He thought about Sara as he watched the fleck of orangeconvolute in the skein and come out unharmed. He had dreamed of herover and over again in the last sleep."The old guy got it? I don't see how. This isn't like fishing."Jersar Staten, their effervescent new captain, picked his teeth justto the periphery of Howard's field of vision. He wanted to act,Howard could tell, but there was nothing for him to do now but watch."He's got his methods. Howard's the best." Clare always believedin him. He needed that strength. She reminded him the most of Sara."He's got to be a hundred and seventy."Clare's voice was small. "He's much older than that."He rolled the line in a loop that looked like a bell from theside and circle if you looked straight down it, like one of those PVCornaments that people used to hang on their balconies that would seemto be a jagged piece of nothing with one breeze, and then revealitself as a six-pointed star in the next."Zip a little and then settle," he gave the line a little flipto straighten its approach, "you must settle," Howard whispered tohis fly. "You must sink, you must swim, you must dance.""What's he saying, Clare?""His readings are normal, Jersar.""That's not what I asked.""You must hurt." The indicator paused for a split second. "Youmust hurt." The skein released a bubble that broke off, shimmering,and disappeared in a wipe like a scene in a movie--a universe had
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