Booster-induced acromegaly. Within months he would be an utter grotesque. If he lived that long.

A thick belt around his waist was the only prosthetic system she could see. A microprocessing system in the belt performed millions of operations per second, communicating with implants in the owner’s liver, pancreas, spine, heart, and brain. The massively invasive technique could slow, but not halt, the inevitable deterioration.

His mouth was unexpectedly warm and friendly. His eyes, gray-green, invited her to share a world filled with mischievous secrets. “Jillian Shomer?”

“Abner Warren Collifax?” Both were unnecessary questions.

He offered an arm. She took it, found it disconcertingly skeletal. “Come on. Your luggage is coded through already. It should be down the chute and in the car by the time we get there.”

“Privilege?”

“You’re one of the elite, and don’t you forget it. I can guarantee you no one else will.”

She liked him, his eyes and his thin tousled hair and most of all the way he had made peace with his awful burden.

The Denver station’s standardized sweep of featureless, curving walls began to change as they approached the escalators. A kinetic wall tapestry shimmered in the tunnels, depicting a vista of iron-gray mountains speckled in white. As they boarded the escalator, the seasons changed. The white mantle grew thicker and whiter. Tiny skiers flew down the slopes.

Abner was one step ahead of her, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to another: a touch of hyperkinesis.

Shyly, Jillian said, “I watched you four years ago, in your second Olympiad.”

“You’re surprised to see me still around?” He brayed laughter.

She was instantly embarrassed. “Pleased. Only four Americans have ever combined judo and fellrunning. I’m looking forward to working with you.”