Human Sister

live in a world requiring fresh minds to perceive its complexities. You should begin full-time studies at Stanford. It’s time.”
    I didn’t answer him, and we dropped the subject. We’d been over it several times before. I didn’t feel ready for any more big changes.
    Elio picked me up at the Palo Alto Airport. Of course, I didn’t mention anything about First Brother’s communication; for outside of Michael’s rooms, I conducted myself as if the whole world were listening and watching.
    Between classes that afternoon, I called Grandpa’s office. His secretary answered. We exchanged pleasantries; then I asked her whether Grandpa had been in the office all morning.
    “Yes, of course,” she said.
    “Grandma and I worry that perhaps he’s working too hard.”
    “I wouldn’t worry if I were you, Sara. He’s a remarkable man, you know. And strong for his age. Oh, there’s another call. Hold a sec and I’ll put you right through to him. Bye.”
    Within seconds, he answered. He seemed to be in a good mood and asked how my day was going. I told him a little about my classes, then asked how his day was going.
    “Oh, fine. Working on some government contracts, so I can’t say much.”
    “Have you been stuck in Berkeley all day?”
    “Yes. Is something the matter?”
    “I was just wondering whether you could pick me up a half-hour later today.”
    “Of course, but you should call Grandma and tell her we’ll be late.”
    “Okay.”
    “Good. Then I’ll see you at 1815. Say hello to Elio.”
    On the way home in the tiltrotor, I retrieved the counterfeit quarter while Grandpa spoke with the autopilot. Then I noticed a package on the floor, tucked between his legs. “It’s for your grandmother,” Grandpa answered when I asked about it. “Take a look. I was sitting in my office this afternoon, and it occurred to me that as the years pass, it is easy to begin taking the people we love for granted.”
    I opened the seal on the package. Inside were a dozen red roses. The attached card, imprinted with the name of a Berkeley florist, read: “For the love of my life.”
    “It is not such a terrible thing that love now and then asks us to commit a small affront against the sensible,” Grandpa said, interrupting my thoughts: He really was in Berkeley. He was out getting flowers for Grandma.
    I burst into tears and hugged him.
    “Well, well,” he said, patting my back. “I had no idea my bringing flowers home to Grandma meant so much to you.”

    The plot of the tiltrotor’s movements showed that it had gone from home to Palo Alto and from there directly to Livermore, where it had remained all day until 1751, when it had departed for Palo Alto to pick me up.
    I was stunned. Evidently, my call to Grandpa had been routed to him from his office, and the roses had been delivered to him at Livermore. Michael said we should confront Grandpa with our evidence and ask him to explain. I reminded Michael that I’d promised not to reveal to Grandpa the existence of the pigeonoid or the contents of any communication I received from it.
    “We need only show Grandpa the plot of the tiltrotor’s movements,” Michael said. “If he asks what induced us to spy on him, we can say that his increased absences from home made us suspicious.”
    We printed out our evidence and placed it on the study table, then waited for Grandpa to come in and say goodnight. When he did, I pointed toward the table. He looked puzzled, walked to the table, and began examining what we’d prepared. After about a minute, he picked up the papers, and dumped them into the recycler. “What I do, I do to protect both of you, and Grandma and Elio. I’m sorry if—”
    “Are you involved in planning another attack against Sara’s brothers?” Michael interrupted.
    Grandpa looked down. His shoulders drooped. He had lost weight during the past year, perhaps in part because his eating and sleeping, entrenched for years in a strict schedule, had become erratic under the pressure of increased work. His face was thin, its creases full of shadows.
    “I need to lie on the sofa for a moment,” he said.
    He lay with his left arm beside him, his right arm over his forehead and eyes. After about a minute of rest he said, “I would like to consult with you and Michael about something, but I don’t want you to discuss anything I say with Grandma or Elio.”
    “I don’t like keeping secrets from Elio,” I said.
    “I understand. It’s not been easy