"Nope. You just it off the leash. The prize in the category of monster-maker goes to ..." he aimed and fired. Bester's evil grin vanished in a flash of superheated helium. Garibaldi blew an imaginary puff of smoke from the business end of the PPG and holstered it. "Two days ago I couldn't do that. I couldn't even shoot his damn picture. Thanks, Lyta."
"Don't mention it. I just thought you'd like to know we're jumping in about an hour."
"Yeah? In that case, grateful as I am, shouldn't we have another little conversation? I mean, it was Bester who used to pull that 'need to know' crap."
She nodded reluctantly. "Will this just be between me and you?"
"I'm ever the soul of discretion."
"Right." She folded her arms, then went over to stare out at the stars through the viewport.
"Do you think...?" she trailed off.
"Do you think I'm crazy? All those stars, all those worlds. Can't there be some place we can call home?"
"It's not that simple."
She sighed. "I know. I used to think there was hope, you know? That mundanes and teeps could live together. Now ..." again her voice dropped away into silence.
Garibaldi popped his lips together, taking a rare moment to consider what he ought to say.
"I think Byron was a kook," he began and the swift hurt and anger that pinched Lyta's face told him he'd not considered long enough.
"No, look," he rushed on, patting something imaginary at about chest height. "I know he was your friend, and a lot more. You loved him, and love gives everyone a first-class case of tunnel vision. Take it from someone who knows. But what I was going to say was that I think he was right about that one thing, at least. Whatever you want, whatever I want, we can't live together. This isn't like the old bigotries, based