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THE SHATTERREALM SERIES:

A World Awaits
Never Taste Death
Yet Far Away

SHATTERREALM
WEB COMICS:

A Foreign Disease
Across Empty Skies
If I Had to Perish Twice
Qadosh
The Conduit

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Yet Far Away

Hannah Rose Williams

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© Hannah Rose Williams 2023

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PART I

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1
A fleet of silver ships fell from the stars.
The terraformed planet was under attack, and every
available vessel had been called in. Though they continued to radio
the people below, no response came. Now, the atmosphere ignited
against the hulls of the rapidly descending starships. All pilots
found themselves panting through gritted teeth. All except one. He
did not breathe.
Nor was he technically a he. The robot had never
pretended to be anything other than what it was: an extremely
precise machine that only resembled a man. Towering above the
average soldier, its hefty frame was all royal blue trimmed with
silver. It was the rest of the Proxima Terrestra Military who had
assigned him a name, inspired by his penchant for playing soothing
classical music in battle.
“Amadeus?” The co-pilot, a grayish-blue aquatic creature
named Xel, addressed the robot. “What is this noise coming from
the speakers?”
“Mozart,” said the robot, glowing red eyes fixed straight
ahead. His deep voice boomed from the speaker hidden under his
flat, white face. “Padua No. 3 in G minor. Meant to soothe your
nerves.”
“I see. And my earlier question?”
“I thought you were using sarcasm,” explained Amadeus.
He prepared to level off and enter battle. “Yes, I believe the
attackers are dimension hoppers.”
Xel made a soft noise like a laugh, which Amadeus also
took as a sort of sarcasm. It was difficult to tell with living beings.
Adding to the confusion, Xel's tone often seemed as disaffected as
that of Amadeus. Despite how dark his disposition could be under
the surface, however, it hadn’t yet proved a liability. “Mozart,” he
said softly.

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 They were still hot from entry when they blasted over a
devastated fishing community. No enemy ships in sight, the robot
noted. All combat appears to have been ground warfare.
He circled back to the shoreline.
“What are you doing?” asked Xel.
“We are meeting the enemy on land.”
“Yes, captain. Is there any chance of exposure to germs
from another universe?”
“Officially, there is only one universe. We are simply
incapable of seeing more than three dimensions at once.” Amadeus
set the autopilot and strode toward the armory at the back of the
ship. “But you may be at risk of contracting an extra-dimensional
disease, yes.”
Amadeus clipped a shotgun to his belt and hoisted a multi-
round RPG to his shoulder. He tossed a smaller but powerful rifle
to Xel. They turned to face the door.
Xel ventured, “I am guessing there is no landing strip.”
“No. The ship is intuitively linked to my computer. Jump
on my command.”
In a gust of salty, frigid air, the door opened, and they
were confronting a rapidly expanding beach. The craft dipped
close. A splash of brine rolled over their feet before draining back
into the ocean.
“Now.”
Amadeus leaped through the hatch. Behind him, Xel
followed, shouting something in Hydratellian. They both hit the
water. The robot activated a buoyancy chamber to keep from
plummeting straight to the ocean floor. The lithe alien glided deftly
around him. Xel was a special kind of amphibian that had not
existed on Earth, back when there was an Earth — the gilled kind
with a resilient mucus invulnerable to the stinging salt of the sea.
Doubtless he would have found the dive refreshing under different
circumstances.
They reached the beach. As excess water poured from his
hollow chambers, Amadeus scanned their surroundings for threats.
The shore was littered with bodies, all civilian. The nearest living
people appeared to be low-level law enforcement. Their breath was
shallow, and they barely responded as Amadeus pounded down the

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beach. He stepped over them, his attentions on the devastated
settlement ahead, but he noticed Xel slowing down.
“We cannot help them,” said Amadeus.
Xel still hung back. “Wait, Captain.”
A survivor was wheezing unintelligibly. As Xel knelt to lift
the man's head onto his lap, they made out only two syllables:
“Ven… mus…!”
Amadeus lost his balance, one of his systems glitching.
Someone had shot him from behind. In the second it took him to
drop to one knee, he assessed the damage: a dented shoulder. The
blast had nearly hit Xel, too, and Xel was now flat on the ground
with his weapon trained on the attacker.
Amadeus turned. The two of them shot the enemy so
thoroughly that it was difficult to estimate what he'd looked like.
“Forward.”
They strode up the rocky shore to a cramped
neighborhood of quaint, wooden houses, most of them caked in an
indigo blue paint made from local crustaceans. Amadeus fine-tuned
his sensors. The first house was empty. So was the next. Some
unidentified species was waiting around the next corner. He silently
signaled to Xel.
They took this one alive. Xel shot its right pectoral and
Amadeus simply struck it to the ground and pressed one powerful
foot down on its throat.
“Tentacles?” Xel wondered, kneeling out of the long
tendrils' reach. They protruded from under the creature's helmet.
“No suckers. And not in symmetrical pairs.”
Something like panels lined the inside of the enemy's arms
and legs, even decorating its ribcage. Amadeus could see its pulse,
neon green on black, and wondered why any armor would be
designed to betray such vulnerabilities. Decoys, perhaps. They
glows as veins did under a black light. Careful not to put too much
weight on his captive, he knelt closer and found the panels were
well reinforced, though they were thin as the rest of the creature's
dark unitard.
A P.T.M. ship hovered over the houses above them. It
seemed to be empty, but not set to autopilot. It drifted, then
careened, crashing into an inferno that sent a wave of blistering

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heat surging toward them. The paint on the houses peeled.
Amadeus turned to see whether his co-pilot was adequately
sheltered, but found he was gone.
“Xel,” he shouted.
No answer. Again, Amadeus fine-tuned his sensors. As he
continued turning, cinders raining down around him, other ships
crashed here and there. Traces of his skin cells in the air. No trail to
follow. P.T.M. craft all failing, but appear undamaged.
The enemy under his foot twitched. It arched its back as if
in pain, struggling to remove its helmet. When it succeeded, a face
distorted by rapidly growing tumors stared up at him, bulging,
distorting. The rest of the enemy's body, as well, suddenly seemed
ill-shaped for the uniform.
Life signs failed.
Another enemy staggered out of hiding. Amadeus trained
his weapon on it, but saw no reason to fire. It collapsed, suffering a
similar ailment.
Amadeus scanned his immediate surroundings. Still
connected to his ship, which was now the only airborne craft, he
took in the entire settlement. The farther his instruments looked,
the more he became convinced that there were no survivors here.
Yet there seemed to be very few bodies.
P.T.M. citizens and service members have apparently disappeared
from this plane of existence. Only one military force that can help us,
Amadeus wagered. It is unlikely they will be interested.

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2
Inter-D. The headquarters for the Alliance of Dimension
Travelers.
It was important to hit first, hit hard, and keep on hitting.
Wasn't always easy to see a hit coming, though. That was how
Camella ended up with that familiar copper taste in her mouth. As
she wiped the blood from her face, leaving a smear of dark green
on her alabaster skin, she remembered that she had several
handicaps in this fight: She had no weight to throw into her
punches, no clan to back her up, and no fingers on her left hand.
And that was how she found herself running.
The barracks at Inter-D had been housing directionless,
inter-dimensional refugees for so long that it had become a tent
city complete with subcultures and gangs. Judging by the patterns
on the blankets strung across the aisle, and the smell of lamb and
dates, Cam was in one of the Muslim corners. Possibly Saudi.
“’Scuse me!” she chirped, jumping onto one person’s
shoulders and vaulting onto another. She skipped across the crowd
of people faster than they could figure out what was happening.
One man saw her coming and reached for her, which was how she
lost her sneaker. Oh well. It had been falling apart, anyway.
She could see the door to the ambulatory. Jumping to the
floor, she kicked off her other shoe. Then a Saudi boy emerged
from the tent city to her right. He was only about twelve, but taller
than her, and he had a lot of friends. Shouting in melodic Arabic,
he pointed right at her.
The tents rustled. An army of little kids swept past him,
screaming gleeful war cries. These were the most feared inhabitants
of the barracks — lonely kids with seared consciences. They wore
whatever they could steal. Their mouths and noses were stained
from huffing something (if Cam knew what, she’d be huffing it, too).
They were destined for the draft and death (like her). They didn't
know murder from a football match.

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 The smirking Saudi boy’s little friends rushed around him
like rapids around a rock, all charging straight at Cam.
She shot him a dirty look and turned to run. “Ughh, it
wasn't even a good mango!” She chucked the half-eaten thing over
her shoulder.
The only escape route was out of the barracks, into the
pristine ambulatory that stretched around Inter-D’s hub. This was
bad. Rules were rarely enforced in the barracks, but if they caused
enough ruckus in the main corridor, soldiers got involved. Cam just
had to stay ahead of the mob until that happened.
She had forgotten about the other door to the barracks.
More boys were rushing her from that direction. “Slag,” she
whispered.
A sharp whistle cut through the din. The shouting died
down a bit. Then several of the children exclaimed, “Ondrej,”
“¡Andres!” or “Andrew!”
And the tide shifted away from Cam. Other kids from
other cliques seemed to appear from nowhere, mobbing the young
man in the hallway.
She ducked into a niche and watched in safety as the
ragged children swarmed Andrew Lucado. Barely any taller than
Cam, and only towering over some of the little people, he had been
working hard at building muscle. He must not have gone on an
Inter-D mission for some time, because his glossy black hair had
grown out again, long wisps falling over his dark eyes. With an
uncharacteristically stern look, he waited, and the kids gradually fell
silent, dropping to the floor with their legs crossed and their hands
in their laps.
“Bendígamos a Señor,” Andrew said firmly, and a dozen little
voices joined in unison: “y estos tus regalos, que estamos a punto de recibir
de tu prima, por Cristo nuestro Señor. Amén.”
It was then that he reached into the bag he was carrying
and produced a tamal. The scent of pork, garlic and jalapenos
instantly made Cam’s mouth water. Hands reached out. Voices
cried out. But another glance from Andrew quieted them. He
walked from one to another and dispersed the food. The children
ate ravenously.

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 Andrew spoke softly with them for a while. This was his
true personality, reserved, but never cold. In fact, she had never
seen him more social than he was with this crowd. He made jokes.
He looked confident, even. When everyone had eaten, he kicked a
ball around with them. Then he sat where all of the boys could see
him and read them a book about pirates. It looked too advanced,
and there were no pictures, but Andrew spent most of his time
looking up from the pages and simplifying the story. Cam didn't
wonder long how the boys kept still. She soon found herself just as
intrigued by the story.
Finally, he pulled a handful of rubber balls out of his bag
and tossed them down the hallway. Screaming, the children chased
after them, about half claiming to be pirates.
Only one boy hung back. He showed off a wiggly tooth.
Andrew pretended to be concerned. “¿Que pasó?”
The boy laughed and explained that his grown-up tooth
was coming in, “¡estupido!”
When this last child ran off, Andrew strolled over to the
niche where Cam was hiding and gave her the last tamal. As she
peeled back the corn husk and wolfed down the food, she sensed
him watching her as he so often did. It made her angry. It made her
afraid.
“I should see the other guy?” he asked presently.
He must have been referring to all the blood on her face.
She could taste it in the tamal. Gulping a mouthful of food, she
managed, “He thought it was his mango. I disagreed.”
“Next time give 'em what they want. I'll bring you
something from Earth 7.”
“Thanks, but I can get food from Ron, if I want help. Why
are you teaching them Spanish? You know all their drill instructors
are going to use English.”
“They learn Spanish faster. Rules are more consistent, and
it's more like Arabic than you might think. I have a theory it will
make English easier to learn, too.”
Cam shrugged in acquiescence and continued eating.
“Besides,” Andrew stammered, “now that Kanata is
padding out our forces, I'm not so sure these kids will end up in
service.”

