disengaged herself, but reached out and touched his cheek. "And thank you,"

"One other thing, Renie," he said as she reached the door. "Don't be too quick to pick out a flat."