His brain bounced around inside his head, bruising itself against the inside of his skull, even as his feet stood rooted to the ground as if he were wearing magnetic shoes a hundred times more powerful than his grippers. “What can I do for you, detective?” he heard himself say. He was surprised that he spoke calmly and without any thought at all, like raising an arm to ward off a blow. “May we speak somewhere privately?” Detective Van’s voice hinted at nothing; it was as neutral as the voice of an AI program in a car or a house. He was a lean, solid man, the detective, with an accent that sounded European and a short dark beard that made it hard to judge his age. He looked so obviously Terran it was almost caricature. His clothes were made of natural materials—cotton and leather—and his skin was rough and sun-spotted, his nails thick and blunt from working with his hands. All these things Carr made distant note of, his mind going through the reflexive motions of sizing up an adversary.