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 “So what'll happen to them?” She smiled humorlessly.
“Wait, I don't care. What'll happen to us?”
Andrew turned aside, shaking his head. She squinted at
him. Even after all the working out, he was hardly an ideal soldier.
Much larger men couldn’t depend on him to carry them to the
medic. And then there was her unimposing physique. And her
hand...
He reached for her. Wildly, she slapped him away, taking a
step back, eyeing him. She realized he had probably only been
trying to wipe the blood from her face, but her heart would not
stop racing. Who just touches someone’s face like that?
Andrew winced. “Sorry.” He turned as if to go. But a
young woman with a much younger girl had been closing in behind
him, and now they stammered, “¿Señor? ¿Tiene más comida?”
Regretfully, he explained that, no, he had no more food.
He asked whether Inter-D’s cafeteria had been restocked lately, as
if he didn’t know the answer, and the woman launched into how
she had been thrown from her home world, how the father of her
child had been forced to join Inter-D’s army, and how the Ex-D
had killed him.
The girl, meanwhile, was gaping at Cam’s disfigured hand.
“¿Qué tal?” Cam quipped with a crooked grin.
Emboldened, the girl demanded, “¿Donde estan tus dedos?”
Where are your fingers?
The child’s mother slapped her leg, ranting at her crankily
for asking prying questions. As if Cam’s disfigurement was some
source of shame. Cam had no reason to be ashamed. She had faced
Parker Alton, general of the Ex-D, twice, and lived.
“No, esta bien,” she told the woman. Sinking to the girl’s
level, she explained sweetly, “Un demente los cortó.” A madman cut them
off.
“Ay.” The woman gave Cam a death glare and ushered her
horrified child away.
Andrew suppressed a smile. Slowly, he turned to give Cam
a look.
“Shut up. Since when are you Papa Noel, anyway?”
He shrugged. “I get to go home. Eat. They’re stuck here,
eating whatever the allies give them and dreaming about scary men

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who cut off people's fingers. And in a few years they’ll end up
like…”
“Like me?”
He hesitated.
“Yeah, genius.” She licked the salt off her good hand.
Licked the blood off her lips.
“How’s your hand?” asked Andrew.
“It fuckin’ hurts, thanks.”
“Still? I thought phantom pains went away.”
“Great news! I'll let you know when that happens.”
He made soothing noises, fanning his hands out as if she
were a spooked horse. “I’ll go home. Research treatments.”
“Ha! So now you’re my doctor?”
Looking everywhere but at her, Andrew crumpled the
now-empty bag that still smelled like tamales. She felt suddenly
guilty for giving him such a hard time. He really was trying to be
nice, as always. Why was she like this?
He changed the subject. “I remember when I was proud of
Inter-D.”
“Yeah.” Cam frowned. “Commander Arons was my hero.
And I was a hero for joining his army.”
“I wanted to be just like you when I grew up,” he laughed.
“I don't hate Arons, but... Did something change? Or did we
change?”
Cam looked at him point blank, and he cringed, backing
off. That was her favorite part of being half-human, the way her
absinthe green eyes unsettled people. “Arons built this place. He
owns this place. Nobody ranks higher than him. All the 'therapy' is
run by his wife. What do you think she does? She just brainwashes
us to be grateful. So if he is doing something wrong... whether he
means well or not... who’s going to stop him?”
“You?” asked Andrew nervously.
“When second shift starts, Ron is holding a secret meeting
at the boy’s club or whatever in the toilets. Behind that wall where
they all smoke hookah? You should show.”
Andrew looked worried. “What are you guys gonna do?”
She kept grinning. “Don't know yet!”

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3
The second shift began, but Andrew did not make himself
present at the meeting, which was just typical of him. Cam pushed
her way to the front, where she seated herself next to Ron. “Hi,
Dad,” she sneered.
“Nice face, have you been fighting with the other boys?”
he jibed.
Cam stuck with Ron because he had known her longer
than anyone still living; it had been his influence that had refined
her archaic, overly deliberate English into American sarcasm, but
most of his crowd consisted of European progressives these days.
More people arrived. Though they had all served and lived
together for some time, they tended to self-sort into like-minded
groups. The Latin Americans, who sometimes had a surprising
amount of trouble communicating with the Spanish and
Portuguese Europeans, had their own subgroups. Meanwhile, the
Chinese, Japanese, and Korean soldiers all had an uneasy
relationship, but they seemed somewhat unified in their
mystification over the shameful behavior of Westerners. Nearby
where a handful of Africans, Christian and other. The African
Muslims felt they gelled better with the Arab Muslims, who
disagreed; they and the South Asian Muslims made up another
clique. Sgt. Citro sat among them and often muttered quick
translations (or held up the conversation with semantics; he was a
linguist and fascinated with words). Despite Citro's best efforts at
being polite and inclusive, the Jewish soldiers always sat opposite
from him and a good distance away from the Christians, too.
When groups this diverse lived in close proximity, bad
blood was more than a matter of history, which varied a little in
each person’s home dimension, anyway. The latest offense might
have taken place earlier in the same day. And with fewer Ex-D
encounters since the last war, and rumors swirling that General

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Alton might be dead, Inter-D was losing its one unifying element: a
common enemy.
It wasn't long before the space became crowded. Ron
called the meeting to order.
“Inter-D is officially its own state now,” he announced.
“Recognized by other worlds. That's more obvious thanks to our
relationship with Dimension Earth 12, which just made our alliance
public last year. So what are our rights as citizens of this state?
How is this state run? Did anyone think of our needs? It's starting
to look like our fearless leader Dex Arons is dictator-for-life. He
brought most of us in as kids, and now he's throwing us out like
garbage.”
Cam felt a pang in her chest. He was talking about her. He
was probably right, though, she was garbage.
It was Kristi Bailey who interrupted. “It's obvious he
always tried his best to do the right thing.”
“The right thing,” said Ron, “according to you and all the
other moralists who want a theocracy.”
“We will not bow to a Zionist regime,” blurted one of the
Muslims, and Citro hurried to say more diplomatically, “You can't
expect everyone accept the religion of the Jews.”
“Christians,” a Jewish man corrected him. “Dex Arons is
not a real Jew and his rabbi is not a real rabbi. It's an offensive
farce! These people are playing make-believe, and real Judaism
doesn't get a voice. Nor does any other religion.”
The irate Muslim took the opportunity to add, “Their
blasphemy about Isa ibn Maryam teaches that they can do
whatever they want and be forgiven. That is why there is so much
sexual immorality in the barracks!”
The African Christians began to protest. Ron raised his
voice. “Too Jewish or not Jewish enough. Either way, he's used us
little guys to build this place, and what do we have? Stinking toilets
for a meeting place. A reeking barracks for a home. A cafeteria
where the fastest and pushiest get all the food. While he sleeps in
the officers' wing behind armored doors!”
Kristi locked eyes with him. “You sleep in the officers'
wing, too,” she said in a more private tone. “And you're Jewish.
And you're—”

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 “Not religious.” He winked. Ron was biding his time
before he discussed his sexuality with this group.
This little exchange went unheard by most of the
convention. Raising her voice, Kristi turned to the crowd.
“Christianity condemns sexual immorality.”
“Oh my God!” exclaimed a Liberian. “Yes, yes.”
Someone else shouted, “You Christian women dress like
whores.”
“And then you act surprised when you're treated like
whores!” another added.
Kristi's lips pressed together so hard that they paled. A few
of the East Asians exchanged glances, flabbergasted by the blatant
animosity of the meeting. A Korean man opened his mouth to
speak, but—
“Christian women train cats and dogs and keep them as
husbands,” stated a mullah matter-of-factly.
“What?!”
“What is the proper response to this? How can we live in
peace with such people?”
“Issues like rape,” Ron shouted methodically, fighting to
make every word carry over the unrest, “are a huge problem in the
barracks and the officers' quarters, and even men and boys can be
targets because this is a military state run on aggression and obedience!”
Ron's friends agreed. “Instate a democracy! More
education! Make schooling mandatory.”
“Overthrow the Zionist regime!” someone else exclaimed.
“There is no Zionist regime!” a Jewish man stated. He
asked Kristi with firmly established suspicion, “How do we know
you aren't here to report back to your commander?”
Defensively, she said, “I agree we need a democratic
government! And a better court system!”
“They hate our black skin,” declared an African. “They
want to castrate us!”
A Latin American yelled, “And we need justice in
healthcare and food distribution!”
Cam leaned toward Ron, grinning. “Great meeting. We'll
have a revolution by tomorrow.”

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 “Hey, hey, hey!” Ron stood up, bellowing over the noise.
The men he’d interrupted looked back at him fiercely, but he was
the highest-ranking officer present, and he’d called the meeting.
“All this noise is going to draw attention! Each of you choose
someone to represent your interests. We’ll meet here tomorrow
and speak one at a time.” Then, as if he'd only just realized that this
meant the meeting was over, he said, “Dismissed. Damn it...”
The grumbling crowd dispersed, each trying to get in one
last word over his shoulder. Like an admonishing parent, Ron
stared back sternly at anyone who met his gaze. Only Kristi drew
closer. “We should care it’s happening,” she hissed, “whether it’s
happening to men or not.”
Ron actually turned red. Cam didn’t think she’d seen him
do that before. “You know that's not what I was implying.”
Kristi whirled away.
Now it was just Cam and Ron. Groaning, he rubbed his
face. “Is there a single thing people around here agree on?”
Cam thought about it literally. “Most of us wanna live.”
He chuckled a little. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And eat,” she added. “Hey, you really think Inter-D is
trying to bury people like me?”
“When’s the last time you went on a mission?”
Absent-mindedly, she cradled her wounded hand. “Arons
isn’t ashamed of me. I lost all these fingers to the enemy and I got
a medal. He’s missing a whole arm, why would he be ashamed of
me?”
“You had to trade that medal for food, Cammy.” Ron
ignored the sharp look she sent him. “I hear they’re planning on
redesigning this place. Making it more like a city. There will be
civilians living here. If you’re smart, you’ll try to become one of
them.”
Cam snorted. “I’m not living that long.”
“You've said that for years.” Ron licked his lips, then said
carefully, “I think maybe the only reason you feel like that is
because of what happened to you.”
“Well, I’ll see what I can do about that!” she spat. It hurt,
it really hurt, that he didn't call after her when she stomped away.

18
She wished she were human so she could stomp louder. She should
have stayed on that spaceship…
Wait, really? “What’s wrong with me?” Cam demanded
aloud. She didn’t care who heard it. She was hardly the craziest
person here. It was just that her heart had been racing for a long
time now, ever since Andrew had tried to touch her, and it
wouldn't stop, and she felt like she was dying.

19
4
Lenovra.
A young woman protruded from the snowbank that had
drifted in around her. She was wrapped in a tattered blanket, her
rich copper skin now a dingy blue, her teeth chattering.
Under the blanket, a tiny voice whined, “You make new
fire, Mommy?”
“Yes,” she said, but only to shut him up. She could not
explain why it was easier to die of hypothermia than starvation.
Without making a move to start any fire, she choked, “We’ll be
warm soon. You sleep, Hunter.” She had heard hypothermia felt
warm.
Hunter did not sleep. Closing her eyes against the cutting
sound of his whimper, Ember Monroe waited for the warm, sleepy
feeling she’d heard so much about. Why was it taking so long? Her
tears were freezing to her face.
“Pleeease?” little Hunter implored, still under the
impression that please was a magic word. “Please! I cold, Mommy!
Please!”

20
5
The wind whistled softly outside. Brionan wondered if the
blizzard had kicked up again. Alone in a tall, wooden chair, he felt
as if he were submerged in a bottle of black ink. He hardly knew
his own status. In no way did he miss his time as a refugee at Inter-
D, that space between spaces, where confused and angry souls
seemed to swarm around him, but he would give an awful lot to
see them today. They were the only thing he could see, and he saw
none now.
It was the winter after the Second Druid War. Bri had
taken up residence in the palace of Shayla, which was the only
structure more-or-less intact in Breena. First, the city had been
abandoned by the Shee, his mother’s people. Then it had been
trampled and smashed in a bloody battle between druids, their Ex-
D allies, and Inter-D. Now, the desecrated clearing was covered in
heaps of midwinter snow.
As Bri slouched near the cooling hearth, nothing to look
forward to but a little pot of cider, he dwelled on the only thing he
knew: He was freezing, hungry, and alone. An old wolfhound he'd
named Gryphon slept in the corner, but sleeping was all Gryphon
was apt to do. Bri was partial to the thing, blind and half-deaf as it
was. It was the only creature in Lenovra who needed him. Probably
the only creature worse off.
Bri's oldest child, Carvernon, had been stationed at a new
Inter-D base in a human world, where he was to serve indefinitely.
Stefana had chosen to train under Dr. Solomon at Inter-D
headquarters. Camella, too, was probably with Inter-D. She seemed
to think the army had done more for her than her own father had.
As for his youngest, Tullian…
He nearly fell out of his chair. His sudden, heart-wrenched
sob echoed back through the lonely palace. Sometimes the wound
felt fresh. Tully was dead.

21
 A young male foreigner in wartime, the boy had posed a
potential threat to the Gaiskosk (a tribe of what humans would call
“elves”). Bri had no vendetta against the Gaiskosk lord who had
given the order; that man was dead. But who had actually done the
deed? The slaves who had been serving that lord were now Bri’s
only companions. With nowhere to go and no nobility to follow,
they had chosen to follow Brionan. In all probability, though, one
of them had taken the order to kill Tullian.
Did they understand that he knew this? Did they
understand that he had stayed silent on the subject intentionally?
He couldn’t bear to know who had done it. Not if he was to live
with them. Not if he was to live. The winter rations they’d
plundered had run very low, and for all the novelty of Bri’s Shee
powers, he was still blind. He had to trust that the snow had piled
up. Trust that his men had only gone out to hunt, and that they
would return. Trust that, even if they were abandoning him or just
lost in the white-out, his children would come to see him before he
starved.
It was much too soon to worry about that. He worried
anyway.
“Gakhrrud!” Bri snapped. It was the name of the artificial
intelligence that ran the palace — or that the palace ran. Bri wasn’t
sure which.
Even though he had summoned it, he still flinched to hear
a voice issue from nowhere: “Yes, Brionan?”
Gakhrrud made Bri feel truly blind. “Locate the others,”
Bri said.
There was a slight pause before the A.I. replied, “They are
nine furlongs from the palace. They appear to be on their way
back.”
Bri allowed himself a little sigh of relief. Then he
murmured, “I suppose I shouldn’t be using you to spy on people.”
“Are you using me improperly?” the computer asked.
“Not at the moment,” Bri replied. He almost forbade
Gakhrrud from giving him any more information. The thing had
been built with good intentions, but it was easily manipulated.
Even as it spoke to someone, its voice would rapidly, increasingly
mimic theirs; Gakhrrud already sounded like an echo of Bri. The

22
power and stupidity of the thing could be very easily abused, yet
Bri pushed these thoughts away. He would not abuse it, he told
himself.
Straightening in the chair, Bri pulled the fur cloak tighter
around his shoulders. “Are they still approaching?”
“Yes.”
As time passed, Bri could almost see them, like distant
pinpricks of light. When they grew closer, he would know more
about them, but there were some things his Shee abilities couldn’t
reveal.
“Have they shot anything to eat?” he asked. The more he
could impress with knowledge, the more secure his position as
leader. He felt a twinge of guilt about this manipulative behavior,
but he pushed that thought away, too. He wasn't a tyrant. He
simply wanted to survive.
“No,” said Gakhrrud. “They seem to have a young woman
and a child with them.”
Bri’s heart pattered a little. “Only one woman?” he asked.
There were over thirty men.
Gakhrrud specified, “Only one woman. Secondfall. Please
explain to me how you define the term ‘spying.’”
Bri ignored the question. He had a bigger problem than a
skewed sex ratio. Secondfall meant human. “Make yourself scarce,” he
told the A.I.. “The others don’t need to know about you yet.”

