Finally, he had a job he succeeded in.
Ico looked at the glow of corporate names, the tracery of lasers, the streams of homeward traffic. The city throbbed with the reassurance of ten million human hearts. He saw it differently since he'd come back. Saw what it all was for.
So strange, then, that Daniel and Raven had stayed.
Their decision troubled him. He'd thought of contacting the cyber underground, of course, but on reflection thought better of it. It would become another rumor of losers, and people wouldn't understand. It would change nothing, or ruin everything. So he'd done for Daniel and Raven what he could: more than they'd ever done for him! Told of their progress, urged their rescue. Coyle had gone himself and come back moody and irritable. The pair had sent him away!
He thought he'd known them better than that. What had the whole trip been about, if not getting back?
As he looked out he saw his own reflection in the glass. His tan fading now, his body a little softer. But a different confidence, surely. He'd done the right thing, hadn't he?
For a moment he saw in the glow of the city lights the red dust of Australia, and he recalled the snow-white trunks of the twisting ghost gums. The unreal clarity of it. A strange, strange place. His nightmares of it were of hot sand and relentless pursuit, so sometimes, after jerking awake in his vast, soft bed- the shadows of his condominium looming and the drumming of the city a mutter beyond his thick walls- he'd try to remember the sound of the birds. So many birds! But they wouldn't come to him.
Just as well.
He wondered, for the thousandth time, if Virus 03.1 had really been an accident.
Then Ico sat at his console, clicked up his schedule, and glanced at his watch. The one he'd worn to the wilderness.
"Your next appointment is here, Mr. Washington."