“Eleven hours and fifty-seven minutes,” Dorn replied.

Humphries’s nostrils flared and he slid the double doors shut.

“This way.” Dorn gestured with his human hand. “I’m afraid your quarters are not as sumptuous as Mr. Humphries’s.”

Elverda said, “I am his guest. He is paying all the bills.”

“You are a great artist. I have heard of you.”

“Thank you.”

“For the truth? That is not necessary.”

I was a great artist, Elverda said to herself. Once. Long ago. Now I am an old woman waiting for death.

Aloud, she asked, “Have you seen my work?”

Dorn’s voice grew heavier. “Only holograms. Once I set out to see The Rememberer for myself, but—other matters intervened.”

’You were a soldier then?”

“Yes. I have only been a priest since coming to this place.” Elverda wanted to ask him more, but Dorn stopped before a blank door and opened it for her. For an instant she thought he was going to reach for her with his prosthetic hand. She shrank away from him.

“I will call for you in eleven hours and fifty-six minutes,” he said, as if he had not noticed her revulsion.

“Thank you.”

He turned away, like a machine pivoting.

“Wait,” Elverda called. “Please— how many others are here? Everything seems so quiet.”

“There are no others. Only the three of us.”

“But—”

“I am in charge of the security brigade. I ordered the others of my command to go back to our spacecraft and wait there.”

“And the scientists? The prospector family that found this asteroid?”

“They are in Mr. Humphries’s spacecraft, the one you arrived in,” said Dorn. “Under the protection of my brigade.”