23
6
“A hurry on you!”
The warrior shoved Ember forward. Though his language
was still mostly foreign to her, this was one command Ember could
understand. She only wished she knew how to explain that her legs
were going numb. She collapsed.
Hunter leapt up from her arms, up to his waist in snow,
his little body quaking with rage. “Hey! No push!” he hollered at
the warrior. “You no do that to my mommy!”
The captors shrank back for a moment. They were clothed
in furs, their ears long and pointed, their skin a muted honeydew,
their weapons polished bright — yet they actually looked a little
afraid of Hunter. They were certainly disgusted.
The one who had pushed Ember seemed to steel himself.
He stepped forward — his light form left no tracks in the snow —
and he pulled Ember up by her hair. Stifling a scream, she grabbed
her son, restrained him, and whispered to him as they trudged
forward. “Mommy was only playing a game. Be nice to the scary
man, my baby.”
The elves seemed to want them alive. For now, at least,
she feared no sudden attack from them. It was her son who
terrified her. What if he tried to attack the elves? What did he think
he was capable of?
Ahead, there was a part in the trees. Ember staggered to a
stop. She absorbed, in awe, the felled trees and flattened ruins. She
recognized the broken remains of a druid-built catapult. She
wondered if that lump of snow outlined a fallen soldier. The wind,
and the huge snowflakes that had resumed falling, had obscured
everything with dunes of alabaster.
Beyond it all awaited a Neolithic palace. It spun lazily in
the sky.

24
7
They became clearer to Bri as they approached. He wasn't
certain how much of it was an embellishment of his imagination,
but the former Gaiskosk slaves, who he knew to be elves, appeared
as elves in his mind’s eye. He saw them stop under the heart of the
palace. He heard grinding, even felt the floor vibrate, as the stones
opened up for them. Now they must have been climbing to his
chamber. He couldn’t tell much about the humans with them.
What he most wanted to know was whether they were left over
from Inter-D’s army, the Ex-D’s army, or the druid army.
To the elves, of course, they would always be nothing but
Secondfall. Those with red blood had brought nothing but trouble
to Lenovra. That included Bri's own father.
The door opened. Doing his best to appear knowledgeable
and nonchalant, Bri called, “You went out for venison and came
back with Secondfall.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Nulan, the more outspoken of the
group. In the hierarchy of indentured slaves, Nulan’s crimes had
earned him the title of least sinful. He had the others' respect. If
anyone was going to depose Bri, it was this person.
“Who is this woman and child?”
“We found them freezing in a snowbank. I think we ought
to finish winter's work, but the others wanted to confirm your
wishes.”
Bri chose his words carefully. “Well now, we have quite
enough enemies. Let us learn what we can.” He could already tell
that this was a bad move, a show of weakness and foolishness. He
swallowed his fear. Switching to English, he asked, “Who are you?”
“Ember Monroe. This is my son, Hunter.” She immediately
took a more feminine shape in his mind. The linguist in him
listened hard to her accent, trying to place it, and he noticed the
chatter of her teeth. Still, all he could think was how beautiful it
was to hear a woman’s voice after all this time.

25
 “A son?” he asked. “How old are you?”
Ember hesitated. “I was definitely eighteen when I came to this
world. My son was born here and he’s almost four… I must be at least…
twenty-two!” At this realization, she went breathless.
Bri couldn’t help smiling. “One often loses track of time when
one travels across worlds. Who brought you here? Inter-D? The Ex-D?”
Silence. If Bri couldn’t have seen the fear creeping through
her being, the silence would have been answer enough. She was
some kind of druid, making her the oldest enemy of the Gaiskosk
elves.
But Bri was certainly not going to allow the execution of a
young mother and child. Switching to Elvin, he ordered, “Bring
cider. I am warming some by the fire.”
He sensed shock and annoyance, but someone rushed off
to comply. Bri pushed himself up and fumbled toward the
hostages. He watched anger spike in the souls around him as he
offered his cloak to Ember. “You must be cold.”
The fur slipped through his hands, slowly, slowly, as she
accepted the unexpected gift. In the silence that followed, Bri
asked, “Is that better?” She stuttered something in the affirmative.
A warm mug of cider was thrust into his hand. Bri thought
to himself that there must have been little doubt as to who the
cider was for, but he said nothing. He held the mug out to Ember.
“My lord,” said Nulan coldly. “Is this how On Taharr
Neefa” — that was his name for God — “would treat one who
spreads her legs for false gods?”
He was calculating something. Bri supposed he was
thinking of the dwindling stockpile and the long winter ahead.
There wasn’t even much cider to share. They had found a barrel at
the demolished druid campsite, and were rationing that. Which one
of them had just lost their ration to an enemy? Maybe it was the
dissatisfaction of the men that Nulan calculated, and how he could
use that against Bri.
The little act of charity could be weaponized. He’d always
known someone would eventually challenge his supposed divine
right to rule. He had never much fought for it in the first place.
They had based it solely on his Shee heritage. And Nulan was
ambitious.

26
 But years ago, Nulan had also been caught selling
medicines from an elder's apothecary. That was how he had ended
up out here with no food and no wife. And his master had made
him complicit in betraying Lenovra to the druids. Turning in
Nulan’s general direction, Bri asked, “How are we to treat…
adulterers? Perjurers? Thieves? … Traitors?”
The apparitions before him seemed to spark. The
adulterers. The perjurers. The thieves. And the traitors — every
man before him.
It was then that Ember finally accepted the drink from his
hand. He heard her take a sip. Then she offered the drink to her
child.
“It is hot!” he exclaimed, with such impeccable Elvin
inflection that Bri wanted to laugh.
“You speak Elvin!”
“A little,” Ember answered with an accent so painful he
barely understood her.
Hunter explained helpfully, “English! With Mommy we
speak English!”
Raising his voice a little, Bri inquired, “Do you have any
loyalty to the druids, Ember Monroe?”
“No,” she blurted. She stammered with abysmal grammar:
“They steal me! Now we alone. No one follow.”
Enough of that. Bri reverted to English. “Will you refrain
from any form of witchcraft while you are with us? Bear in mind, witchcraft
has a broad definition here.”
She hesitated. He doubted that anyone wondered if she
was terrified. She seemed angry, too. As one second of silence
became two, Bri worried that she was giving some non-verbal sign
that he could not see. Then she murmured in English, “Okay.”
“Nulan,” said Bri, “you may report any problems to me.
For now, however… Obyn. You will escort our guests to the
chamber with the warm baths. Afterward we will examine them for
frostbite. Our guest has sworn to obey On Taharr Neefa.”
Obyn, a humble man who had always been eager to please,
coaxed Ember and Hunter away as the rest of the ill-at-ease
Gaiskosk drifted apart. Bri knew that Nulan was furious. For now,
however, that secret remained between the two of them.

27
 Once Bri was alone, Gakhrrud spoke, scaring the daylights
out of him. “Your son is attempting to contact you, Brionan.”
“Which—” Bri caught himself, and a sharp pain throbbed
in his heart. He knew which son. Breathlessly, he stuttered, “Yes,
please connect us.”

28
8
Bri couldn't help smiling a little at the sound of Carver's
voice. He hoped he was facing the vid-screen. For a few minutes it
was a relief to simply be one man talking to his family. During a lull
in the conversation, he wondered, “What do you know about
theocracies?”
Carver sounded bashful. “Just what I remember from
Bible studies years ago. Dimension Earth 7 — the Americans I
lived with thought theocracy sounded pretty great. Whenever they
tried to start a new one, though, they’d move away from the gospel
and—”
“It’s the transition out of theocracy I’m interested in. The
Gaiskosk are a complicated people. I cannot say I harbor much
respect for the civilization that banished your mother and I on
account of our human blood. Now here I am leading them.”
“Could you step down?”
Bri considered explaining their fatalistic views which might
cast him in a bad light for being disabled. He considered explaining
Nulan and their constant power struggle. Then he said, “I don’t
want to bore you.”
“Okay. So...”
“Any chance you’ll come calling?” asked Bri. “Rooms are
plentiful.”
There was a pause. “I can’t leave. You know that.”
Bri bit his tongue. His son knew how he felt about Inter-
D. His son knew he could abandon that military forever and spend
the rest of his days here in Lenovra, where he belonged. They had
had this argument many times. All Bri said was, “If you know
anyone from a culture similar to this one — who might benefit
from marrying with a Gaiskosk man — I think it’s a shortage of
women we’re suffering. Uh, not for meself, of course, but—”
“Can I call you back, Ahair?”
“Of course. Gakhrrud, close transmission.”

29
 The minutes dragged by. Carvernon must have forgotten
him. Bri tried to distract himself from the little ache it caused him,
or the bigger ache that was always torturing him under the surface.
It was the fur coat that he missed. Yes. That Ember girl had better
be enjoying it.
He hardly noticed Obyn approaching until the servant
stood by the door. “Come in, Obyn.”
The man’s steps were soundless. “I thought you might be cold,
my lord,” Obyn said.
There was a sound of logs hitting the fire, and the
crackling grew louder.
“May good be on you,” Bri said in thanks.
He sensed Obyn recoil from this basic politeness, and
worried that he had made himself look weak again. All Obyn said
was, “My lord, the… guests have requested to speak with you.”
“Bring them.”
Obyn left rapidly. Gradually, the loud and clumsy
footsteps of humans approached the chamber door, and then the
little boy was shouting about the fire. Bri couldn’t help smiling. It
had been a very long time since he’d spoken with a child.
Ember cleared her throat. “I just wanted to say thanks.”
“Please stay for as long as you need. We are all quite tired
of one another. I would offer you food, but…”
A derisive laugh. The sound, so feminine, so bright, was
foreign in a place like this. “I think your friends hate me enough
already, hey.”
Bri leaned over confidentially. “They are in no position to
judge you. The other elves have journeyed back to beg for refuge in
the cities the White Planet failed to destroy. Me men cannot. They
were traitors, and those who have not left this dimension
completely follow me because they have no one else to follow. You
will have the best of our food,” Bri said firmly, “…once we find
some.” They both laughed then. “I suppose I’m making a fool of
meself with these grand gestures.”
“No,” Ember said. “Thanks. Really.”
Bri rose from his chair, tapping around with his stick until
he found the loose bricks that had been stacked in a corner.
“Hunter, what do you suppose you could build with these?”

30
 Hunter fell on the bricks with raging enthusiasm, which
Ember tried in vain to quell. Bri wanted to tell her, No, don't hold
him back, but he was all too glad to listen for a while. To be near
people who felt they could behave like people was an immense
relief.
“Um, I don’t… sir?” called Ember. “I don’t know your
name.”
“I beg your pardon. Brionan. I sometimes go by Brian or
Bri. Depends on the company.”
“I hope this isn’t a rude question. Are you human?”
“Half,” he replied. “Me mother was Shee. You’ll notice
that the elves call themselves Thirdfall, and you Secondfall. They
might call me mother… Neverfall, I suppose. When their lords
were killed, they decided I was most fit to lead, and they followed
me here. I suppose you and Hunter are fully human?”
“Yeah. We’re from a world called Earth.”
He smiled. “There's more than one of them.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed, and her ever-changing
specter wilted like a flower. “Getting home will be harder than I
thought, hey.”
“What is that dialect you’re speaking?” He had been
itching to ask. “It sounds like New World English… northern
region?”
“I’m Chippewa. I never lived on the res, though. My home
state is Montana, but my mom is from Red Lake Nation, which is
in the middle of Minnesota. I suppose I talk kinda like her.”
Bri didn’t recognize any of those names. He hadn’t the
heart to tell her.
Hunter plopped down next to them, and there was a
sound of bricks clattering to the floor. “Hey! You want to watch
me, what I buildin’?” They assured him that they did. “It go like
this, and put this on… Um, this a house. But a little house. You
gotta make it more new…” He lapsed into Elvin, in which he was
somewhat more fluent. “I thought of this with my brain.”
“English, Hunter,” Ember sighed.
Bri heard Hunter smashing the little house and
haphazardly building it back up again. “I make a volcano. It smash

31
you head off!” He made a thunderous noise with his mouth, and
flecks of spittle landed on Bri’s hand. “It smash you head off.”
“Who taught him Elvin?” Bri asked.
Judging by the scribbles around the apparition’s head, he
guessed she felt confused. “He’s speaking Irish-Gaelic. The druids
taught it to him.”
Bri chuckled. “Don't be calling it that to our neighbors.
What the humans in your world call Irish-Gaelic, we call Elvin.
Different worlds seem to develop the same languages, among other
things.”
“Oh. All the druids learn it in school.”
“Except you?”
Ember hesitated before replying. “I didn’t ask to join the
White Planet. It just kind of swept over me. You know how water
will find the leak in a boat and just fill it up? The cult … sank me. I
did realize what it was, eventually. But I didn’t know what to do.”
There was another pause. Softly, she asked, “Can we sleep in here
tonight?”
He couldn’t imagine that going well. The Gaiskosk had an
incredibly strict sexual ethic, and Nulan would capitalize on
anything he could hold against Bri. The idea also sounded a little
too good to Bri. “There are many vacant rooms you can choose
from.”
“Hey, Bri!” Hunter yelled. “Bri! Bri, look what I make!”
“Me eyes don't work, Hunter.”
“His eyes are turned off,” Ember said helpfully.
Hunter climbed up and pushed at Bri’s blindfold. “We
turn 'em on?”
He laughed. “I’m afraid not.”
“Why?”
Through gritted teeth, Ember hissed, “Some people are
just different, Hunter.”
Haltingly, Bri explained, “I spent … I am not sure how
much time … trapped in a very dark place. Then there was an
explosion… It was the last bit of color I was ever to see. It scarred
me retinas and they never healed correctly.” He told Ember, “The
Shee part of me, I should have warned you, can still see people.

