Voltaire got her calmed down just in time. He labored hard just to keep them both running. Dodging in and out of the 800 Sectors of Trantor, one step ahead of the Digital Bloodhounds, he needed more and more computing volume to run their defenses. She did not know that the Fog, as he had chosen to personify the dread presence, lay just over the horizon. Sweat broke out on his brow from the labor of keeping the Fog at bay with a high pressure zone. “I fear we must soon grapple with the Fog.” Joan had acquired her sword, but it was a thin and gleaming thing, more like a rapier. “I can cut it.” “A fog?” “I would sooner trust a woman’s emotion than a man’s reason.” “Here, you may be right.” He chuckled. “Something in the Fog’s representation suggests its origins.” “What are they?” “Not those simple bloodhounds set after us by that fellow, Nim.
