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"Minnesota".
"That's the one east of Wisconsin?"
"West of Wisconsin".
"Ah". She paused until he looked at her. "How old is your mother?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Just wondering if she was Old Regime or not".
"No, she died fairly young".
"I'm truly sorry to hear that. Here, try these. I'll give you some privacy. There's clean socks and underwear in the drawers. I'm sure Mr. Silas won't mind you taking a pair".
* * *
They ate off china in a restaurant with a French name filled with blue velvet and gold trim. Miss L. went home for the evening and Silvers took his spot at his master's shoulder. The Grog got his own bench behind a thin curtain and sucked down an entire tureen of soup, softly hooting to himself as the men ate. Valentine had salmon with dill and assorted greens, Silas king crab legs. Silas probed him, not about opinions of the Kurians and those who worked for them, but about music and art and books he'd read.
Over dessert they talked about what kind of sports Valentine enjoyed. Silas apologized for the size of the desserts, enormous slabs of cheesecake slathered in syrupy strawberries. "If I have a weakness, it's for sweets".
"Mind answering a question?" Valentine asked.
"That's foolish to answer before hearing the question".
"Why the VIP treatment?"
"You're not getting the VIP treatment. I am. You're just in the overkill".
"And the questions about jazz versus jug band?"
"Just trying to take the measure of you".
"I appreciate the clothes, but this isn't the life I want. I could never live in the shadow of one of those towers".
Silas laid down his delicate dessert fork. "Do you speak from experience?"
"I've spent years at a stretch in the Kurian Zone".
"Just because you make it sound temporary doesn't change facts on the ground".
"There's no such thing as never. I'm pretty sure some mathematician or other proved that".
* * *
Silas put Valentine up in an almost empty apartment in his building, with some apologies that it would be temporary. But it did have a bed and hot water, and it was warm and dry. Valentine looked out at the city through two layers of glass door, both locked and welded shut.
The next day, after a quick rundown on the public transit system from Miss L., they fitted him with a plastic-sheathed metal loop around his ankle. A twitchy technician issued him with an ID card and swiped it through a slot in a black plastic circle the size of a wristwatch face embedded in the loop.
"Okay, Valentine comma D. of the Catalina Island and Baja Principalities.
Your TRFID transmitter verifies who you are every time you use the card. Just in case you lose it, it's useless to anyone else". He consulted a screen. "You'll be okay for travel downtown for a couple days. Wow, nice expense account".
"It's not going to electrocute me in the shower, or blow my foot off if I leave Seattle, will it?"
The technician raised his eyes. "Catalina must really suck, if they run it like a work camp".
"No comment", Valentine said.