32
Not objects, nor robots, nor even animals, and nothing
supernatural. But yourselves I can see in my mind.”
“What,” Ember stammered, “what do we look like?”
“A woman and a child. Ghosts in the darkness. Not
darkness for me eyes, of course — me eyes don't see anything, not
even that, but me mind — Truth be told, I'm not entirely sure how
it works, meself.”
Now Bri sensed that Ember felt resentful somehow. She
chose not express it. He chose not to inquire.
They chatted about language, the only thing Bri really
knew anything about, and he persuaded her to share some lore
from her world, all the while listening raptly to her syntax. Then
she persuaded him to talk about the Shee, and he divulged more
about the palace than the Gaiskosk knew. He found he didn't mind
so much that Carvernon had not called him back.
Hunter, meanwhile, grew ever quieter. They lowered their
voices, too. Finally, Ember whispered, “He’s asleep.”
They crept over to a stone bench by the wall.
Unfortunately, it was some distance from the fire, and they both
felt the difference.
“You have all this technology,” Ember was saying. “Hot
baths, electricity — interdimensional video calls and artificial
intelligence. You’d think the Shee would have built a furnace.”
“I wonder about that meself,” Bri said. “I suppose the cold
did not bother…”
He stammered to a stop. Ember’s hand had fallen onto his
knee. Her touch was like an electric shock, the sort he had not felt
in over a decade, and he felt his body coming to life. Lightly, she
traced her fingers up his inner thigh. Then her breath tickled his
ear. “Hunter could sleep through a hurricane.”
Heart drumming, he placed his hand on Ember’s, but
found he lacked the willpower to push it away. It was so smooth,
so soft. Just like the fur cloak he found still wrapped around her
shoulders. It brushed against his skin, and he shivered a little.
She did not attempt to kiss him. She stayed close, giving
him the option of kissing her. He felt her breath on his skin. “Bri,”
she whispered. “I like that name.”

33
 Lillenna had been the first to call him that. Suddenly sick
at the thought of his missing wife, he regained enough clarity of
mind to truly examine Ember. There was, he found, no amorous
woman before him, but a terrified survivor. She was surely afraid of
dying in the snow. Afraid of the elves outside this room. Afraid of
failing her son. Bri was a means to an end, a way of securing her
position in this strange and hostile place.
Had Lillenna ever felt compelled to do something like this?
Had his daughters?
In the sickening moment that followed, wondering
whether Nulan could hear them from his chambers was the final
straw. Bri removed her hand from his thigh.
“Please,” she blurted. Her voice was suddenly frail.
“You,” he stuttered, “have as much right to be here as
anyone else. And… I am married.”
With a gasp, Ember pushed away from him. Her soul
seemed to burn with humiliation. “Oh my God! I had no idea! Why
didn’t you say something?! Where’s your wedding ring?!”
Morose, he rolled back his sleeve to bare the wrist gauntlet
clasped firmly to his flesh. “It never leaves me.”
Embarrassed, Ember faltered. “…Well, where is she?”
This was turning out to be a very painful conversation. “I
don't know.”
She paused for a moment. Then she repeated, “I’m so
sorry.”
Thinly, Bri smiled and felt for his walking stick. Ember
handed it to him. “Thank you,” he whispered. They were both
humiliated. “I was in prison when she disappeared. Her journal
makes mention of the Miscreator. Some ill-defined person who
kidnaps people to other dimensions.”
“He took her?”
Bri swallowed hard. “She was working for him.” He made
his way to the drafty doorway. He paused and spoke over his
shoulder. “The elves… They don't speak English. But they have
exceptional hearing. Whatever you do here… They will know what
you are doing. They are waiting for you to sin, Ember. And their
standards are impossibly high.”

34
 There was a long silence. When she spoke, he knew she
was crying. “So what do they like?”
Bri took a deep breath. “Later.”
He needed to be alone for a moment. He needed to be
alone.

35
9
Proxima Terrestra.
Amadeus was generating a simple written record in his
mind. Returning to nearest station. Need to talk to General Berkeley. He
often refuses to see me.
As the robot's heavy feet thundered down the boarding
ramp, the P.T.M. grunts on guard duty looked up from their
maintenance. All across the docking bay were shouts of, “It's Big
Blue!” and “Ami's back!”
“What happened on that colony, Ami?” asked a nearby
captain. “We can't reach anyone else who was there!”
Amadeus pressed forward.
Long before he reached the general's office, a pair of
soldiers stopped him.
“Berkeley requests an in-person report from the crew of
the Chrysostom,” said Amadeus flatly.
A wiry young cadet checked his eyepiece. “This says the
appointment is with the co-pilot, one name. Xel.”
“Missing in action. I am Berkeley’s only option.”
The men in front of him retained their controlled
exteriors, but he observed them side-eyeing each other. Crestfallen,
the cadet waved two fingers in the air, and the information in his
eyepiece changed. Out loud, as an aside to the other guard, he said,
“The general won’t be happy. Nobody even knows who built this
thing…”
“Wait, really?”
They opened the doors, then another pair of doors, and
another. Amadeus passed through them. He made no
acknowledgement of the men still openly discussing him:
“Wandered in from the civilian world. The brass took him
on because he was good at finding fugitives. Now the thing actually
gets to be a captain. With his own ship.”
“I want my own ship...”

36
 “Be better at catching the bad guys than a robot that
doesn't sleep.”
Finally, Amadeus approached Berkeley's office and pressed
the hail button.
When these doors opened, they revealed a grizzled,
middle-aged man sitting behind a stainless steel desk. General
Berkeley laid eyes on Amadeus and pounded his fist on the built-in
keyboard, which beeped a melodic yelp. He pushed himself to his
feet. “I've made it clear, I don't take meetings with appliances.
Where's your babysitter?”
“Every P.T.M. colonist and pilot who set foot on that
planet appears to be either dead or vanished.”
Berkeley stopped trying to peer over the robot's shoulder.
He whirled and spat a few curses. “Vanished? Aren’t you some
great fugitive hunter?”
“I was able to track a few of them until all traces suddenly
ceased. Most likely the work of dimension hoppers.”
Cursing more softly this time, Berkeley sank back into his
chair.
“At this time, I believe the attack was a test of our
strength.”
“We'll show them strength,” Berkeley growled. “Mess with
the P.T.M., and we crush you like ants. Any idea what attracted
them to that particular colony? Where they'll strike next?”
“Natural resources remain untouched. When they
reappear, we will have to follow them into their dimension to get
our men back. I recommend a truce with the Alliance of
Dimension Travelers. The attack was similar to one of their
Miscreator legends. They may know more.”
“I'll take that under advisement,” Berkeley sneered. “But
we've had a few brushes with Inter-D in the past. We can contact
them.” Amadeus didn't bother to inform the general that Inter-D
was the slang term for the exact same organization. “Maybe we’ll
finally find out what happened to that trespasser you let loose all
those years ago, what was her name—”
“Camella Winchester.”
“Right. Find out how much of a mistake that was!”
“Possibly, general.”

37
38
PART II

39
1
In Dimension Earth 12, a dingy bus lumbered through the
city of glass called Glister. Light from neon signs played on its rain-
bejeweled windows as, pulling up alongside a greenhouse, it
dumped its passengers onto the crowded curb. The greenhouse
was scratched and dented, vandalized. But no one had managed to
break the reinforced walls of transparent acrylic. In bold, optimistic
lettering, the sign over the main doors read, ALLIANCE OF
DIMENSION TRAVELERS. NO TRESPASSING. VIOLATORS WILL BE
PROSECUTED.
The glittering edifice had been under construction for
years, but only during this last year had the public learned that the
greenhouse was actually a compound for inter-dimensional visitors.
It had cost millions. No doubt that was why a nearby protestor
waved a sign exhorting, Take care of Kanatians FIRST!
Few had turned up to voice their discontent on this damp
day. Still, soldiers parted the crowd and ushered the new recruits
off the bus and into the building. Their ears popped as the airlock
closed around them. A sudden hush fell. Then the second airlock
opened for rush of warm, humid air.
“Welcome to Inter-D’s first official base in Kanata,” said a
butch but diminutive officer toward the front of the crowd. A tiny,
gold stud glinted in her nose. “I am First Sergeant Tunveer Diya.
Some of you may need to yawn or swallow to fix your ears. Sudden
changes in air pressure are something you’ll have to get used to
with us. You’re standing in a self-contained ecological system
designed for non-native Inter-D soldiers. Despite the fact men and
women from other dimensions have come and gone in Kanata for
years without incident — and through Inter-D, they have supplied
Kanata with everything from clean water and produce to precious
metals — Inter-D understands that Kanatian citizens may be
uncomfortable with the idea of any of their resources leaving this
world. Rest assured, you are in a sealed environment.”

40
 Something vile hit the glass outside. Diya flinched briefly,
turning to watch it run down the wall in dark streaks.
“Inter-D is non-combative as possible,” she continued
distractedly. “You’ll notice that we do not engage with protestors
and never initiate violence — although we do respond to force
with force. Step this way, please, and you’ll be scanned for viruses
and bacteria.”
Diya led them into a narrow corridor. The lights dimmed,
and a computerized voice said soothingly, “PLEASE REMAIN AS
STILL AS POSSIBLE.” It repeated itself in French.
A net of delicate lasers appeared, grazing over each recruit
with minimum contact. A faint searing scent arose in the air.
“DECONTAMINATION COMPLETE.”
The lights flicked back on. “My uniform is just one of our
many innovations since we joined forces with Kanata and the
Gaiskosk. Combining Kanata’s mass-producing technology with
the Gaiskosk’s knowledge on farming spider silk, we have outfitted
our soldiers… and yours… with lightweight, flexible, and
extremely durable material.”
Diya led them through the corridor to the main floor, an
open greenhouse of streams, tropical plants, some birds, and even a
few tapirs rooting through the underbrush. The trees and vines
pressed against the glass ceiling, but despite all this life, the base
exuded an atmosphere of control; the only bit of chaos were the
leaves littering the otherwise-neat concrete walkway.
Diya walked backward to address the crowd. “As you can
see,” she said, “Glister base strives to remain as self-sustaining as
possible, so as to respect what belongs to the people here. The only
outside resource we use consistently is the sun. Of course, out of
the countless ecosystems in the universe, none are simple enough
to be functionally recreated. We are working on stabilizing the
oxygen and carbon dioxide supply.” Diya stepped around a vertical
planter. The vegetables growing there seemed a bit wilted.
“If you’ll look up, you’ll see Inter-D personnel crossing
suspension bridges to reach various offices. These are the exposed
areas of Glister in which you will be working. High-ranking officers
work in the subterranean levels, which are less susceptible to
terrorist attacks. There are at least three native terrorist groups in

41
Glister claiming to be Ex-D. They do not seem to have strong
affiliations with the Ex-D of other worlds.”
A recruit’s hand shot up.
“Yes?”
“Is General Parker Alton still alive?”
“It would be impossible to confirm General Alton’s death,
but Ex-D attacks across multiple worlds have been in decline, and
they are far less organized than they once were. There is one
subterranean level that I am permitted to show to you, if you’ll step
this way…”
They piled onto an industrial-sized lift. Diya entered a
code and paused for a brief retinal scan, and they descended. As
the main level grew distant, sunlight was replaced with artificial
light, and the air cooled, though it remained as dank as ever.
“The garden doesn’t reach to the edge of the base,” Diya
explained. “We’ve built space between the soil bed and the
armored wall so that we can routinely check for any roots that
might try to get into Glister. The water is all contained, as well.
And recycled.”
They reached the lowest level and stepped into a wide
hallway. There was little magnificence in this scenery: cinderblock
walls, fluorescent lights, dented doors marked with cryptic
numbers. Eventually, however, they reached a row of windows
displaying a system of tanks.
“Even the sewage is recycled,” Diya explained. “Its
content is analyzed before being sent through a treatment system
that filters out pollutants and separates water and scum…”
One of the tanks had a massive crack in it, and several
workers in hazmat suits were either patching it up or scooping the
spill with long filters.
“Looks as if my friends are having a more interesting day
than usual,” Diya quipped, and tapped on the glass.
The workers turned and waved half-heartedly. The
excessively tall one, however, hesitated before turning back to
work. He soberly scanned the new recruits, shaking his head a little.
His green eyes fell on a squat young blonde woman toward
the back. She nodded at him. His shoulders slumped, and she
could see his lips moving to the words, “What did you do?”

