Why, no handshake at all.

“Are we going to be slow, where we’re going?” Suzy asked.

No, the image mouthed, entirely Suzy now. Suzy could see it in her eyes. Cary had been right. They fixed people.

“Good. I’m awful tired of being slow.”

The image held up her hand, and together they ripped away the wallpaper. It was easy. The wall just opened up and the paper just curled away.

There was snow beyond the wall, but not like the snow beyond the window. This snow was far more beautiful.

There must have been a million flakes for everyone alive. Everyone dancing together.

“We’re not going to use the wardrobe?” Suzy asked.

It doesn’t go where we’re going, the image said. Together, they hunkered down, get ready, get set—

And sprang from the bed, through the opening in the wall.

The building trembled, as if somewhere a big door had slammed. In the night, the burning flakes of snow danced their Brownian dance. The black clouds above became transparent and Suzy saw all directions at once. It was a delightful and scary way to see.

The storm abated just before dawn. The earth was very quiet as the hemisphere of darkness passed away.

The day began fitfully, casting a long gray-orange glow on the waveless ocean and still land. Concentric rings of light fled from the dimming sun.

Suzy looked a long ways outward. (She was so tiny, and yet she could see everywhere, see very big things!)

The inner planets cast long shadows through an enveloping haze. The outer planets wavered in their orbits, and then blossomed in kaleidoscopic splendor, extending cold luminous arms to welcome their prodigal moons home.

The Earth, for the space of a long, trembling sigh, held together in the maelstrom. When its time came, the cities, towns and villages—the homes and huts and tents—were as empty as shed cocoons.

The Noosphere shook loose its wings. Where the wings touched, the stars themselves danced, celebrated, became burning flakes of snow.

Michael Bernard, nineteen and yet not, sat in the Klamshak opposite Olivia. Over their booth hung the weary blowfish and plastic lobster and cork floats, not very original.

She had just told him about the break-up of her engagement.

He looked down at the table, sensing a very different potential between them now. The way had been cleared.

“Good dinner,” Olivia said, folding her hands behind her plate, strewn with oyster shells and shrimp tails. “Thank you. I was very glad when you called.”

“I just felt silly,” Bernard said. “I acted like a real ninny last time.”

“No. You were very gallant.”

“Gallant. Hm.” He laughed.

“I’m okay, really. It was a shock at first, but…”

“It must have been.”

“You know, when he told me, I just thought of coming back to school and getting on with things. Like breaking an engagement was nothing at all. It only hurt when he left. And then I thought of you.”

“Will you give me another chance?” Olivia smiled. “Only if you can keep me feeling as good as I do now.”