I wonder who made this knife for me. It is on my desk as I work, the exploding spherical bloom of the first strike shining in the lamplight. Like all the others still sharp enough to shave with. Was she showing one of her children how to strike flint, waiting perhaps to walk over the hills to meet their Father a Left Gang worker on Seti, and taking dinner with them for the cool evening. But no that could not be, this is far too early for that, Seti would not go into the ground for another thousand years.