42
2
Ruby had not seen Carver since the war in Lenovra. To
her surprise, seeing him now made her suddenly tense, the
emotions of a dozen stressful memories surging to the surface. She
had been suicidal, forsaken, captured, and enslaved. She had
watched a Gaiskosk lord execute his own son and then offer
himself up for execution, too. When Carver had returned her to
Glister, the city had been in total upheaval at the news that their
government had been secretly allied with extra-dimensional aliens.
She had watched from a distance as Stef told Carver that his
younger brother was dead. She could still imagine him bent over in
that hospital waiting room, sobbing from guilt and grief.
Ruby, too, felt some guilt about Tully’s death. Her
therapist said those feelings were normal but they weren't
necessarily telling her the truth. She was still trying to reconcile
those ideas.
Now, as she stood in an Inter-D sub-basement, Carver
gave her a long, worried look. He seemed to be asking, “What did
you do?”
She felt his alien gaze all the way down to her toes and
remembered he had seen her at her worst. She wondered if her hair
was okay. She mouthed back, “What?” and again, he shook his
head.
Then First Sgt. Diya beckoned Ruby and the other recruits
onward. Ruby gave Carver one last look, a sort of see-you-later,
before falling in line.
She felt he must have always cared about her, at least in
some general, basic-human-decency sense. He just didn’t seem to
care for her. She was acutely aware of her role in that outcome, and
it stung. It even made his show of concern rather insulting.
At the end of a long day of orientation, she finally found
herself off-duty, a brand new Inter-D soldier wandering the base

43
and needing to talk to someone. She went to a call terminal and
connected to headquarters. “Stefana Winchester, please.”
It was a few moments before Stef appeared on the screen.
“Well, hello!” she said, beaming.
“Hi! Listen, we’re talking on a public terminal, so anyone
who walks up behind me can see and hear you.”
“Oh, yes, they are all like that,” said Stef, seemingly
unconcerned about privacy. “But it is a terminal in the new base, is
it not? Glister base?”
Ruby nodded. “I just finished my first day.”
Beaming with excitement, Stef asked, “How was it?”
“Overwhelming. I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Oh, why do you say that?”
“Everything is so — strict.”
“Yes,” Stef teased gently, “a military base can be strict
from time to time.”
Ruby smirked and looked down. “Maybe I'm not used to
rules. But the rules are so arbitrary. I can't even pick my own
haircut! Everything has to be old-fashioned and boring.”
“Ah, things are not quite as uniform for us over here,”
replied Stef. “What is old-fashioned for one is new to another, so I
suppose they do not bother. But it looks as if you found a haircut
that suits you.”
The compliment made her smile. She shrugged. Running
her hands over her scalp, she rearranged her locks to a more
asymmetrical part, which had been condemned as “trendy.” Funny,
she thought, she hadn't dyed her hair any bright colors for years,
but now that it was forbidden it was all she could think about
doing. Blood red would be fun. Especially since it now had
shocking and political connotations.
Stef continued, “I understand your feeling overwhelmed.
When I first started the medical program, I was not sure if I could
do it. But remember what difficulties we have already
surmounted.”
Ruby smiled. “Yeah. We can do this.”
Folding her arms, Stef seemed to snuggle closer to the
screen. “Everything is terribly official with Inter-D, is it not?”

44
 “They’re really trying to look good for Earth 12,” Ruby
replied. “Ugh. It feels so weird to call my home Earth 12. Who got
to be Earth 1?”
Stef giggled. “Probably the world Inter-D's founders came
from.”
“I saw Carver,” Ruby added.
“How is he?” There was a tinge of sadness in Stef's voice.
“I didn’t get a chance to talk to him.”
“He stays in the south barracks! Do visit him. I think he
has been very lonely, and I do not have very much time to see
anyone since I began training at the clinic. I feel so guilty, but they
will not always let me through, anyway! Speaking of which, I would
love to talk with you more, but I have an anatomy exam
tomorrow…”
“That's fine!” Ruby said, heartbroken that Stef looked so
heartbroken. “Why didn’t you say so, babe? I’ll letcha go.”
“Afterward I could come visit you? We could walk to
Mass?”
“What time is it over there?”
“1900 hours.”
“Okay. It’s three hours earlier here. I could meet you at
this terminal at… 0600 hours, your time.”
“I will be there. Welcome to Inter-D! I love you!”
“I love you, too,” she said bashfully. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight!”
The screen went dark. With a deep breath, Ruby stepped
away from the terminal and headed for the south barracks. “Okay,
Carver. Let’s see if you even want to talk to me.”

45
3
She got lucky and found him near the entrance to the
barracks. He was leaning against the wall, staring out at the
greenhouse where a bit of sunshine still managed to filter past the
skyscrapers, the dome, and the plants until the sliver that was left
cast a halo around his rusty hair. Though his skin was paler and
sicklier than ever, the emerald gleam in his eyes was especially
stunning. She always caught herself admiring it. It was probably
painfully obvious, but Carver had never drawn attention to it.
With a cringe, she remembered the time she had pushed
him into traffic. An accident. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and
had been passing for human; she had expected him to outweigh
her. Instead, when she had made her point by giving him a little
shove, he’d been light as a feather. That was why it had happened,
and why he had survived. His fault, she sometimes told herself,
because he had lied about what he was.
Knowing what she knew now, however, she would have
lied, too.
Those events had taken place only a short bus ride from
here, but it didn’t even feel like the same world. What she had
written off as a stuck-up Christian youth worker had turned out to
be a cynical alien migrant. She was no longer certain what had been
sincere and what had been survival. He had a mean side. A selfish
side.
He had also walked her home one freezing late night. And
prevented her from overdosing on pills. And seen her to a hospital.
And after the war in Lenovra, he had ushered her through a riot
zone and seen her home again, all while mourning the death of his
little brother.
Ruby strolled over, doing her best to keep her low voice
friendly but casual. “Sooo, ya work in sewage now?”
Carver looked over at her, first with a blank expression.
Then a pained look crossed his face. “Hi.”

46
 She hoped her greeting hadn't sounded like bullying.
Inquisitively, she spread her arms. He seemed surprised, accepted
the hug, and awkwardly patted her on the head. It reminded her
that she was short, too short for her weight.
“Where have you been?” she asked. “I meet Stefie here all
the time, but I never see you.”
Carver shrugged. “I'm always here.” He glanced from one
side to the other, as if he suspected that someone might be
listening. “You didn’t enlist, right?”
“I start in I.T. tomorrow...” she began.
“No, no.” He glanced around again, anxiously this time.
“You have to get out of it.”
“I signed a five-year contract.” At this, he threw his head
back, rubbing his face at her apparent stupidity. She didn’t know
whether to be worried or insulted. Widening her stance, she
declared, “I’m not supposed to see combat or even leave Glister.”
“Five years. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why enlist?”
“You guys are our first aliens. Lots of people want an
inside look at this place. And unlike the other recruits, I actually
have some experience with Inter-D already. I’m s’posed to meet
with public relations, too.”
Carver barked a laugh. “They definitely don’t want you
talking to me.”
“Then I’ll pretend we never talked. What’s wrong?”
He turned and made a few casual strides around the
corner. She followed him. When they found no one nearby, he led
her back the way they'd come. “Inter-D might have had good
intentions once. But they're totally corrupt. The real Inter-D
headquarters… It’s a slum. It’s full of disabled veterans. Former
child soldiers. Future child soldiers, if things don’t work out with
you guys. No one from your world is ever going to be welcomed
there because they don’t want the allies to know about it. I’m not
allowed to go back... but, that's because I'm not allowed to leave at
all.”
She wasn't sure what to think yet. She said, “I’m sorry to
hear that.”

47
 “Five years,” he repeated. “What are you, sixteen?”
Incredulous, Ruby barked out a gruff laugh. “Maybe when
we met!”
“Okay, so that was…” He rolled his eyes upward, counting
softly.
“Really, Winchester?”
“Hey, you try keeping track of time when it’s a different
date and hour everywhere you go. It’s not like you know how old I
am.”
“Were you honest about your age the first time you lived
here?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you’re about twenty-three.”
“I… guess.” He smiled sheepishly. “Okay, it’s not like I
know how old I am, either.”
Wryly, Ruby informed him, “I’m nineteen.”
He nodded, a look of realization in his face. Maybe he was
thinking about what he was doing when he was nineteen. By her
count, that was when he had first come to her world, somehow
faked citizenship, and gotten a job at a drug rehab program where
Ruby's friends were enrolled. She tried to imagine having no home
or family, on top of hiding nearly every aspect of her identity. Ruby
had never much liked hiding who she was.
“Nineteen. Okay.” Gesturing at their surroundings, Carver
sighed, “I hope you learn what you want to know.”
“Hmm.” She paused. “Well, I don’t know what I think
about anything anymore. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Swallowing hard, she looked up at him and wondered how he
would react if he knew.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m a lot better. I haven't... you know. I haven't tried it
again.”
“Good! That's good to hear. Really.” He frowned.
“Actually, can I ask you a favor?”
“Of course.”
“Could you help me get in contact with Todd?”
Ruby’s mood plummeted at the mere thought of him.
“Todd... Rodriguez? You’re not in enough trouble already?”

48
 “It’s just something I have to do. Last year, you said he
joined the Ex-D.”
“Yep. He sure did.” She considered telling him everything
— everything Todd had done to her. It put a knot in her stomach
even now. How would he react if he knew? It would say something
about the kind of man Carver was. It would say something about
the faith he professed, too. How easily could he forgive what Todd
had done to her?
And how dangerous would it be for two Inter-D soldiers
to get into contact with one of the original members of Glister's
Ex-D militia?
The melancholy on Carver's face made her stomach knot.
She’d always had a weakness for sad boys. “Well?” he asked. “Can
you help me?”
Ruby nodded slowly. She found her voice had gone husky.
“Okay.”

49
4
Carver compared schedules with Ruby. They arranged to
meet the next day. He felt a combination of exhilaration and dread.
Todd had been a good friend, once. But Carver knew from
experience how easily a young man could be radicalized. And he
knew what the Ex-D valued.
Now, staring at a blank screen while he waited for a
connection, he hunched in the cramped, pathetic quarters he
shared with a man who only spoke Tagalog. Carver could see his
own faint, dark outline reflected in the monitor: the contours of his
sunken cheeks, the blunt nose, and the glint of silver studs fused to
his ear. It all intrigued him, since the reflection of his own eyes
made mirrors difficult to navigate. He wondered if he looked as
bad as he supposed.
“CONNECTION ESTABLISHED.”
There was his father, Brionan, not quite facing the camera.
The man’s silver hair had grown longer and his skin looked bluer
than usual, but then he did have blue blood and it was winter in that
world. A strip of pale cloth obscured his eyes.
“Carvernon?” Bri called, a little too loudly.
“I can hear you, Ahair. Sorry I missed you earlier.”
Seeming a bit jittery, Bri gave a fervent nod. “You were
out?”
Carver glanced around his quarters. He was usually either
sleeping or reading here, lifting weights in the gym area, or working
in the sub-basement. He wouldn't exactly call that going out. “I was
at work.”
“And how’s yourself?”
Carver hesitated. Then he shrugged. “Better, I guess. I’m
trying to accept what I can’t control. Live what I believe. Trust
God.”
Bri grunted and nodded a little. That would be the extent
of their conversation on that topic. It was a lonely realization.

50
Carver had always assumed that his parents had left those remnants
of Christian thought in his mind, before — for whatever reason —
his more distinct memories had been erased. Yet his father had
never spoken much on these values. Even less, since Tully's death.
“On that note,” said Bri, “what do you know about
theocracies?”
A strange question. Carver shook his head slowly. “Just
what I remember from Bible studies years ago. Dimension Earth 7
— the American I lived with thought theocracy sounded pretty
great. Whenever they tried to start a new one, though, they’d move
away from the gospel and just start legislating morality.”
“It’s the transition out of theocracy I’m interested in. The
Gaiskosk are a complicated people. I cannot say I harbor much
respect for the civilization that banished your mother and I on
account of our human blood. Now here I am leading them.”
“Could you step down?”
Bri frowned. “I don't want to bore you.”
“Okay.” Carver wondered if his father was in trouble. But
then, they were conversing in English, and nobody else spoke
English there. If there was trouble, couldn’t Bri simply say so? An
uncomfortable moment passed. “So…”
“Any chance you’ll come calling?” asked Bri. “Rooms are
plentiful.”
Carvernon looked down at his hands, rubbing them
pensively. “I can’t leave. You know that.”
Another long silence. Bri didn’t have to say anything for
Carver to get the message: He should do all he could to desert
Inter-D and spend the rest of his days hiding in Lenovra. There
were times when that sounded appealing, but Carver had already
tried to desert Inter-D twice. All Bri said was, “If you know anyone
from a culture similar to this one... I think it’s a shortage of women
we’re suffering. Uh, not for meself, of course, but—”
Beep beep.
Carver glanced at the other monitor. Someone else was
trying to contact him. Kristi Bailey, his oldest friend, though they
weren’t so friendly these days. Probably because she was also his
ex-girlfriend. He could never deny that he missed her, though, and

51
a call from her quickened his pulse. With a twinge of guilt, he
asked, “Can I call you back, Ahair?”
“Of course. Gakhrrud, close transmission.”
His father disappeared. Nervously, Carver ran his hands
over his crew cut and accepted Kristi’s call. “Hey,” he began.
“Who’d you tell?”
His smile evaporated.

