If the robot had opened the way with kindness, then they had sealed the deal with the essential glue of friendship: long hours together, doing nothing much.

“Thank you,” Ariel said. “I know it is difficult for you to make things.” “That’s true, but it is no burden, when I’m making a gift for a friend.” The word flared like a firework in Ariel’s brain. “Of course we are friends,” Ingrid said. “We have sat and talked for no reason, about nothing in particular. That’s what friends do.”

“If we must wait a day, or a week, it will be no bother,” he said. “I waited a year for the opening of the Slow Gates of Shogg. It was worth it. Where do you think I got these boots?” He lifted a heel, heavy with mud.

Scrounger—Roos Gangleri—waved him away. “Key, password, hidden door. You’re not the first to sit at this bar and dangle secret knowledge. I had my fill long ago. I am done with secrets! I prefer adventures that yield to the steady application of simple effort.

Through the robot’s speaker came the echo of Ariel’s invitation, transformed into a growling throb. I knew it in an instant, the song of the summer of 2323, during which the kids renounced their doomy, skittering end-times genre and went digging in the crates. They found an old folk song, dusty but untarnished, and they made it new. The ship’s

My mind reeled at the implications of elk-bee politics.

On Earth, everything was chaos. The wolves lost their howl. The eels revealed their secret breeding ground at last.

Kay explained: “I lost my sword, so my brother gave me one.” “From where? FROM WHERE? There are no swords to be had. Only one. THAT one.” He jabbed a finger at the sword in the stone. Malory’s eyes were showing too much white as they found Ariel. “You … are … supposed … to take … THAT one.” Ariel was petrified with confusion. “I believe … that

The truth is that I was driven by the question carved into my heart; the question I had almost, but not quite, given up; the great question of the Anth: What happens next?