"That depends. I have a cargo to auction and—"
"The kids will take care of that. But you'll stay through tonight, of course. Let's see if we can find you a room."
Greg thought he knew what she had in mind. But as soon as they were out of earshot of the scientist's bedroom, she said, "Come outside, Captain; I have to talk to you."
They went into the tiled patio of the hotel. The kidney-shaped pool was empty, and its basin was criss-crossed with gaping cracks. Many of the potted shrubs had died untended, but the palms still flourished. The fronds laced skeletal fingers across the face of the full moon. The dry, desert wind washed through the trees, the ghost whisper of the dream that had died in Port City.
"Don't say anything to Dr. Vayle about his book." Holly Wilson's voice was surprisingly sincere. "Play along with him, please; let him go on thinking he's found the great secret."
"What is it—alcoholism or madness?"
"A little of both. No one's really sane any more."
"I came home the last time seven years ago. It wasn't this bad then. What's happened?"
"Most of the adults have emigrated to the colonies. There are only a few derelicts left—like Adrian Vayle and myself."