7

“Your sister probably got me out just in time,” Talia told me. “She came to the hotel one night, must have been right after she got out of prison, and told me the police had opened a file on me, something about repeating classified information.”

“Well, in fairness, you did have a habit of repeating classified information.” We were sitting on the porch of the farmhouse where she lived, our violins resting between us.

“I was reckless. Tempting fate, I suppose. She said she was about to move to the Far Colonies, and strongly suggested I come with her, but the Far Colonies have an extradition treaty with the moon, so she suggested once we got there that perhaps that shouldn’t be my final destination.”

“And that was thirty years ago?”

“Twenty-six.”

I could see it when I looked at her, that quarter-century of living on this farm. Her skin was darkened by the sun and she had a peacefulness about her.

“What are they like?” I asked. “The Far Colonies?”

“They’re beautiful,” she said, “but I didn’t like living underground.”