Later that night, not long after MOMO had gone to bed, Juli set aside the files she had been working on and got up from her chair in the living room. "I guess I should be getting some sleep myself."

She looked over at Ziggy, but he gave no indication of having heard, so she headed into the kitchen to put away the dishes MOMO had cleaned after dinner. When she turned around and saw him waiting in the doorway, she almost dropped the glass she was holding.

"Can I help you with that?"

"No, I've got it." She turned away quickly to conceal her embarrassment at being caught off guard. But a few minutes later she thrust a stack of plates at him. "They go in the cabinet next to the stove."

He reached up. "This one?"

"Yes," she said, watching him put them away. "Thank you."

"It's no trouble."

"I'm still getting used to having MOMO here," she said, pulling out a drawer and sorting silverware into it. Noticing that he seemed to be waiting around for something else to do, she handed him another plate. "Next cabinet over, on your right. You know, I hardly even used this kitchen when I was living here by myself, except to heat up something from a package. Now we take turns making dinner, though it's usually MOMO who ends up doing most of the work. I feel like I'm the one being taken care of."

"Well, MOMO seems to enjoy being helpful. What about this?"

"On the counter over there. I know, but it feels strange for me to depend on someone else. I'm not used to it. I thought was doing fine on my own; I even prided myself on being independent, on not needing anyone to help me, and now I can hardly imagine life without her. I guess I'm weaker than I thought." She laughed, drying her hands on a towel hanging near the sink.

"I wouldn't consider that a weakness," he said when she had turned to face him again. "Surviving on your own requires strength, but so does accepting support when it's offered to you. If you're used to doing everything by yourself, the second way is more difficult than the first."

"Oh, really? And you learned this by surviving on your own all this time, did you?"

If he noticed her half-smile or the edge of irony in her voice, he ignored it. "Actually, I learned it after I met you and MOMO."

"I see," said Juli, lowering her eyes. "It seems we all have a lot to learn from each other. Having MOMO here ... it's made me realize some things about myself, too."

He nodded. "I've been thinking about what you asked me, on Second Miltia."

"Oh?" It surprised her that he had remembered; that had been months ago, and she had nearly forgot about it herself. "And have you thought of an answer?"

As he stepped away from the counter she noticed that he could move quietly, even gracefully, if he had to. "Juli ... ah ...." He still seemed uncomfortable addressing her by her first name, as if it represented something too familiar, a transgression of boundaries, and he couldn't look her in the eye when he said it. She saw him tense with an involuntary movement, like a shudder, and he shook his head. "No, never mind. I'm sorry if I--"

"Don't be sorry." She turned away, feeling suddenly exhausted. "I guess I'll go to bed. Will you need anything?"

"No, I'll be fine. Thank you for letting me stay here."

Juli stared at him for a moment, half hoping his expression would reveal some trace of what he had left unsaid, but his face was a perfect blank. And yet something had changed just then; she could feel it. Some invisible structure between them had collapsed and they were back to treating each other with the awkward formality of professional acquaintances, as they had done before they got to know each other, before the events of the past year. "Of course," she said, hoping the warmth she forced into her voice would conceal the disappointment. "I wish we had more to offer you than just the living room, but--"

"That is more than sufficient. I appreciate it."

"Well, good night."

He nodded in affirmation, as if she had just given him an order. "Good night."

∞

After she had gone, he walked out to the living room and stood in front of the window. He wasn't tired, and now that he had begun to recover from the side effects of his operation, his physical and mental faculties were sharper than they had been in years. Even though he knew from experience what to expect, it still took him time to adjust. The disorientation that resulted was the same as if he had reversed his age by several years in the space of a few hours.

Outside, the lights of Fifth Jerusalem's capital mirrored the sky, and both seemed to go on forever. He had the feeling that he had been here before, or some place like it, although he didn't know when or where. That was another thing about the operation--it dredged through his memories, some of which had lain buried at the back of his mind for years, and brought them to the surface at inexplicable moments. Some of them were still painfully clear, but others were like fragments of glass eroded by the sea; they could have been part of anything once. How many times, in this life or the one before it, had he looked out on a night like this one?

The sharper fragments cut deep enough to take away his breath. They caught him off balance, leaving him foundering to regain his bearings in the present. For a moment, there in the kitchen, he had thought he knew what to say to Juli, but the answer had escaped him just as suddenly, displaced by the memory of something else--the way he had felt when he was close to her, like staggering out of a cold gray place and feeling the sun on his eyes, and remembering there was such a thing as sunlight--and when he caught himself and remembered where he was, Juli was still standing there, in the same place where the other had been, where he thought he might still see her afterimage outlined on the darkness, and he forgot what he had been about to say a moment before.

But his memories had been surfacing of their own accord for a while now, even before the operation. Around the time the Subcommittee contracted him for the Pleroma assignment he had started having nightmares again, and in the last six months they had become so frequent that he dreaded going to sleep, knowing what awaited him when he did. At least when he was awake he could push them back down when they surfaced; asleep, he was at their mercy.

