"You asked me why I brought you here—and that's the reason. You caught my curiosity when you talked to me on the voco. So much so I decided to come see you. And when I saw those others chasing you—well...."
It was my turn to smile. "You're very convincing, Celeste. I might even believe you, if I hadn't known you back on Bejak."
"Oh, yes. Bejak." For the fraction of a second, the clear eyes shadowed. "It would have been nice if you'd been on Bejak, Mr. Traynor. It really would. But you weren't. Those details—the things you said to me on the voco—they came out of FedGov Security files, of course. You wanted to upset me, to frighten me...."
Her voice trailed off, and it was as if she herself, somehow, had left the room. I felt a strange sense of helplessness and guilt. Words wouldn't come.
And it was a time when I needed words, the right words; needed them desperately; needed them now, this instant, if mankind were to survive.
Yet still we sat there, looking past each other in aching silence.
Then, quite suddenly, Celeste asked in a small voice, "Would you trade, Mark? Would you?"
"Would I trade—?"
"Yes. The things you want to know for ones I'd like to ask."
Tension crept across my forehead, stretching the skin tight. "What kind of things?"