Nelson blinked, suddenly experiencing one of those unexpected, unwanted moments of vivid recollection. It was a memory of one Saturday night two years ago, and a girl he had met at the New Lagos Club. The first part of that encounter had been perfection. She seemed to dial in on him from across the room, and when they danced her moves were as smooth as a rapitrans rail and just as electric. Then there were her eyes. In them he was so sure he read a promise of enthusiasm for whoever won her. They left early. Escorting her home to her tiny coldwater flat. Nelson had felt alive with anticipation. Meeting her elderly aunt in the kitchen hadn't been promising, but the girl simply sent the old woman off to bed. He remembered reaching for her then. But she held him off and said, "I'll be right back. " While waiting, he heard soft noises from the next room. The rustle of fabric heightened his sense of expectation. But when she emerged again, she was still fully dressed, and in her arms she held a two-year-old child. "Isn't he cute?" she said, as the infant rubbed his eyes and looked up from Nelson's lap. "Everyone says he's the best-behaved little boy in White Horse. " Nelson had shelved his sexual hopes at once. His memory was vague about what followed, but he recalled a long, embarrassed silence, punctuated by fumbling words as he maneuvered the child off his lap and worked his way toward the door. But one image he recalled later with utter clarity-- it was that last, unnerving, patient expression on the young woman's face before he turned and fled. Nelson realized later she'd been worse than crazy. She'd had a plan. And for some reason he came away from that episode feeling he was the one who had failed.

dAVID bRIN - eARTH