52
5
Kristi looked exhausted, equally furious and distraught. It
broke his heart. “Who’d you tell?” she demanded.
Carver was often surprised at how hardened she appeared
these days. He always thought of her as the compassionate,
idealistic teenager she had been when they’d met. Today, especially,
it struck him how different everything was now. She looked…
haggard. No less beautiful, with a neck like a swan's and soft, full
lips, but the fire seemed to have gone out of her. He instantly
wondered what he could do.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Balzac is being transferred out. He keeps giving me these
looks. People acting like I done something.” Uh-oh. That was her
mother's tone of voice coming through now. “And today someone
implied that I’m asking for it...”
During the last war, Col. Balzac had attacked Kristi. Carver
knew because he and a few other privates had glimpsed a bit of
what the fortress' artificial intelligence had recorded. Ever since,
Carver had been bothered enough that Balzac worked at
headquarters, near Kristi, near Carver’s sisters and whatever other
women were squatting in the barracks. Now his stomach turned in
disgust. Balzac would have fresh victims.
“He’s being transferred to where?”
“How should I know?” Kristi asked. “Pretty sure he thinks
I reported him. A lot of other people seem to think so, too.”
“So he’s finally being court martialed.”
“No! Transferred, Carver!” It was the first time in ages that
she hadn’t called him Carv. He didn’t like it. “You’re the only one
who saw what happened who — who will even talk about it. The
other privates pretend they never even saw the vid. So I know it’s
you. I told you I wanted to drop it! You promised you wouldn’t
report him!”

53
 He had promised. He hated it, but more than that, he hated
hurting Kristi. She was adamant about leaving the entire experience
behind her, not that it was working, which meant a rapist was in
command of a huge portion of Inter-D’s army.
Quietly, Carver said, “I warned my sisters.”
Kristi exhaled through her nose. Maybe she thought she
couldn’t be angry at him for that. Maybe she was angry that she
couldn’t be angry. She asked snippily, “Anyone else?”
“No.” And I feel guilty for it. “I didn’t tell them it was you,
either. I didn't even say what he did. I just said, ‘I saw him hurting a
woman,’ and ‘Stay away from him.’”
“What did they say?”
“Stef listened. She usually hears reason. Cam said she
wouldn’t have trusted him that far, anyway. The only man she
seems to trust is Ron Schuster…”
They looked at each other, lips parted, eyes wide.
“You think she told Schuster?” asked Kristi.
Carver cursed softly.
“He made Lieutenant-Colonel,” she said thoughtfully. “He
ranks directly below Balzac! So Schuster said something, and they
didn’t even investigate?” Kristi raised her voice. “They figure I’m a
liar and they’re just getting him out of here!”
“You didn’t want an investigation,” he pointed out.
“Shut up. I didn’t want any of this. Balzac must have told
everyone that I started a rumor about him!” She covered her face in
her hands and swore.
A shaky smile struggled its way up and then down Carver's
face. He had known Kristi for eight years. She had lost loved ones.
She had survived intense combat zones. She had endured every
bizarre incarnation of racism, especially when she’d dated him, a
perceived white man. Even then, she’d always corrected his
language. He would have loved to rub this in her face… under any
other circumstance.
“You don’t know,” she seethed, “the terror I’ve been
living in. I’m trapped between having to testify about what
happened and… and him getting me alone again…”

54
 All he wanted to do was hold her. Make it better. “We
have evidence, Kristi. The A.I. in Lenovra recorded him and it can
connect to us directly. Let me get the footage and take care of—”
“For the last time, this is not your decision! If your career
could get any worse, I would…” She stopped. Sighed loudly.
“Listen…”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I guess you’re right to be mad
at me. I am the one who told.”
Kristi glanced off to the side. “I don't want your sisters to
get hurt.”
“Do you want to come to Glister base and talk about it in
person? Or just talk?”
“...We’re done, Carver.”
He backpedaled. “I didn’t mean—”
“I gotta go.”
The screen went blank. He sat for a long time, staring at
his dim reflection, seeing nothing.

55
6
At Inter-D headquarters, Stefana was burning out.
It wasn't the amount of studying she had to do (though
she woke hours before her shift to finish it all). It wasn't the lack of
breaks (which only made the time go faster). It wasn't even the
amount of responsibility they had handed her at the clinic, where
she wasn't sure whether to call herself a nurse, a medical assistant,
or a technician of all trades. Oddly enough, Stef found that past
experiences of fighting for her and her family's lives had given her
a high tolerance for stress.
What overwhelmed her were the amount of assessments,
discharges, procedures, observations, documentations, med orders,
the family members all yelling at once, the unbalanced patients
yelling over nothing, and her work-issued mobile ringing when her
gloves were covered in feces. It didn't matter that she was new.
Even during peacetime, Inter-D's refugee population kept the clinic
plenty busy.
Joshua, a fellow student, grinned at her as he tied his long
braids behind his head. “All day long, we do good an suffer evil,”
he laughed. He reached for a mop. It looked comically small in his
brutish hands, but he wielded it gingerly.
It made her laugh, too. Her laborious way of speaking and
her trouble with standard English spelling set her apart from the
other trainees, who also viewed her as a killjoy, but Joshua had a
way of making her feel like she was part of a team. He was
inclusive, and persevered with a cheerful attitude most of the time.
If only he were Catholic.
“Stefana! Yuh shift was over twenty minutes ago,” said
Dakarai, a curvaceous woman with a pile of thick burgundy braids
on her head. She always hovered near Joshua as if he were her
child. “Process dat patient over there an yuh can go.”

56
 An Inter-D soldier was waiting by the doors with a filthy,
long-haired man in handcuffs. The prisoner's face was soaked in
blood from blunt-force wounds.
“What have you done to this man?” Stef demanded. She
stopped halfway there to don fresh gloves.
“Apprehended him for stealing food,” said the soldier, a
bit defensively. “Things didn’t get crazy until then. These are all
self-infli—”
The moment Stef drew near enough, the prisoner shook
his head violently. Globs of blood flew from his hair, spattering
across the waiting room. And her face. It got into one of her eyes.
Slamming his head against the counter, he shouted something
defiantly. She was too upset to really hear it.
Now she had to process the patient, clean herself off, and
test herself for blood borne diseases, and then she could leave. Stef
managed to hold in her tears until it was over.
At least medical personnel had their own showers. Stef
cried softly, angrily, as she scrubbed her skin clean. Didn't the
patients know she wanted to help them? Of course not, just like
they didn't know how tired her feet were or how badly she wanted
to be liked. These people didn't know anything. Animals. All of
them.
A pang of guilt stabbed her chest. She had spent years of
her life running barefoot through a forest, after all. And no one,
including her, had chosen to be displaced from their home world.
Everyone was angry. Lonely. Disoriented. Now an intrusive
memory reared its head: her, standing in the dark forest, her little
brother close by and begging her to remain hidden with him. She
hadn't. Now he was dead and she was alive.
It didn't matter how tired she was physically. Spiritually,
she was completely drained. She could almost feel her sins
accumulating on her skin, in her hair like the blood in the mad
patient's hair, weighing her down. “I’m on my way to Confession,
Lord,” she promised. “Soon. Soon.”

57
7
Proxima Terrestra. Amadeus had removed his face plate.
Sure enough, sand, salt and other tiny particles from the sea had
gotten under the surface. He made his way over to an empty dock
used to clean ships and accessed an air hose, removing his chest,
arm, and leg plates as well. Sometimes vacuuming, sometimes
blasting air, he cleaned out every crack and crevice of his body.
“You don't feel a thing, do you?”
Amadeus had noted the nearby mechanics, but none had
bothered to acknowledge him until now. He turned around,
startling them with his exposed mouth speaker and red eye bulbs.
“You refer to the missing P.T.M. citizens. I am programmed to
serve a function,” he explained, as he had explained to many
others. “Emotion is unnecessary to that function. Were I to
simulate emotions, it would be just that. A simulation.”
One mechanic turned to another. “They gave this thing
armor that looks like our uniforms, handed down a few objectives,
no big deal. But before you know it every pilot, every soldier and
even every mechanic will have to perform just as well for free or
get replaced. Soon we'll either be working ourselves to death or
about as useful to the P.T.M. as the sand in their gears.”
“Well,” said the other mechanic slowly, “that's progress.”
Ami simply finished fitting the metallic blue plates back
over his arms and legs. He set his face plate on with a firm click.
That was when the alarms sounded. They echoed all across
the space station, ear-splitting. Red lights flashed.
“Breach,” Ami announced, and thudded toward his
station.
Command wasted no time informing everyone of the
threat. Ami's suspicions were confirmed. The monstrous soldiers
had materialized again, this time inside the prison.
He lumbered into a lift, P.T.M. soldiers crowding around
him grimly. They gradually increased speed. In the eerie hum that

58
followed, one of the men looked up at him. “Any advice on killing
these things?”
“Avoid the stingers.”
“Prison level, comin' up!” someone shouted.
The doors opened, and a half dozen guns were already
trained at the front office. The armored window over the desk was
smashed out. The body of a prison guard was strewn across it. The
head of the same guard lay a few feet away. A few lights were out.
Others rained sparks over the already battle-damaged scene.
Something had ripped the barred, automated doors from
their hinges. They were crumpled on the floor.
Something dashed across the doorway. Every man fired at
it. Though a few shots seemed to hit their target, whatever it was
kept moving, gone before they could get a good look at it.
“Big Blue, take point,” said the C.O.
When Ami pushed to the front of the group, they
advanced in V-formation. This first cellblock held minimum-
security prisoners, whose voices could be heard echoing down the
halls: “Hey! We're alive down here! Anybody!”
Ami glanced back at the commanding officer, who
nodded. They made their way toward the prisoners.
When faces became visible through the bars, their
information flashed through Ami's vision. Percy Hart, petty larceny.
Harry McCormack, manslaughter. Emmett York, first-time possession of
illegal drugs. No records of violence, he noted. Bars intact. No fatalities
detected.
“Get us out of here, we're sitting ducks!” Percy Hart
begged. “Have you seen those things? You'll need all the help you
can get!” He was ignored.
The hallway ahead broke off to the left. Nearing the last
cell on this block, Ami saw him lodged between reckless driving and
involuntary manslaughter. Unlike the other prisoners, this man wasn't
reaching through the bars or begging for help. He crouched at the
back of his cell, barely visible. But now he raised his head slowly.
“Ami?”
Amadeus recognized the stubbly, blond ex-cop. His stats
appeared in Ami's vision, anyway: Jerry Reynolds. Police corruption,
misconduct, aiding a fugitive.

59
 “You guys are gonna want to get in here and lie low,”
Reynolds said.
Amadeus saw no need to respond. He peered around the
corner, found the next hallway clear, and led the soldiers onward.
More smashed gates. This hallway was narrower, too. He
noted the scratch marks on the cinder blocks. He started picking
up trace amounts of prisoner DNA, and again, their information
flashed before his eyes: Gene Berman, child abuse. Richard Rosenthal,
rape. Jake Park, murder. Martin Stanley, terrorism. They were coming up
on the violent criminals.
And the violence.
Gene Berman collapsed across a doorway. Somehow, he
had gotten out of his cell. And his entrails had gotten out of him.
One of the enemy creatures leaped into view, crouching at the sight
of a hallway full of soldiers. Ami blew its head to ribbons. He and
the others rushed into the next cell block.
Plenty more enemies waited there. They had released the
prisoners for some reason, and surely the enemy had initiated the
fight, encircling the unarmed inmates. Many already lay on the
slick, blood-smeared floor, but many were still standing. The
creatures were no longer actively attacking. They were teasing,
observing.
“Hey!” An inmate’s eyes showed white all around. He
danced from side to side. Fists held high. He nodded curtly to
Amadeus. “Hey, you gonna help or what?!”
The P.T.M. opened fire. Chaos erupted. Amadeus hadn't
managed to sweep the room before he registered major damage,
sparks flying from his chassis. Two grasping forelegs, like those of
a praying mantis, had speared through his torso. He looked up to
see the monstrous head of his attacker — with multiple sets of
glinting human eyes.
It didn’t have the exact anatomy of a real mantid.
Proportional insect legs would never have supported something
this massive. Its four supporting legs were more like an equine’s
and the protective spikes on its back were rather like coral. The
front claws were what invited the comparison, as well as the
exoskeleton.

60
 The forelegs dropped him. Tubing and machinery clattered
across the floor and several of Ami's processes failed, but his arms
— and his aim — still functioned. He fired on the mantid. The
creature staggered under Ami’s blast, but it didn’t die. It was tough.
This must be the thing that had ripped all the bars from their
hinges. Ami aimed again.
Without warning, a bulbous pustule sprang up under the
thing's left jaw, expanding so rapidly that it displaced the mandible
in seconds. Then more blossomed all over its baffling body, even
seeming to grow tumors of their own. The mantid thundered to
the floor, crumpling, churning like dough, bursting.
The prison was suddenly still. Amadeus only heard the
ragged breaths of those who had not been released from their cells.
He made a thorough sweep of the room this time. The other
P.T.M. soldiers were gone. Any violent inmate not already lying
dead on the floor was also gone. On the minimum-security level,
only one cell was empty. That of Jerry Reynolds.
Pattern established. I know where the next attacks will most likely
take place.

