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"You blushed!" he observes delightedly.

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"That is physiologically possible," she says delicately, "but I can neither confirm nor deny, lacking a mirror."

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"Does that mean you don't want to have sex again?"

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She blinks.

"I - had given the question no thought."
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"Well, think about it. We have two more days," he laughs.

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"I may be worn out. I can look you up in seven years," she suggests, "presuming I still don't have a designated mate at the time."

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"All right."

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Speaking of which, she makes a note in her calendar for the relevant projected date. Now that she's had one, she can predict the others and make arrangements for them in advance.

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Lalita sits down in the copilot's chair.

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Isabella seems inclined to adopt a policy of Not Necessarily Ever Speaking Of It Again For At Least Seven Years.

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Perhaps he should go put on a shirt, then.

(He doesn't.)
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She's not going to comment on his state of dress.

She pokes around in her files, looking for what to read next; she finished the novel she was reading while he was sleeping the other day. She can't work on her essay or her diary with a passenger supervising, but it's not that urgent -

She peers at the access date on her essay.

She peers at Lalita.
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He peers back!

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"The access date for one of my files suggests that it was opened recently."

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"Oh, that." He shrugs. "I was curious. I closed it when I'd seen enough to know I shouldn't be looking."

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"It was encrypted."

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"Yeah, I noticed that after I read it," he says with a wry smile.

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"...Are you saying you accidentally hacked into my files?"

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He laughs and shakes his head. "Yeah. That's what I'm saying."

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"How does that happen?"

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He taps his fingertips against his lips, thinking hard about something.

Then he shrugs, and looks at her, and says: "Genetic engineering."
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"I'm—what is it, 2269? I'm two hundred and seventy-four years old," he says. "I was born in 1995. You seem pretty well-informed; I'm sure you can fill in a lot of the blanks yourself. That's why I soak up languages like a sponge - I know a lot more than thirty. That's why I can break medium-tight encryptions while daydreaming. I had to learn to crack a few things so I could muddle my data trails; I can pass for anything from early twenties to mid-fifties, but that still means I have to cycle identities every thirty years."

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"And now you're telling me this because you read my polarbear essay and you don't think I'll turn you in."

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"I recognized the name," he says. "For some reason, anti-eugenics legislation is a topic of interest."

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