George stood to one side of the walkway leading into Humphries’s house. It had been eerie, riding down the escalators wearing the enlarged stealth suit that Ike Walton had cobbled together for him. George couldn’t see his own feet. At one point, he nearly tripped and tumbled down a flight of escalator stairs. Walton had looked like a naughty little kid caught peeking at dirty pictures when Stavenger had confronted him in his office and ordered him to enlarge the stealth suit to fit George.

Red-faced, Walton had stammered that he’d need help from the nanolab technicians, and that would ruin the secrecy that had shrouded the stealth suit since he’d first invented it.

“That can’t be helped,” Stavenger had replied tightly. “Secrecy’s already been breached.”

In the end, Stavenger himself went with Walton and George to the nanolab and asked the chief technician to clear out the lab and work with Walton by herself. In total secrecy. Once she understood that Dr. Cardenas’s life might be at stake, she quickly agreed.

“I’d heard rumors about a stealth suit, off and on,” she marveled, once Walton explained what was needed. “Don’t add to them,” Stavenger pleaded. Walton had the programs for the nanomachines buried in his personal files. Within hours, he and the chief technician were watching a spread of darkly-glittering stealth cloth growing on a lab table. George stood slightly behind them, eyes goggling as the invisible virus-sized machines busily turned bins of metal shavings into his new suit.

Now he stood at the entrance to Humphries’s house at high noon, trying to figure out a way to get through the front door without being detected. The huge cavern was in its daylight mode, long strips of full-spectrum lamps shining brightly. Wondering if the people inside the house came out for lunch, George edged closer to the door.

It swung open, surprising him, and a pair of Humphries’s research scientists came out, deep in earnest conversation. George knew they were scientists from their costumes: the guy wore a shapeless open-necked shirt and faded jeans; he had a long ponytail down his back as well. The woman was in a light sweater and loose, comfortable slacks. They were talking about the life cycle of some Latin-named species.

George slipped behind them as the door started to close and held it halfway open with one extended arm. The two scientists went on their way, chattering intently. George pushed the door open a little more and peered inside. Two hefty men in blue security uniforms stood inside, looking bored. George slipped through the door and then let it swing shut. The two guards never noticed. They were talking about last night’s football tournament, videoed live from Barcelona. An older man in a dark suit came out of a doorway halfway down the hall. He had the frozen-faced expression of a trained butler. George tiptoed past the guards, peeking into each open doorway as he went. He could hear voices from his left, and found a doorway that opened onto a long corridor, with plenty of people shuttling from one office to another along its length. That must be where the research staff works, he thought. Don’t they break for lunch? It was difficult to pick up odors from inside the suit’s face mask, but George caught the unmistakable scent of steaks on the griddle, something he hadn’t smelled since he’d been on Earth. Steaks! he thought. Humphries doesn’t mind spendin’ his fookin’ money on hauling steaks up here.

The hallway ended in a busy, stainless-steel kitchen big enough to keep a goodsized restaurant going. The staff eats in, George realized. At least they do for lunch. Cooks and assistants were scurrying back and forth, pots were boiling steam, and an industrial-sized grill was sizzling with thick steaks. George counted eleven of them. A banker’s dozen, he said to himself.

One of the dark-uniformed maids was putting together a much more modest meal on a large teak tray: a crisp salad, a small sandwich, a slice of melon and a pot of tea. A woman’s lunch, George thought.

He followed the maid as she carried the tray past him, down the hallway, and up the stairs to the second floor. One of the doors along the upstairs hall was guarded by a bored-looking young man in a gray business suit. He saw the maid approaching and opened the bedroom door.

“Lunch is here, Dr. Cardenas,” he said.

George stopped as the maid went through the bedroom door and came out again less than a minute later, the tray empty at her side. She closed the door. George heard the lock click. The guard gave her a smile and she smiled back, but neither of them said anything as she headed back for the stairs. George leaned against the wall a half-dozen meters from the lethargic guard, who sat on a wooden chair and pulled a palmcomp from inside his jacket. From the beeps and peeps, George figured the guy was playing a game to pass the time. Okay, George said, folding his arms across his chest. Cardenas is in there. She’s still alive. Now how do I get her out — alive?

He spent the better part of an hour prowling along the upstairs hall, checking out the stairway, studying the lone guard. Humphries apparently insisted on a dress code for his servants: the guards wore suits, the maid and the kitchen help wore uniforms. The scientists stayed on the other side of the house. They’d be no problem, George decided.

The maid returned with the empty tray, went into Cardenas’s room, and came out with the lunch dishes. George thought Cardenas might be on a hunger strike; she had hardly eaten anything.

Shortly afterward, Humphries himself came up the hall. He was dressed casually:

a white velour pullover and navy blue well-creased slacks. The guard snapped to his feet and stuffed his still-beeping palmcomp into his side pocket. Humphries frowned at him and motioned impatiently for him to open the door. The door’s kept locked, George realized, as Humphries stepped into the room. He waited until the door was almost shut, then tiptoed to it and pushed it slowly open. The guard paid no attention, engrossed once more in his video game. George let the door swing halfway open, then deftly slipped into the room. Humphries noticed it. Frowning, he marched to the door and snapped at the guard.

“Can’t you close a goddamned door properly?” Then he slammed it shut. Suppressing a chuckle, George edged into a corner of the room. Dr. Cardenas was standing tensely by the only window. It was a super room, George thought: big pieces of furniture made from real wood. Hauling it up to Selene must have cost more than the whole kitchen staff’s salaries for ten years. “How do you feel today?” Humphries asked Cardenas, crossing the oriental carpet toward her.

“I want to go home,” she said flatly, as if it were a request that they both knew would be ignored.

Sure enough, Humphries acted as if he hadn’t heard her. “I’m sorry that we had to take you outside. I understand that you don’t like that.”

“I want to go home,” Cardenas repeated, stronger. “You can’t keep me locked up here forever.”

“I have a proposition to offer you. If you agree to it, you could go back to Earth and be with your grandchildren.”

She closed her eyes wearily. “I simply want to go back to my quarters here at Selene. Let me go. Now.”

Humphries sighed dramatically and sat on the upholstered chair near the window. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, at this precise moment. Surely you can understand why.”

“I won’t say a word to anyone,” Cardenas replied, walking uncertainly toward the sofa that faced his chair. “I simply want to return to my normal life.”

“Without warning Randolph?”

“It’s too late to warn Dan by now,” she said. “You know that.”

Humphries spread his hands. “Really, the best option for you is to return to Earth. You’ll be in very comfortable quarters and I’ll personally guarantee that your daughters and grandchildren will be brought to you.”