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8
“Oh, really,” Berkeley sneered. Amadeus' memories were
on the view screen behind his desk. “Enlighten me.”
Ami began with the first attack. “The fishing community
was male-dominated and was thus a violent area, as colonists had
turned to crime in order to amass wealth and attract prospective
partners to the planet. It was their demonstrable capacity for
violence that made them a target of the enemy. The colonists who
were killed did not pass the enemy's initial test. Those who
survived the first few minutes were taken along with P.T.M.
soldiers.”
A robotics mechanic finished reattaching Ami's right leg.
He tested the motor functions as he continued, “Likewise, in the
most recent attack, the violent prisoners were targeted and tested.
Those who survived the first few minutes were taken, along with
the P.T.M. soldiers. Some in the maximum-security cell block were
never even tested — the gates remained closed. While their crimes
were serious, conspiracy to commit murder and statutory rape do not
require physical strength or dexterity. Perhaps the fact that they
were caught is a testament against their intelligence as well.
“None of the minimum-security prisoners were touched
directly. They weren't considered violent. However, an inmate
named Jerry Reynolds was taken. That is how I discovered the
pattern. While his crimes were not violent, he still had police
training and thus formidability. So the enemy took him alive.”
“Jerry Reynolds.” Berkeley typed the name into his
computer. “What do we know about this guy?”
“He was a police detective on Earth just before its
destruction. Under investigation for an incident that resulted in the
death of his partner, he helped a suspect escape custody and
traveled with her to a planet called Hydratellus, where he crossed
paths with me.”
“This guy revealed the pattern to you. How?”

62
 “He may never have committed a violent crime, but he’s
passed intense physicals and training. He knows how to kill, unlike
the rest of his cell block. That is all the enemy is after. Fighters who
have proved themselves in some way.”
Berkeley turned to two lieutenant generals standing near
his desk. “Alert every colony. The most violent communities will
be targeted first, the strongest citizens. This freak world will
probably hit more prisons, too.”
“Yes, general!”
Berkeley ran his hands through his graying hair. “How
would the enemy know about our records, much less our potential
for violence?” he demanded. “How do they know about us at all?”
“Unclear,” replied Ami. “But our security depends on
finding out. If the enemy can move unseen between dimensions,
it’s possible they could spy on us. Even look into sealed chambers
and safes without touching them.”
Berkeley stood with his back to the robot, watching the
battles loop. His voice was less gruff the next time he spoke. “If
they're alive... we've got to get those men back. It's not just
security, understand? Human lives are top priority.”
“Yes, general.”
“And how do I know you aren’t the leak? How do I know
these aren’t the people who made you and set you loose?”
“You have access to my files. I know nothing you do not
already know. There is always a possibility that the fugitives I
pursue are my makers. If the potential loss outweighs the potential
gain, decommission me.”
Berkeley glowered at the robot, which stood patiently
awaiting its fate. A vindictive smile appeared on his face, but
vanished just as quickly. Darkly, he growled, “You are dismissed.”

63
9
“Do you want to stand behind me?” Ruby was asking.
Sitting on a bench in the greenhouse of the base in Glister, she'd
crossed her thick legs and begun examining her reflection on the
mobile in her hand.
Carver took another step away from her. “No. First get
him used to the idea of talking to me.” Carver told himself that if
Todd saw him right away, he might end the call. Of course, were
he more honest, he would admit he was simply nervous about
facing Todd again, even over a vid-link.
Ruby seemed nervous, too. She swiftly adjusted her hair,
and then, adopting a stoic expression, she called Todd.
The mobile rang for a long time. Ruby glanced up at
Carver questioningly, but the rest of her remained stock still. Then
the ringing stopped, and he felt a little chill as a voice asked,
“What.”
“Hey there.” Ruby bit her lip. Hesitated. She looked paler
than usual. “We need to talk.”
“Not on this connection. Remember the shop we ran into
each other at? You ran right back out? Don’t say the name. Meet
me there. Tomorrow, noon.”
Ruby stared at the mobile for a moment. Then she said,
“He hung up.”

64
10
They looked at each other.
“I hope you won't ask me to meet him alone,” she said
coldly.
Carver paced in front of her. “I can’t go. I can’t leave.”
“Why, though? Stefie meets me here all the time, and we
walk to Mass.”
“Yeah, but Stef isn't being disciplined for—” He stopped.
Eyeing her in disbelief, he asked, “You walk where?”
A rosy pink color crept up Ruby's cheeks. Eyes downcast,
she muttered, “It doesn’t mean… Well, the truth is, I am thinking
about converting.”
He said nothing. He didn't know what to say. He didn't
know this girl at all, apparently.
She must have interpreted his silence as judgment. “Oh,
like I'm the weird one,” she snickered.
“Sorry. I’m… surprised? I thought you were a ‘question
everything’ kind of person.”
“I am!” she replied, and he worried he’d offended her. “I
hate guilt-tripping, fear-mongering, egotistical religion. But…” She
seemed at a loss for words.
“But then there’s Jesus.”
“Yeah,” she breathed, relieved.
He nodded slowly, looking away until he could think of
something to say. Finally, he crossed over to the bench and
dropped down beside her, a half-grin on his face. “I had a very
different impression of you when we met.”
“You’re wondering how this happened,” she guessed.
“The answer is, slowly.”
“I guess I didn’t help with any of that. Pretending to
believe when I didn’t, just to blend in. And I wasn’t…” Heat crept
up his neck. “I didn’t treat you right.”

65
 “Stef helped me understand why you guys want to blend
in. Standing out is a choice for me. I wouldn't make any other
choice. But for you, it's...”
“A good way to get killed,” he chuckled.
“I was pretty hard on you, even if you did deserve it. But
unlike you, I don’t have much to fear from the mob. What I worry
about is authenticity, being real, finding one real thing.”
He nodded slowly. “Did you find it?”
“I did. Not in a church. But in Jesus, I did.” She craned
her neck up at him. “Soo that’s my deal. Now why can’t you leave
Glister base?”
Carver winced. “Fine.” Gathering his thoughts, he said,
“Not long before you met me, I deserted Inter-D and stole a lot of
expensive weapons. They also wasted resources looking for me.
Kristi — my ex-girlfriend. She helped me hide here. When that
didn’t work, I had to go crawling back to Inter-D. And I ended up
stealing weapons again. That's how you and me met up the last
time. I had good reasons, I think, and I didn't do it alone, but the
idea was that I would take the fall since I already had a bad record.”
“Bastards,” she said supportively.
He shrugged. “Nah, Ron Schuster is a pretty good guy. It
was a smart plan, honestly. Anyway, I can’t go back to headquarters
because they’re worried I’ll steal something again. And I can’t leave
Glister base because they’re worried I’ll desert again. So I'm here.
Working for Inter-D until I die.”
Now Ruby’s jaw dropped. “That’s slavery!”
“Augh...” He shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t call it that.”
“Working for free indefinitely? What would you call it?”
“Look. People in your world, they take out loans, right?
Huge loans. And if things don't go well, they spend the rest of their
lives working to pay off that loan. Except they also have to worry
about food and lodging, and I don’t. So in a way, I have it a lot
better than free Kanatians. Also, unlike a slave, I still have rights.
Inter-D can’t kill me, sell me, or force a marriage on me. Don't
compare me to people who get treated like animals.”
“You aren’t being treated right.”
“I should be rotting in prison, but Inter-D doesn’t have
those. Yet. Hmm.” He frowned thoughtfully.

66
 “Well,” said Ruby, smiling a little. “I'm not meeting Todd
alone, so that only leaves us one choice.”
“Give up?”
“No. Stefie and I are getting you off the base.”

67
11
P.T.M. satellite.
The heavy tone in the room was decidedly serious. Stef
needed no effort to appear as grave as the people around her. She
and the other trainees filed into the P.T.M. lab after Dr. Solomon,
nodding professionally at their new colleagues as if they had no
idea how feared and loathed they were as extra-dimensionals. It
was no secret at Inter-D that this galaxy punished all extra-
dimensional trespassers with life imprisonment.
Stef's confidence waned when she realized she’d been
nervously running her fingers over her braid for the past ten
minutes. She sent a furtive glance around the corridor.
Joshua stood nearby. He nodded to her. “Waa gwaan?” he
asked. How’s it going?
Blushing, she racked her memory and then responded with
the Jamaican Patois he’d taught her: “Stop frettin’ long time.”
Joshua grinned. “A lie you-a tell.”
“Well,” she shrugged, “I lack your natural optimism.”
“Until yuh find a patient. Caring fi others makes yuh
calm.” Switching to the Standard English she was using, he said,
“It’s your nature.”
“Do you really think so? …I suppose you are right!”
Their hosts had led them into an operating theater. It
reeked of embalming fluid. A row of P.T.M. soldiers eyed them
distrustfully as they filled the benches. Stef peered down at the
clammy, teal green cadaver on the table, not quite amphibian, not
quite mammal, not quite anything.
I am afraid this patient does not need me, she thought.
The P.T.M. scientist near the cadaver cleared his throat.
“Excuse me, everyone,” he said, using an accent unfamiliar to Stef.
“My name is Dr. Crowdog. I’ll begin my presentation in a minute,
as soon as everyone arrives. While you're waiting, please make as

68
much space available as possible. They’ll be entering from the same
door you used. Thank you.”
The people from Inter-D crowded together. Joshua and
Stef were pushed toward a dim corner of the theater. They were
seated directly behind Dr. Solomon and Nurse Dakarai. Joshua and
Dakarai greeted one another.
“Rispeck!”
“Rispeck.”
Stef, ever eager to fit in, listened raptly. That means “respect,”
surely?
The rest of the guests arrived, making more of a ruckus
than the medical personnel. Stef could have sworn she felt her
heart literally sink. These were the soldiers Inter-D had graciously
and forgivingly sent to the P.T.M.’s aid? The limping, the still-
wounded, the insubordinate, the former child soldiers?
“Yo, Stef!”
She cringed and made a mental note to confess to her
priest that she dreaded the sound of her sister's voice. Cam was
climbing over the seating to approach her. A year ago, Stef’s heart
would have swelled with emotion to see her sister eagerly greeting
her. Things were different now. Cam was going to confront her
right in earshot of Stef’s superiors. Stef pushed forward to meet
her. “Hello—”
“Could you take a look at my hand? It’s been hurting.”
Cam thrust her mutilated hand into Stef’s face. Taking it
delicately, Stef felt her stomach tighten at the sight of a scarred,
lumpy mass where fingers should have been. “I… I am not certain
what you want me to do. They are long healed…”
“You have pain meds, right? Amethystiorphin?”
Stef looked Cam right in the face. Unprepared, Cam
staggered back a little. As softly as possible, Stef spat,
“Amethystiorphin is an opiate! You saw what it did to Andrew
when he was burned!”
“Fine, something not so strong, then!”
“At most you could get an opioid, something that
produces similar effects with fewer risks. But I am not in a position
to prescribe anything.”
“Couldn’t you just… you know…”

69
 Stef pursed her lips. She reminded herself of how badly
she had wanted a family, and how deeply she missed Tully. Why
did she have to lose Tully and keep Cam? Another sinful thought
to confess later. “I am not your drug dealer. Please do not
approach me in front of my co-workers again.”
“Psh. You care more about that dead thing down on the
table than you do about me.”
Stef had expected this reaction. She said nothing, but her
throat swelled. She reminded herself not to walk away first, because
then Cam would follow her. Holding her ground, she found that,
sure enough, Cam eventually got confused and made her way back
to the row arrayed with Inter-D’s most expendable.
Stef returned to her own seat, shaking. “Why is she here?”
she hissed to Joshua. “This is the first time the P.T.M. has ever been
friendly toward Inter-D! Why did we send soldiers like her?”
Joshua was unfortunately familiar with Cam, and equally
bewildered to see her here. “Mi nuh kno… They trying to kill them
off?” Then a horrified look crossed his face. He obviously regretted
the question. “I'm so sorry. Stefana...”
A cold feeling swept through her. “Who?” she whispered.
“The Inter-D officers? Killing off these ones?” She craned her
neck, searching the crowd fretfully. There was her sister... there was
Andrew, sweet Andrew... There was Kristi. But Kristi was an
officer, surely not expendable...
Stef tried to get a better look at Kristi's arm band to recall
her rank. She waved to get her attention, but Kristi sat slumped,
dejected-looking, seeing and hearing no one. There were no stripes
visible on her arm band. She must have forgotten to put them on
that day.
The doctor at the operating table called for silence.
“Once again, I’m Dr. Crowdog. I was in charge of the
autopsies of...” He searched for words. Apparently, he never found
them. “Let's begin. You’re all here because, a few weeks ago, one
of our colonies was attacked by an army we believe to be in
possession of dimension travel technology. I don’t know all the
details of that encounter, but you may already be aware that the
P.T.M. makes a very scary example of anyone who trespasses in
our space… present company excluded.”

