In the shade of the covered walkway, Ralston's smile flexes wider. There is something in the arrangement which is unpleasant, a certain devotion to the parody of good humor in order to avoid slanting toward a frown. Meaningless. Yes, he might picked a similar word.

"Before we were sent through that portal, one of the others asked whether I'd met any visitors who might have come before us. Clearly there must have been someone, otherwise how would Ambrose know anything about our unique"—unique; sure—"relationship to the Singularity?"

No, he'd told her. He had not.

"I confess I've a particular distaste for half truths."