The tech bent over Elin to reposition a bone inductor. "This won't hurt a bit," he promised. "Just pretend that you're at the dentist's, having your teeth replaced."
She ceased to exist.
The new Elin Donnelly gawked at everything-desk workers in their open-air offices, a blacksnake sunning itself by the path, the stone stairs cut into the terrace walls. Her lawyer led her through a stand of saplings no higher than she and into a meadow.
Butterflies scattered at their approach. Her gaze went from them to a small cave in the cliffs ahead, then up to the stars, as jumpy and random as the butterflies' flight.
"-So you'll be stuck on the moon for a full lunation- almost a month-if you want to collect your settlement. I. G. Feuchtwaren will carry your expenses until then, drawing against their final liability. Got that?"
And then-suddenly, jarringly-Elin could focus again. She took a deep breath. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I-okay."
"Good." The attorney canceled her judicial-advisory wetware, yanking the skull plugs and briskly wrapping them around her briefcase. "Then let's have a drink-it's been a long day."
They had arrived at the cave. "Hey, Hans!" the lawyer shouted. "Give us some service here, will you?"
A small man with the roguish face of a comic-opera troll popped into the open, work terminal in hand. "One minute," he said. "I'm on direct flex time-got to wrap up what I'm working on first."
"Okay." The lawyer sat down on the grass. Elin watched, fascinated, as the woman toweled the paint from her face, and a new pattern of fine red and black lines, permanently tattooed into her skin, emerged.
"Hey!" Elin said. "You're a Jesuit."
"You expected IGF to ship you a lawyer from Earth orbit?" She stuck out a hand. "Donna Landis, S.J. I'm the client overseer for the Star Maker project, but I'm also available for spiritual guidance. Mass is at nine, Sunday mornings."