Guinness stretched out in the strip of shade along one side of Kieran’s recliner and settled down contentedly, chin on paws, to watch the world going about its business. Kieran sank back into the cushions, abandoning himself to the feeling of warm rays soaking into his skin. It certainly felt like the real thing, anyway.
“So what’s your verdict?” June’s voice asked through the euphoria. “Do you think Leo’s crazy?”
“Well, knowing what I know now, I’d never be seen dead going into a machine like that.” Kieran laughed at the irony. “There—that just about says it all, doesn’t it? . . . But I suppose, yes, he has to have a streak of something that would be judged crazy according to the standards that most of the world goes by. Maybe that defines it about as well as anything does.”
There was a short silence. Then June asked, “So do you think people like Consolidated Communications and the other big carriers really believe they’re going to be able to get people to accept something like that? I mean, with all their market review committees, hard-nosed accounting scrutinizers . . . ?”
“That’s what I’ve been wondering too,” Kieran said. “You’d think not, but then look at some of the crazy things that supposedly rational investors have thrown money away on in the past when a frenzy sets in.” He opened his eyes and looked across at her. “Besides, people are being conditioned not to think about it. Do you really think all the popular stuff we’re saturated with is coincidence? I’d never really thought about it myself until I got to talking to you the other night.” He tossed out a hand. “Sure, with the size of the market they’ve got waiting out there, the boardroom won’t find it too difficult to immunize itself from wanting to know how the sausages and politics are made. And if it’s what enough people want to believe, they might well pull it off. I mean, if people are willing to accept unquestionable termination of their tangible existence here for unverifiable teleportation to some promised hereafter . . .” He shrugged and left it at that. As to the others who were directly involved, he could see the technical crew falling into the role of just being paid to do a job and not think too much about it—as had been pretty much the case with June herself. He wondered, though, who exactly was supposed to press the destruct button, or whatever was equivalent. Surely that would take some rationalizing away. And then, on the other hand, if whoever it was accepted, like Sarda, that what was left was just biological matter with all the attributes of personality extinguished, then maybe not.
* * *
“I talked to someone this morning who knows you, Mr. Thane,” Sarda said across the lunch table in the restaurant at the Oasis. His manner was less brusque now that they were away from the workplace—more colorful, with a touch of flamboyance. Kieran sensed an impulsive personality that could alternate between extremes. “His name’s Jason Moody,” Sarda went on. “He makes documentaries about interesting people he digs up all around the Solar System. You know him?”
Kieran thought, then shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, he seems to know you—knows of you, at any rate. Maybe you’re on his list and you don’t know it.” Sarda broke open a roll and scooped butter onto one of the pieces. “They call you the Knight, yes? I guess from the initials. You get into some strange things. June never told me half of it when she talked about you.”
“Kieran’s so sensitive and introverted,” June explained. “I try not to make him feel too conspicuous.”
“I like to get some variety out of life,” Kieran agreed, ignoring her.
Whatever Sarda had been told by Moody evidently intrigued him. “So how is the dragons-and-damsels business?” he asked.
“The dragons take on all kinds of weird and wonderful forms these days.” Kieran shot an affectionate look at June. “But the damsels are much the same as ever.”
“Is there an Arthur and a Camelot somewhere?” Sarda asked. “Are you part of some kind of organization?”