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Grandfather was up to, it must be urgent for him to consider using a shuttle.
    “Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m not paying for your lip! I’m paying you to do as I tell you!”
    “You ain’t payin’ us enough, doc. Cool down or you can do the muscle work yourself.”
    As they vanished through the membrane, the human partner shook his head and muttered “Sheesh!”
    When they’d gone, Geanar strode through the open membrane of his room, expecting Berdan to follow. When he did, what he saw on the bed astounded him further. The old man, who never went anywhere, had his suitcase—for as long as Berdan could remember it had lain on a shelf in the closet between two bags of plant food, gathering dust—half filled with clothing and other personal items.
    “I’m going on a business trip.” Geanar made it an announcement without looking around at his grandson. At the same time, he folded a brand-new smartsuit, an item of apparel Berdan hadn’t even known his grandfather possessed, and laid it atop the other items in the suitcase.
    “While I’m gone—no, you won’t be going with me—you’ll have to take care of yourself. When I get back, things will be different. At long last I’ll be somebody. Somebody important! We can move out of this dump and get a decent place to live in a decent sector of the ship—maybe even go back to Earth! I’ll hire you a tutor and you can quit watching commercial education channels!”
    Five minutes later, without so much as advising the boy about watering the plants, feeding them, or leaving them alone, he, too, had vanished through the front door membrane.
    Berdan had been left behind.
     

Chapter IV: Happy Birthday, Berdan
    The silence was deafening.
    It took Berdan a long while to regain his composure. From experience, he knew it would be even longer before he’d assimilated everything that had happened today.
    So far today , he corrected.
    It seemed to him he’d never been able to experience the right emotion at the right time, only realizing afterward, sometimes as much as several days, he’d been happy, satisfied, or proud of something he’d accomplished. Now, everything on which he’d ever based any sense of normality had been reversed within the space of minutes (a half-conscious reference to his implant told him it was just coming up on noon) and he wondered, and in the same instant regretted having thought to ask, what else could happen to him before this day was over.
    He didn’t want to know.
    Shaking his head, he took the three short steps necessary to take him through the artificial jungle of the apartment into its cooking area—contiguous with the living room and too small to be described with any accuracy as a kitchen—and peered into the refrigerator. Removing a bright-colored plastic package, the contents of which would have upset Mr. Meep, he popped it into the microwave. With a glance back toward the greenery-filled living room area and an appropriate command from his implant, a small section of the carpet began rising, changing color and texture, until a comfortable armchair and coffee table stood where seconds before only empty floor had been visible.
    The microwave signalled.
    Berdan removed his lunch, a mammothburger with cheese and yamfries, now sizzling hot, summoned up an Osceola Cola from the sink dispenser, went to the armchair, and sat down in a position—more or less on the back of his neck—which would have drawn a sharp remark from his grandfather about posture. He was hungry, but long minutes went by without his eating. The cheeseburger grew cold, the yamfries even greasier than they’d started out, the carbonated soft drink flat, and the ice within it turned to meltwater. Meanwhile, he concentrated his thoughts.
    What was going on?
    Grandfather, after years of going nowhere and doing nothing—at least this was the impression Berdan had, although by now he wasn’t sure of anything—had, without warning, turned into a dynamo.