"Give you back your life?" Faraday asked.

Raimey closed his eyes, feeling tears welling up in them. The last thing he wanted was for this man to see him crying. But there was no way for him to wipe back the tears.

"This is a rare gift the Qanska are offering you, Matthew," Faraday's voice said, soft and earnest.

"On Jupiter you'll be able to swim and play and be with others. Yes, they're aliens; but in many ways their personalities are very similar to ours. You'll have friends, and companions, maybe even a family. All the things you'll miss out on here."

"What makes you think I won't be crippled in that body, too?" Raimey murmured.

"You won't," Faraday assured him. "For starters, you'll have that artificial spinal cord, with no tissuerejection problems like you have with your current body. On top of that, Qanskan physiology has a remarkable capability for regeneration, which should complete the healing process. The data you collect on that alone may help hundreds of people who find themselves in the same situation you're in right now."

Raimey stared up at the ceiling. "And what's my profit in this?"

He looked back at Faraday in time to see the other frown. "What do you mean, profit?"

"I mean profit," Raimey said. "I'm a business student, remember? Profit, loss; inflow, outflow; pluses, minuses—"

"Yes, I remember," Faraday cut him off. "And I just said you could have a real life again. Isn't that enough profit for you?"

"All deals sound good when they're pitched," Raimey countered. "Let's hear some specifics. You can start with Qanskan life expectancy."

For a moment Faraday just gazed down at him. Possibly, Raimey thought, reevaluating his choice of who to make this offer to. "Assuming you survive childhood," he said, almost grudgingly, "you'll have about another eight years. Maybe nine."