"I didn't know about Terra. None of us had any idea."
"I know," said the boy sadly. "My father quit, too. He quit to marry my mother. That was before it was ... so bad."
"Where—" Craig began, then bit off the question.
"Oh, gee, mister, Terra's in an awful bad shape! They took ... my parents. They hunt us down. They...."
Craig approached the boy and put a hand on his shoulder. "What's your name, son?"
"Phil."
"Phil what?"
"I don't know exactly. My father had to use so many names toward the ... end. He once had only one name, but I guess even he forgot what it was."
They prepared to spend the night in the old library room, but first Phil left it and made his way into the wilderness of rubble. He returned dragging a packing box of plastic insulating material, out of which they fashioned a crude bed. Despite the thousands of questions that paraded across Craig's mind, he waited each time for the boy to speak.