"I don't suppose it could wait a few weeks," Robin said.
"It's really better—" Sam began, but Robin put up her hand.
"The reason I ask is because at this moment I just want to be Robin Baker. Not the Fehen of Nidu, not the Evolved Lamb, and not the richest person on Earth. Not even my own nation. Just Robin Baker, who owns a pet store where by now the animals have completely forgotten who I am. Just Robin Baker, who all she wants is to go home now. That's all I want to be, if that's all right with you. Just for a little while. I hope you understand."
Sam looked ready to offer a rebuttal, but Hamn put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "We understand entirely, Robin. That'll be fine with us. We're going to get ready to get out of here. We'll come get you when we're ready to go."
"Thankyou," Robin said. Hamn and Sam Berlant turned to go.
"Excuse me," Takk said. "You said earlier that you were Sam Berlant."
"lam," Sam said.
"I have a message for you," Takk said. He took out Archie's book of prophecies. Sam took it, stared at it for a moment, and then looked at Takk.
"You knew Archie," Sam said.
"He was my friend," Takk said.
Sam motioned to Takk to follow them. He did, leaving Creek and Robin to themselves on the altar of the Great Hall.
"So you really don't want to be any of these things you've become," Creek said to Robin, as they watched Takk walk off with the technicians. "Not everyone gets to be their own nation or a religious icon or the richest woman ever."
"Or a sheep," Robin said. "You can't forget that" She reached over to gather up her bouquet of Fehensul.
"Or a sheep," Creek agreed. "But with the exception of the sheep, most people would jump at a chance to be the things you are."
"Would you?" Robin asked.
"No," Creek said. "I like being me most of the time. But I suspect I'm not like most people."
"This much I knew," Robin said. She handed Creek a flower. "Take this, Harry. Payment for keeping me alive."
"One hundred seventy-five billion dollars and I get a flower," Creek said, taking it
"It's the thought that counts," Robin said.
"Thanks," Creek said, and held it to his nose. "It smells nice."
"It does," Robin agreed. "It's talking to you in the language of flowers."
"What is it saying?" Creek asked.
" 'There's no place like home,'" Robin said.
"That's a nice message," Creek said.
"It's the best," Robin said.
Creek held his flower up for Robin. She smiled, leaned over, and inhaled deeply.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I write the books, but the books don't make it to readers without a whole bunch of people helping them along. This book was helped along by Patrick Nielsen Hayden, who edited it; Arthur D. Hlavaty, who performed copy-editing duties; Irene Gallo, who put a cover on it; Lynn Newmark, who did the interior design; Dot Lin, who publicized it; and the lovely folks in Tor's crack marketing department, who convinced bookstores that it was worth putting on their shelves. I offer my humble thanks to all of them for the work they've done on behalf of the book. It wouldn't have gotten to you without them. Other thanks in the 'For offices goes to Teresa Nielsen Hayden, Liz Gorinsky, and of course Tom Doherty.
Beyond Tor, thanks for help and support during the writing of this book goes out to Regan Avery, Stephen Bennett, and Stephanie Lynn. Philip K. Dick is responsible for the title and for getting me thinking about sheep. I hope he's not turning in his grave. Thanks to the readers of Whatever, my personal blog, who got to hear me get all angsty about writing this, and offered comments of encouragement. Finally, thanks as always to Kristine and Athena Scalzi for their love, encouragement, and tolerance. Family is a wonderful thing.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
John Scalzi's science fiction novels include Old War, The Ghost Brigades, The Last Colony, and Agent to the Stars. His published nonfiction includes The Rough Guide to the Universe and The Book of the Dumb. His weblog The Whatever (www.scalzi.com/whatever) is one of the longest-established such sites on the Internet. He lives in Ohio with his wife and daughter.