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We closed up, engaged shields and went stealth. We went straight up sixty miles, drifted south-east a bit and dropped into a campsite as silent as a moth's fart. It was no-dark thirty when we landed. I set up Charley with a set of fake whiskers to die for. Bushy eyebrows, mustache, sideburns, beard, you name it, topped off with a disreputable hat. I used to know a good friend on the circuit named Smokey. He timed out and died one hot year coming back from the Midwestern. I miss him like a brother to this day. I modeled Charley's makeup after Smokey. We called him Sparky. Smokey had hands that were beat up and mostly destroyed after a generation working as a tool and die man. His hands LOOKED like pain. I told Charley that if anyone asked him if he knew Smoky he'd beg have to ignorance--after all, it's been over five years since Smokey went to the big flat-boat in the sky.The 'vous Bushway's lieutenant came up sort of goggled-eyed at the cabin come sunrise. We were sitting on the porch. "Yes," Laura said, trying to survive the shock of hearing Jonelle's voice after thinking about her all night. "Yes, Jonelle. It's so good to hear your voice." I'm downstairs. Here. In your hotel. Can I come up?" Oh god, yes, please, come up. Come up now." She tried not to let the plangent longing in her voice become too overpowering."You'll have to tell me the room number. They won't tell me, you know." Of course. Room 833." I'll be there in a minute."Laura put down the phone and looked at herself in the mirror. Her face seemed gaunt and hollow and stricken, but a new light was now glowing in her eyes, and she realized that she was still alive. A few minutes later, there was a knock at her door.She let Jonelle in. "I thought you were supposed to be at work," she said."I thought you were supposed to be at that show downstairs." I don't have to be there until nine," Laura said, looking at her watch. It was almost eight thirty.Laura closed the door. Jonelle watched her."Don't you want to.
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