"This whole thing is weird to think about," Haruto agrees, draining the last of his coffee down. He sets the cup down, leaning his forearms against the edge of the table.

"Maybe ask the network if anyone has any ideas?" he offers, "a lot of Transports have been here a while--someone might have a solution." Nitoh might yet come up with one, anyway--it's not like he's been doing that much cooking, right?

"Anyway, let's go," he says, standing with a scrape back of his chair against the floor. "I hope someone wrote a book about me," he muses. Realistically, he hopes he didn't make that big a dent. The real triumph was in letting a place as accepting as the commune go on working.