The familiar feeling persisted, so he switched on his visual interface to distract himself. Most of the life forms in the building were asleep at this hour, including MOMO and Juli, who showed up as glowing points amid a scattering of numbers and data when he looked toward their rooms. He found the reminder of their presence comforting, but couldn't shake the deeper unease that had taken hold after he woke up this afternoon. Already he wondered if he had made the right decision, or whether sentencing himself to a few more decades of this kind of existence hadn't been a mistake after all. Still, it had bought him time to put his life in order, to make one last attempt at setting things right, and perhaps that was enough for now.

He didn't sleep that night; he didn't trust himself to let down his guard. The stars turned slowly above the city, and he watched until they faded in the light reaching up from the horizon.

∞

In the morning he left for the Foundation, and when he arrived on the Durandal he received instructions to report to the bridge.

"So, how'd it go?" said Jr., when Ziggy stepped off the elevator. "Man, you don't look any different. I figured she'd have talked you into the full upgrade, you know, Realian parts and everything." Jr. eyed him critically, leaning back against a console with his arms folded and his head tipped to the side. Despite his stature, Jr. had the easy confidence about him of someone accustomed to being in command, and he could settle comfortably into his surroundings with the assurance that he belonged here. Behind him, the Durandal's crew quietly carried on their duties above the hum of the engines and the electronic noises from the controls.

"It was my understanding that the Foundation only agreed to pay for life extension." Ziggy shifted his stance uncomfortably, aware of sidelong glances from one or two of the 100-Series Realians seated nearby. They appeared to have taken a passing interest in the conversation, although they suddenly became preoccupied with the controls when they caught him looking back. The 100 Series on this ship all seemed to look up to him the way MOMO did, although he couldn't tell whether they did so in conscious imitation of MOMO or because he happened to match the criteria for some sort of archetypal figure encoded in their basic personality structure. At least now he thought he understood why Juli had found their resemblance to her own daughter so unbearable; they had enough in common with each other, and likely with Sakura as well, to suggest that they were near-perfect copies of the same individual, but it was precisely their similarities that made any individual variation immediately apparent. It didn't bother him that the 100 Series reminded him of MOMO, but it did sharpen his awareness of her absence.

"Yeah, I know, but I was still kind of hoping." Jr. gave an exaggerated shrug that suggested he hadn't been entirely serious. "Anyway, I know it's kind of short notice, but I've got an errand for you, if you think you're up for it. You get a chance to watch the news lately?"

He nodded. "I saw that there was another Gnosis attack on a civilian fleet a couple of days ago, if that's what you mean."

"Yeah, exactly. Those were our ships they trashed--well, officially they belonged to one of the Foundation's subsidiary companies, but it's pretty much the same--and as far as I know, no one's been out to that region of space to investigate yet. I'd take the Durandal there myself, but we're kind of busy at the moment. Since the Elsa's headed out there anyway, I asked Matthews to swing by and check it out."

"And you want me to go along? In what capacity?"

Jr. hesitated, scratching his head. "Well ... basically, clean-up duty. Someone's got to survey the damage, retrieve the ships' records, that sort of thing. It wouldn't be just you. chaos already said he'd do it, so you'd have help. Think you can manage?"

He nodded again, thoughtfully. So far his responsibilities during his stay on the Durandal had consisted of helping the maintenance crew around the ship and running occasional errands between the Foundation and its subsidiaries. Although he was easily capable of doing such work, he had been accustomed to taking on more difficult assignments, and in the absence of a challenge he felt restless. He wasn't bored, exactly, because boredom required a certain sense of entitlement, or at least the basic assumption that his work should be entertaining, and he had learned early in his new life to expect nothing in return for what he did. Still, he objected to being enlisted for tasks beneath his ability, if only because he thought he could be more useful elsewhere. Investigating the aftermath of a Gnosis attack wasn't on par with his last few missions either, but at least it would be a change of pace. "I understand. I'll get ready to leave at once."

Jr. waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, take the rest of the day off. The Elsa's not heading out till tomorrow. Besides, I bet you could use some rest after your surgery."

"That's not really necessary, but thank you."

"No problem. By the way, how's MOMO?"

He glanced past Jr. briefly; at the mention of MOMO's name a few of the Realians had looked back in his direction. "Oh ... she told me to say hello to you, actually. I think she's been adjusting well. She seemed happy when I saw her."

"That's good to hear." Jr. sighed and slouched back against the console; he even slouched with a certain air of authority, as if it were an executive privilege. "Well, that's pretty much all I wanted to talk to you about. So, uh, you can go ahead and maintain yourself or whatever you gotta do, I guess."

Ziggy was about to say something, but he stopped and shook his head. "Right. I'll report to the Elsa tomorrow."