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cut off Constanzia’s lovely hair and shaved her scalp. The family story says her hair was much like mine, black as space, and that she wore it long, as I do. The story says she even looked like me—and perhaps she did, but no images from those days survive.
    â€œThat phase didn’t last long. The governments of Earth found a solution: the telepaths’ water supply was infused with strong sedatives.
    â€œAnd that was supposed to be the end of it—all the telepaths half-awake, half-asleep, until the last of them died.”
    Chain Charpentier suddenly came to the table and sat down. He said, “This must have been just after my ancestors left. How did yours get out?”
    â€œWith the help of good people,” Hanna said. “And they were true-humans.
    â€œThey were wealthy, but not wealthy enough to fund a settlement ship. It wasn’t a settlement ship that went to D’neera, but a strung-out fleet, one ship at a time, as the rescuers scrambled for the money to buy them. Worse than that: fertile, Earth-like planets were in high demand. In return for giving up such a lovely piece of real estate, the governments of Earth, or corrupt officials, required payment for each and every refugee allowed to leave, even the smallest infant, even the unborn child Constanzia was carrying. There was a price on each of my ancestors’ heads, Mr. Charpentier.
    â€œNot all the ships made it to D’neera. There was no one in the Lunar enclave experienced in spaceflight, and there was time only for hasty, last-minute training. Desperation training. There was a time limit, you see. An amnesty period, the governments of Earth called it . . .
    â€œNot everyone on Luna got off, either. Some of them died there, after many years, drugged and alone,” she said, and saw Charpentier shudder.
    â€œThe order of departure was fixed by lottery. Constanzia was one of the last to make it out. But—would you like to hear a happy ending to one story, Mr. Charpentier? Constanzia and the man she loved had conceived a child just before the removal to Luna. On the very night before it began, it’s said. She was pregnant all those months in the deeps of the moon. And her lover found her on the last ship, and he was there when the next of my line, their daughter Melisande, was born. They went on to have two more children, both sons, and they were together until they died.
    â€œAnd that’s the end of my story,” Hanna said.
    Charpentier finally drank his cold tea. He set the mug down with a thump. He said, “Well, do you want to get some work done or not?”
    It was still grudging, but it was consent.
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    Itwas late afternoon when they had their tea, and they did not start work until the next morning. Hanna had only gone back to the module assigned her in the Oversight complex. She looked around at Dwar with enjoyment as she returned to the Archives office at Town Center next day. There were deciduous trees in the region of Dwar and they were in full leaf; it was summer here, and a hydra-headed fountain splashed vigorously in the town’s main square. The day was warm, the square quiet, and Hanna stood for a while by the fountain, admiring the bursting joy of the water and feeling fresh wind on her face. She was accustomed to the confinement of spacecraft, but journeys in space always reminded her that a simple variable of terrestrial worlds—changing weather—was a treasure. Dwar too was a jewel in its gentle way. Its builders had used warm brown native stone for most structures, and laid roadways of crushed white rock. It made for a pleasing contrast, and Hanna, surrounded by the fantastic architecture of Admin’s city for too long, took her time getting to Archives.
    Chain had petitioned Amir Almond for all the data he could get about D’neera, and about Hanna, and absorbed as much as he could while he waited. Hanna