“Clearly,” Sullivan said.

“Actually I was a lawyer like you,” Holloway said. “I worked for a corporation. Alestria.” Sullivan furrowed his brow, searching his brain for the company data. “Pharmaceutical company,” he said, finally.

“Right. Founded by a bunch of crunchy types committed to saving the Amazonian rain forest by using botanicals to create medicines,” Holloway said. “But that never panned out, so they went back to the old-fashioned way, synthesizing drugs in a lab. So, about twelve years ago, they get approval for their drug Thantose.” Sullivan’s eyes widened. “I remember that,” he said.

Holloway nodded; very few people wouldn’t remember Thantose. It had been marketed as a safe sleeping and anxiety aid for children, specifically tailored to compensate for the neurochemical differences between children’s brains and those of adults. It had sold well until an Alestria executive farmed out the production of the drug to a Tajik vendor, in the guise of slashing costs and helping a developing economy but in point of fact because the executive received a quite sizable kickback from the vendor.

The Tajik vendor then cut costs of its own, cutting two of the three active chemicals in the drug with cheaper but pharmacologically inert isomers, which changed the relative strengths of the chemicals, and thus the effects of the drug. Two hundred children died; another six hundred went to sleep and their brains never woke up.

“Did you work on the class action suit?” Sullivan asked.

Holloway shook his head. “I worked on the criminal cases against the executive. Jonas Stern. He was up for criminally negligent homicide and Alestria for corporate manslaughter. Stern had his own lawyer for the homicide counts, but I was attached for the corporate manslaughter charges. The cases were combined and being heard by the same jury.” “So what did you do on the case to get disbarred?” Sullivan asked. “Did you tamper with the jury? Bribe the judge?” “I punched Stern,” Holloway said.

“Where?” Sullivan asked.

“In the face,” Holloway said.

“No,” Sullivan said. “I mean, did you punch him while the two of you were in court?” “Yup,” Holloway said. “In front of judge, jury, cocounsel, and a couple dozen reporters.” Sullivan looked at Holloway, uncomprehending. “Can I ask why?” he asked finally.

“Well, if you ask the North Carolina Bar, it was because the case was going badly for the defense and I was trying to force a mistrial by attacking Stern, thus intolerably prejudicing the jury,” Holloway said.

“Did you get a mistrial?” Sullivan asked.

“There was a mistrial,” Holloway said. “Of course. But I didn’t get the mistrial, because that’s not why I punched him.” “Then why did you do it?” Sullivan asked.

“Because he was a smug, heartless asshole,” Holloway said. “We were in court listening to testimony from parents who had given their kids our product, which killed them because Stern was too busy lining his pockets to worry about what our production line was doing. These parents were in the dock bawling their eyes out, and I’m sitting next to Stern, and he’s grinning and chuckling about it all, like the parents are trying out for roles in a soap opera, and he’s judging whether or not they get the part. I finally couldn’t take it anymore. So I tapped him on the shoulder and then I broke his nose.” “That was dumb,” Sullivan said.

“It was dumb,” Holloway agreed. “But it felt really good.”

“Just like punching DeLise was dumb, too,” Sullivan said.

“That also felt great at the time,” Holloway said.

“I would suggest to you that punching people is no way to go through life, however,” Sullivan said. “Since the first incident led to you being disbarred and the second led to you almost getting killed. It has a poor record of long-term success for you.” “Point taken,” Holloway said. “In any event, there was a mistrial, I was fired and then disbarred, and then I was told by the North Carolina AG that I had a choice between being arraigned for jury tampering or leaving the planet. And here I am.” “Whatever happened to Stern?” Sullivan asked.

“He was shot on the steps of the courthouse during the retrial,” Holloway said. “A grandfather of one of the dead kids. He got told earlier in the day by his doctor that he had Stage Four lung cancer. He went home, got his gun, shot Stern between the eyes, and then surrendered to the cops right there on the steps. Local community took up a collection for his bail, and the DA dragged her feet long enough for Grandpa to die at home.” Sullivan shook his head. “Doesn’t make it right. Any more than what you did,” he said.

“I suppose not,” Holloway said. He turned back to the skimmer controls to make sure they hadn’t wandered off course; they hadn’t. “But sometimes it feels good to do the wrong thing.” “Would that include telling that inquiry that Isabel was lying when she told them about you teaching your dog to blow things up?” Sullivan asked.

“Oh, that,” Holloway said. “Now you’re going to bring up what happened between me and Isabel.” “I’m just trying to get it all clear in my head,” Sullivan said.

“I don’t claim any high-minded purpose for that,” Holloway said. “It was something that would have gotten my surveying contract canceled, and I couldn’t have that. You’ll recall I’m not really allowed to go back to North Carolina. It’s not like I had any place else to go. I knew when I did it that it was the end of me and Isabel. She’s not the sort of person to forget something like that. But I didn’t feel I had much of an alternative.” “She still likes you,” Sullivan said.

“She likes me as much as she thinks I deserve,” Holloway said. “She likes my dog more.” “The dog didn’t lie about her during an inquiry,” Sullivan said.

“They never called the dog to testify,” Holloway said.

“You’re an interesting person, Jack,” Sullivan said. “I wish I could figure out what you were thinking when you punched Stern and when you turned on Isabel.” “Well, I think that’s the thing,” Holloway said. “I think it’s clear that sometimes I just don’t think.” “I think you do,” Sullivan said. “It’s just you think about you first. The ‘not thinking’ part comes right after that. When it’s time to deal with the consequences.” Holloway glanced back again. “You know what, Mark,” he said. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d really like you to come up with another topic of conversation now.”

Holloway introduced Sullivan to Carl and the Fuzzy Family when they landed; he had briefed the lawyer as they flew in so he wouldn’t be too surprised. Sullivan acquitted himself well with the introduction to the creatures and then turned to Isabel. Holloway politely looked the other way as Sullivan and Isabel kissed their welcomes but noticed that the Fuzzy Family did not. They gawked openly at this previously unknown form of human interaction.

Sullivan noticed as well. “I haven’t had that big an audience for a kiss since I was king of the prom,” he said. He bent down to get a better look at the creatures. They crowded around him, equally curious. Carl, who had seen rather more humans than the Fuzzys, went to greet his master.

Isabel looked over at Holloway. “You survived,” she said.

“Thanks to Mark here,” Holloway said, petting his dog. “Thank you for passing along the message.” “You didn’t think I wouldn’t,” Isabel said.

“No,” Holloway said. “It’s been long enough since we broke up.”

Isabel laughed at that.

By this time Baby Fuzzy had managed to cuddle up to Sullivan. “They are awfully cute, aren’t they?” he said, petting Baby. “This one in particular. She reminds me of a cat I had.” “Actually she’s not a ‘she,’” Isabel said.

“Really?” Sullivan said.

“Really?” Holloway said.

“Yes, really,” Isabel said. “That’s what you get for assuming patriarchy.” “You were calling Baby ‘she’ the last time I checked,” Holloway said.