s. But they  worked on us, twisted us a little, aligned
our drives, planted the bonephones, paired us with handlers.
     Olga must have known, must have seen it all, somehow~ she was trying to
keep us from finding our way  out there, where she'd been. She  knew that if
we found her, we'd have to go. Even  now,  knowing what I know, I still want
to  go. I  never will. But  we can swing here  in this  dark that towers way
above  us, Charmian's hand in mind.  Between our palms  the drug's torn foil
wrapper.  And Saint Olga smiles out at  us from the walls; you can feel her,
all  those  prints from the same publicity shot, torn  and taped across  the
walls of night, her white smile, forever.