He laughs, too. "So here we are."

"Yup. Here we are."

"I had no idea this would happen."

"Me neither."

"When I got here and heard about you, I was scared."

"Because?"

"You know why," he smiles, ". . . because whether I put up my wall or not, you'd figure me out. Which means you've got a choice, I guess." His eyes show a momentary cloud of sadness.

"I wouldn't do that."

"You could. But even if you didn't tell, I'm finding out that people here aren't dumb. Someone might puzzle it out — especially the medical team. I can morph, but I can't change the genetic basics. No, somebody's sure to figure it out." He looks at her, "And you could easily blow the whistle and I'd have to be outta here. They'd believe you-they love you-they trust you talent."

"Only because they see me use it like a parlor trick. Read me. Go in. You can see. I wouldn't do that to you. Besides, if I did say anything, I'd be right back where I started. Think about it. If I'd say, 'You see that guy Todd over there? Yeah, that one at the end of the counter. Well, guess what? He's really a creature from outer space. There's no mistake' — imagine what a mess I'd create. If they wanted evidence, they could scour your living quarters for DNA and probably find I was telling the truth. Then what? O, you could escape — go the way you came — but I'd be called on again and again. Can't you see them? 'Hey, Sylvie, see that eccentric dude over there? Any vibes from him?' I'm not gonna be a part of any more witch hunts — because, trust me, people living like us in such close quarters would fall into that trap all too easily. Salem U.S.A. all over again." She finds tears rolling down her face. "You see? I can't tell on you — not just because I think you're a nice guy — but because I don't want to go through being forced to use my so-called gift in ways that I don't want to. That's over with. Done. Finished. I just wanna be Sylvie — a happy gal who makes others happy, too."

She catches her breath, the old feelings pouring through, while Todd gets up and kneels in front of her. "You are remarkable." It's an announcement of fact. A revelation.

She stops crying and looks deeply, a scene right out of a story: "Really?"

"Really."

"And you're sad because . . ."

". . . because if you know someone's catching on to who you really are, you'll have to move. There's no rest for you-just always moving along. I can stay here because I'm human-like the rest of them. And they know I don't use my talents inappropriately-as far as anyone knows, I only have a knack for plumbing the depths of their culinary habits. But you? If you're found out here at Sedna, you know what'll happen? A panic. You'd have to leave."

Suddenly fear spikes through him: "And maybe you, too."

She raises an eyebrow.

"Even if you don't tell on me, if they figure out who I am on their own, you could still get dragged into this. Gods, why didn't I think of that? Can't you hear it?

'Maybe Todd isn't the only one. Maybe there are others like him. Hey, let's ask Sylvie; she can help us. If she can figure who wants spaghetti, she might figure who's not one of us'."

They look at each other, exploring their feelings in the silence.

The door glides open and Todd rises quickly. In bounce a couple of techies engrossed in conversation. Seeing Sylvie and Todd, they just say "Hi" and move over to a desk to start accessing some lab data.

"Well, I've gotta run," Todd says and walks briskly through the door.

Sylvie sits, a bit dumbstruck for a few moments, and then shakes it off. "He can't go just like that."

She slips into the corridor, but he's nowhere to be seen, so she delves into her psyche. Sensing his thought trail, she detects him: "The hanger."

She takes a series of elevators to the landing port, a cavernous chamber a klick below the surface where an iris opening allows spacecraft to exit from or enter into the icy void beyond. The chamber is filled with a wide array of craft, from shuttles to small barges, sundry crews fussing over engines, polishing exteriors, or adjusting wings.

He's here somewhere.

She picks up more of his energy trail. "Paint? He's going as paint?"

She walks over to one of the shuttles. A lone workman squats on one of the wings, busily buffing.

"Hey, Sylvie, what's up? What brings you to Space Land?"

"O, just taking a walk before the dinner rush." Then she realizes who it is.

"Whatcha think," he asks, pointing to the highly polished surface, "shines like a star, don't it?" He smiles proudly.

"Sure does. A beauty."

But not as beautiful as you. The crewman winks. They converse "inside."

Todd, what the hell are you up to?

I figured I could blend in as crew.

And you're gonna morph into the painted wing logo on a shuttle?

Why not?

Paint? Please! You're better than that. She smiles.

"Well, gotta get back to work. See ya Sylvie. Thanks for the visit."

That's it? You're gone?

Afraid so, kiddo.

I'll . . .

I'll miss you too.

Kindred spirits.

And isn't that nice to know? You're not alone in this big galaxy any more. How cool is that? Todd smiles at her and climbs over to the backside of the shuttle. She walks around, but, as she suspects, he's gone. Just the colorful paints of the United Planets logo centered on the shining surface of the fuselage. Others working on nearby craft, concentrating on their own work and conversations, don't seem to notice that someone's come and gone.

"Todd?" She calls out quietly, but there's no answer.

She stands there in the middle of the hanger amid all the whirl of activity — feeling momentarily abandoned, but then the comforting ablution of not being so alone anymore.

So she does something she hasn't done in years-she goes to the observation deck on the surface and watches the shuttles and barges take off and land. A few others are there, too, mainly parents with kids. Kids love this stuff, space travel a novelty to many since most were born here and have never been off-world.
She chats idly, waiting, but then feels a little surge inside. She looks out over the crater-pocked terrain. The huge iris to the landing port opens, the rumble of grinding gears and enormous metal panels filling the observatory. Shuttle A368 lifts slowly out of the hanger, floats for a moment about 50 meters above the surface, and then shoots off, its plasma engines leaving a slight blue trail. She squints to follow it, but the craft quickly becomes a dot. However, just before it disappears into the ocean of stars and asteroids, she swears she sees a split-second blink of light, a pulsing little twinkle. Then it's gone.

Could it be? Was that "Goodbye? Miss you? Thank you? See you again someday?"

She likes to think so.

Back in the Canteen for dinner, Sylvie greets the first guests, a nice couple from D Level. "So what'll it be for supper?" they ask.

"No," Sylvie says, "you tell me for a change."

"Not playing tonight?"

"If I decide to retire my crystal ball — will you still love me in the morning?"

They laugh, "Sylvie, we love ya, crystal ball or not."

"Good to know." Not alone, indeed.

And for the first time anyone can remember, she pulls out her PalmPad and gets ready to take down an order, smiling as brightly as any star.