I went back to Brian Hades's office in the High Eden administration building — and I must say, he was getting pissed off. "Mr. Sullivan, really, we've been down this road before. You can't return to Earth, so please, please, please relax and envy things here. You haven't even begun to scratch the surface of the activities we offer."

The pills they'd been giving me were tranquilizers, of course — I was sure of that.

Trying to dope me up, keep me placid. I'd flushed the rest of them down the recycler. "It's autumn on Earth," I said. "At least, in the Northern Hemisphere. Do you offer walking through a field of fallen leaves? Soon it'll be winter. Do you offer ice hockey on a frozen pond? Skiing? Sunsets that aren't just a ball of light dropping below a rocky horizon, but are actually tinged with color and shrouded by bands of cloud?"

"Mr. Sullivan, be reasonable."

"Reasonable! I never asked to be … to be a fucking astronaut."

"In point of fact, you did. And, besides, there are things you can do here that you could never do on Earth. Have you tried flying yet? You know, it's possible to fly here, under your own power, with big enough strap-on wings. We offer that, over in the gymnasium." He paused, as if expecting me to respond. I didn't.

"And mountain climbing! You know, you're more than welcome to go outside here.

The rock climbing is fabulous in the low gravity; the walls of Heaviside are great for climbing."

Hades could see the "no sale" look in my eyes, presumably, and tried again: "And what about sex? Have you had sex yet in our low gravity? It's better than sex in zero-gee. When you're weightless, normal thrusting tends to push you away from your partner. But in lunar gravity, anyone can do the kind of acrobatics you see in porno films."

That did get a reaction from me. I practically shouted: "No, I haven't had sex, for Christ's sake! Who the hell would I have sex with?"

"We have some of the best sex workers in — in the solar system, Mr. Sullivan.

Gorgeous, compassionate, athletic, disease-free."

"I don't want sex — or, at least, I don't want just sex. I want to make love, with someone I care about, and who cares about me."

His tone was gentle. "I've looked at your records, Mr. Sullivan. You didn't have anyone like that back on Earth, so—"

"That was before. That was my doing. But now that I'm well—"

"Now that you're well, you'll be able to distinguish between a woman who really cares about you and one who's after you for all your money?"

"Fuck you."

"I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said that. But seriously, Mr. Sullivan, you knew you were giving up romance when you came here."

"For a year or two! Not for decades."

"And although I understand your reluctance about becoming involved with some of our more superannuated guests, there are lots of workers here around your age. And it's not as if a good-looking, intelligent man like you has zero prospects for real romance here. We have no corporate policy against staff becoming romantically involved with guests."

"That's not what I want. There's someone specific back on Earth."

"Ah," said Hades.

"And I need to try with her; I have to. I foolishly didn't pursue things with her before, but my situation is different now."

"What's her name?" asked Hades.

I was surprised by the question — so surprised, I answered it. "Rebecca. Rebecca Chong."

"Mr. Sullivan," said Hades, his voice very soft and gentle, "has it occurred to you that there's already a version of you down on Earth who doesn't suffer from Katerinsky's syndrome anymore? That means weeks ago he might have had the same change in his feelings that you're having now. Perhaps he and Rebecca are already together … which wouldn't leave any place for you."

My heart was pounding — a sensation that other me would never know. "No," I said.

"No, that's … that's not possible."

Hades raised his eyebrows as if to say, "Isn't it?" But he idn't give the words voice, the first real kindness he'd shown me.

After lunch, it was Deshawn's turn to cross-examine Caleb Poe, the philosophy professor.

"You have a lovely voice, Dr. Poe," said Deshawn, standing behind the plaintiff's table.

Poe's eyebrows went up in surprise. "Thank you."

"Very pleasant," continued Deshawn. "Very well modulated. Have people told you that before?"

Poe tilted his head. "From time to time."

"I'm sure they have. You sound like you might, in fact, be a good singer."

"Thank you."

"Do you sing, Dr. Poe?"

"Yes."

"At what venues?"

"Objection," said Lopez, spreading her arms. "Relevance."

"All will be revealed soon," said Draper, looking at the judge.

Herrington frowned for a moment, then said, "I have a very conservative definition of 'soon,' Mr. Draper. But go ahead."

"Thank you," said Deshawn. "Dr. Poe, at what venues do you sing?"

"When I was putting myself through school, at night clubs, weddings, the odd corporate function."

"But you're not going to school now," said Deshawn. "Do you still get much of a chance to sing?"

"Yes."

"And where would that be?"

"In a choir."

"A church choir, isn't that correct?"

Poe shifted slightly in his seat. "Yes."

"What denomination?"

"Episcopalian."

"So, you sing in the choir at a Christian church, correct?"

"Yes."

"As part of the formal church services each Sunday, correct?"

"Your honor," said Lopez. "Again, relevance?"

"I've made it through the S and first O of 'soon,' your honor," said Draper. "Let me go the rest of the way."

"All right," said Herrington, tapping a stylus impatiently against his bench.

"You sing in church services," said Draper, looking back at Poe.

"Yes."

"Would you describe yourself as a religious person?"

Poe was defiant now. "I suppose I am, yes. But I'm not a nut."

"Do you believe in God?"

"That is the sine qua non of being religious."

"You do believe in God. Do you believe in the devil?"

"I'm not some Bible-thumping fundamentalist," said Poe. "I'm not a literalist. I believe the universe is, as the current figure has it, 11.9 billion years old. I believe life evolved from simpler forms through natural selection. And I don't believe in fairy stories."

"You don't believe in the devil?"

"Correct."

"What about hell?"

"An invention that owes more to the poet Dante than anything in rational theology," said Poe. "Stories of hell and devils were perhaps of use when clergy had to deal with illiterate, uneducated, unsophisticated populations. But we are none of those things; we can follow moral arguments, and make reasoned moral choices, without being threatened by bogeymen."

"Very good," said Deshawn. "Very good. So you've dispensed with most of the sillier trappings of primitive religion, is that it?"

"Well, I wouldn't phrase it in such an impolitic way."

"But you don't believe in the devil?"

"No."

"And you don't believe in hell?"

"No."

"And you don't believe in Noah's flood?"

"No."

"And you don't believe in souls?"

Poe was silent

"Dr. Poe? Would you respond to my question, please? Is it true that you don't believe in souls?"

"That … would not be my position."

"You mean you do believe in souls?"

"Well, I…"

Deshawn stepped in front of his table. "Do you believe you have a soul?"

"Yes," said Poe, rallying now. "Yes, I do."

"And how did you come by this soul?"

"It was given to me by God," said Poe.

Deshawn looked meaningfully at the jury, then turned back to Poe. "Can you explain for us what the soul is, in your conception?"