And inevitably there was a story, a neat and witty one by an author named Knight, about the Last Man on Earth. He read it and smiled, first at the story and then at his own stupidity.
He found Lavra in the laboratory, of all unexpected places.
She was staring fixedly at one corner, where the light did not strike clearly.
"What's so fascinating?" Vyrko asked.
Lavra turned suddenly. Her hair and her flesh rippled with the perfect grace of the movement. "I was thinking...."
Vyrko's half-formed intent toward her permitted no comment on that improbable statement.
"The day before Father ... died, I was in here with him and I asked if there was any hope of our escaping ever. Only this time he answered me. He said yes, there was a way out, but he was afraid of it. It was an idea he'd worked on but never tried. And we'd be wiser not to try it, he said."
"I don't believe in arguing with your father—even post mortem."
"But I can't help wondering.... And when he said it, he looked over at that corner."