70
 Dead silence. Stef had no idea what had caused the P.T.M.
to be so terrified of people from other dimensions, but she knew
why her own people were on edge. These people sounded like the
Ex-D. It was difficult to trust that they truly needed help. And even
so, the last time someone had called Inter-D for help, it had been a
horrible, bloody war with no allies in sight and no apparent point.
Raising a remote control, Dr. Crowdog gave it a firm click.
A projection lit up the wall behind him. “Even though the enemy
primarily used natural weapons, they were deadly. In fact, they left
no survivors. Not even their own.” The wall suddenly displayed
images of swollen cadavers whose features had been almost totally
obscured. “Tumors,” the doctor explained. “Our robot on the
scene saw these grow within seconds, as soon as the enemy pulled
out. It seems to be an RNA sequence programmed into their
DNA. An injection administered by their uniforms every few hours
would have prevented the tumors from developing. When the
enemy pulls out, those left behind stop receiving the injection…”
The doctor hesitated. “Before I go on, can I ask you a
question? You, in the back? With the, uh… tentacle hair? What’s
your species?”
The soldier stood up. It was someone from Inter-D, a
breathing apparatus hiding most of his face. Long green tendrils
hung over his bare shoulders. Yellow eyes peered down at them all
haughtily. “I am Gorgon.”
There was a pause. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that? Did-
did you say Gorgon? Like Medusa?”
Dr. Solomon turned in his seat and whispered to Stef,
“Reminds me of a time someone asked me if I was a real Jew like
Jesus.”
Mortified, Stef hunched over and covered her face. Joshua
suppressed a laugh and patted her arm.
The Gorgon was wearily explaining that Gorgons were the
most beautiful anthropoids in the universe and that “even the
ugliest of our race cannot turn anyone to stone. Our tendrils
contain a mild neurotoxin that causes temporary paralysis.”
“That’s an interesting coincidence.”
The doctor turned to the cadaver. When he removed its
helmet, long, thick tendrils unfurled across the examining table.

71
They closely resembled the Gorgon’s tendrils — only much longer.
Instead of an anthropoid face, it bore one with ridges like an
exoskeleton, mandibles, and multiple eyes.
“This is one of the aliens our robot managed to kill.
Naturally, the soldiers who were already dead were unable to grow
any tumors, and they’re the ones we studied most extensively. They
all more or less look like this. The tendrils” — here he looked
pointedly at the Gorgon — “produce a neurotoxin which
completely paralyzes the victims, even stopping heart and lung
function, until, naturally... death. That’s how a number of our
citizens died. You’ll also notice antennae hiding in the tendrils. This
here… initially appears to be a tail, but is actually just an especially
long tendril. They all protrude from the head.”
The armor was removed next, revealing deep cuts from
the autopsy. Out of habit, Stef found herself straining to see what
color the creature’s blood was, but there was no blood left.
“I can’t tell you much about their armor function…
Naturally, they wouldn’t ask a biochemist to study that… There
were a few fascinating variations in each specimen’s physiology.
But one of the most interesting aspects was something they all had
in common…” The cadaver was totally bare now. “No genitals.”
Stef had to look away for a moment. The smooth pelvis
had been sliced open. She still wasn't used to things like that.
“Even without any sign of a cloaca, we went looking for a
reproductive system and found nothing other than what appear to
be ovotestes.” He parted the creature’s abdomen. The projection
on the wall was at least without gore. “That's testicles where
ovaries would be, to put it in simple terms. Some humans develop
ovotestes. In fact, quite a bit of internal anatomy resembles a
human’s, especially one with gonadal dysgenesis. Unlike a typical
human with this condition, however, the specimen somehow still
produced or had exposure to testosterone, hence the muscle tone
and masculine cartilage. They seem incapable of reproducing. That
led us to theorize that the entire army is genetically engineered to,
uh, to a previously unheard of degree of success.”
Dozens of hands shot up. The doctor pointed to a soldier
who called, “What are their chromosomes?”

72
 Impatiently, the doctor said, “Their sex chromosomes are
45,X0. They are intersex.”
Stef heard Cam chortle, “Awesome.”
Now the doctor ignored the military side of the room. He
pointed to Dakarai. “Yes, you.”
“Are they intelligent?”
“Yes, we believe they are. Like their other organs, their
brains seem very similar to a human’s. Unfortunately, obviously, we
couldn’t scan their brain activity. You?”
“Are those horns?”
“Uh, these? Protruding from the shoulders and elbows?
These are actually the result of a human papillomavirus of the skin,
which results in macules and papules, reminiscent of what happens
when a human has epidermodysplasia verruciformis. But like the
hermaphrodism, it’s found in each specimen and has genetic
causes. And, um, unlike the condition in humans, these skin growths
are actually quite strong and probably serve as a natural defense in,
uh, battle. In humans—”
The Gorgon raised his voice imperiously. “Not all
anthropoids are human.”
Again, the doctor paused to stare at the Gorgon. “But all
citizens of Proxima Terrestra are. Naturally, I would leap at the
opportunity to study you.”
The Gorgon bristled.
“Uh, I mean… As a scientist… Naturally, I’d love to, uh,
you know, learn more about your unique physiology. Especially as
it pertains to… our other specimen, here. But seeing as I’m a
human doctor…”
All the while, Stef stared pleadingly at the Gorgon,
whispering in Latin. “Do not challenge him. Do not. We are already
distrusted among these people! He is a fool and everyone knows it. Do not
challenge him.”
Solomon had risen to his feet, clearing his throat and
smiling that smile Stef had come to recognize. The diffusing-a-
situation smile. “Excuse me. Dr. Solomon for Inter-D. I think our
friend here just wants you to understand that at Inter-D, we’ve
replaced the terms human and humanoid with sentient, anthro or
anthropoid. It’s less humanocentric.”

73
 Crowdog blinked. “Yes, thank you for correcting me. I beg
your pardon. Our definition of anthropoid includes apes and
monkeys, so we would never use that term here.”
Solomon laughed a little too loudly, nervously, peeking at
the Gorgon out of the corner of his eye. “That’s where our dialects
differ. When we called ourselves human, we thought we were alone
in the universe. Of course, one doesn’t need to be human to be…”
Dr. Solomon sent a meaningful glance at the Gorgon. “Cultured,
rational and self-controlled.” He winked.
Stef blushed at what the Gorgon mumbled to himself.

74
12
“Robot!” Cam charged up behind Amadeus and jumped
onto his massive back. “Miss me?”
“No,” he said.
Cam laughed. “Yeah 'cuz you're too dumb to know how
great I am. Hey, Stef! Get over here!”
As Stefana reluctantly made her way toward them, Cam
slid down to the floor. She leaned against Ami as if he were a car.
“That's my sister. Stef, this is Amadeus. He’s an oversized army
doll named after some dead musician. He almost got me
imprisoned for life once.”
Stef hesitated. “It is... a pleasure to meet you?”
“Tell him about our mother's journal.”
Realization dawned in Stef's eyes, and she nodded slowly
as she spoke. “The description of the cadaver matches sketches
and notes she made. Lillenna Winchester, that is. She has been
missing for nearly a decade. All we know is that she erased our
memories and separated us to keep us safe from something. We do
not understand what she was trying to protect us from.”
“She was a geneticist,” Cam said pointedly.
“You believe she created these soldiers,” Amadeus
clarified.
A look of heartbreak and hope was on Stef's face.
Flippantly, Cam replied, “No. She's dead. But she was last seen by a
kidnapped soldier at some kind of life-sized war game. He got her
journal to us. Years later.”
“Where is it now?” asked the robot.
“With our father,” Stef said. “I can retrieve it.”
“Yeah, you go get it,” said Cam, relieved. “And while you're
doing that, me and Ami should go check out the last place she was
seen. Want to go outside, boy?”
“I will clear it with my superiors.”
“Good boy!”

75
13
Cam led Amadeus through a portal into the abandoned
Miscreator world.
Ami’s metal frame tensed and distorted slightly as he
stepped into the foreign atmosphere. Immediately, he tested the
frigid air. There was, he noted, an unprecedented lack of bacteria.
Though he could see a good distance even with his night vision
sensors deactivated, up to the tiny blue leaves on the horizon of
blue trees, there was no direct sunlight. Instead, UV rays reflected
dimly off a blue planet looming in the sky, which tinted everything
with a cold tone as unwelcoming as the monolithic walls of cubes
which made up the Miscreator’s abandoned fortress. The only
break in this azure monotony was the neon glow of the portal
behind him.
“Time is different here,” Cam was telling him. She closed
the portal. “I came back here after years and nobody was decayed. I
even saw my past self leaving the dimension just like I did the first
time.”
“Unlikely,” Ami responded.
“Shows what you know. If we run, we can see it!”
As light-footed as she was defensive, she skipped down
the fortress wall. Ami followed doggedly but they never stumbled
onto the promised spectacle. The longer they ran, the more
perturbed Camella seemed. “Well, this guy was here last time, and
he looks exactly the same.”
Ami scanned the anthro form slumped against a nearby
wall. Presumably, it had always been spiny, hairless and pale. Upon
close inspection, the face appeared to be ever so gradually melting,
cell by cell. “Have you ever seen the sun shine here? Has it ever
been any warmer?”
Cam shook her head, auburn hair flying across her face in
the chilled wind.

76
 “Then it may never be warm enough for the body’s
microbiome to do its work. Also a lack of prime decomposers in
the atmosphere. Probably a lack of scavengers, if this whole world
is artificial. He is breaking down. He simply can’t decompose
normally.”
Cam scowled for a moment. She drew a sharp breath but
couldn’t immediately think of anything to say. “I got one more
thing to show you.”
She led him back up the wall, meandering and sometimes
looping through confusing corridors, until they found their way
into the frozen and half-collapsed walls, past a stalled conveyor belt
heaped with unidentified bricks of meat, and over to a towering
vat. It overflowed with specimens like the body outside… and the
body preserved at the P.T.M. lab.
Cam pointed at the ceiling above the vat. “They fell from
up there.”
“No door or portal detected,” said Ami.
“It was a clear portal.”
“Still none detected.”
“Ugh, come on!” Cam stormed up a stairway ladder. It led
to a platform overlooking the pile of cadavers.
Ami clanked his way up the steps. There was more to see
there, but it was more of the same. Cam made another angry noise.
Ami looked down at her. “The portal has been closed.”
“No duh,” Cam muttered.
“Under these conditions, there is no way of ascertaining
how fresh these bodies are.”
Cam was still preoccupied about her long-held theory
being proven wrong. “If time doesn’t loop here, then who did I see
leaving this place a few years ago?” she wondered. “It was me!”
“Could it have been Lillenna Winchester? Do you look
anything like her?”
Turning away from him, Cam shrugged hard. “The only
person you could ask is blind. And Lillenna is dead. She’s dead!”
“What makes you so certain?”
“She's got to be!” Cam swung a leg over the rail and slid
down the stairway ladder, skipping to a stop at the ground level.

77
There she lingered, directionless. Ami wasn’t certain if she would
answer his question.
“Either she’s dead,” Cam said, “or she never came back
for her children, just like her piece of shit husband. You didn’t let
anything stop you when you were after me.”
“The possibility you do not wish to explore is still a
possibility.”
“Fuck it, who cares,” laughed Cam. “Thanks for the waste-
of-time conversation, it was nostalgic.”

78
14
Lenovra.
Stefana swallowed hard until her ears popped. Then she
paused to inhale the rich forest air, earthy and damp. It must have
been early spring. Hastily, she removed her shoes and stockings
and dug her toes into the familiar grasses. Nothing in all her
surroundings was man-made, or even elf-made. She drank it in
before making herself known.
“Gakhrrud?”
The ground opened up nearby, revealing a Shee tunnel.
Tucking her socks and shoes under her arm, she hopped into the
hole and waited patiently as the earth closed overhead. Then a
warm breeze rushed down the tunnel, gently lifting her and wafting
her straight to Shayla.
She loved the woods. These tunnels, however, always
brought back less than pleasant memories. A bitter cocktail that
mingled poorly with her excitement over seeing her father.
Gakhrrud deposited her by the gates of Shayla. It took a
running leap to get into the palace. Then she was groping along the
cool and moldering stones with cheery bioluminescent lamps to
guide her.
Stef heard Bri’s voice far ahead. “Stefana!” He had seen
her.
“Ahair!” Heart pattering, she ran to him. Even leaning on
a staff, he was magnificently tall. When he wrapped his arms
around her, she felt small but safe. She could imagine that her life
was starting anew and she was living out the childhood she had
never shared with him, at least not that she could recall.
Bri kissed the top of her head. “Your work and studies are
finally over?” he asked.
“Actually, they finally gave me an excuse to come and see
you.”

79
 “Oh?”
“Ahair.” Stefana hesitated. “I do not want to kindle any
false hope in you. Only I recently viewed the cadaver of a monster.
One that reminds me of Mathair’s notes and sketches. Some
colleagues want to review them.”
Her father suddenly seemed distant. “You found one of
her creations?”
This was precisely what she had wanted to avoid. Her
heart ached for him as she cautioned, “We do not know what we
have found.”
Hurriedly, Bri led her to his rooms. As he shuffled around
in search of the journal, she mutely took in her surroundings.
There was the old dog he had adopted, asleep as usual. It had lost
control of its bowels. She moved to clean up that mess while Bri
made a new one, flinging a filthy blanket from a couch where he
apparently slept. There was the journal, but his searching hands
missed it.
She had mopped up the dog’s mess, shaken the stinking
rag outside the window, and now stood wondering what to do with
it. Near the fireplace was a tub of dirty clothes and stagnant water.
She dropped the towel there, and then took a pot of boiling water
off the fire, pouring it over the laundry.
Bri was cursing to himself. He still hadn’t found what he
was looking for.
“Ahair. It is…” She went to him, leaning over to pick up
the journal.
Bri made a frustrated, embarrassed little huff, and she
longed to ask him who was taking care of him here, but first he
inquired, “Can you read aloud the pages you had in mind?”
She didn’t have the energy to read the journal yet again. “If
we find any significant similarities, I will tell you everything, Ahair.
I promise.”
“What hope is there?” he asked excitedly.
“I have always had hope,” said Stefana, touching his arm.
“For years I have had hope… It would be easier if I did not.”
Bri nodded, but she wondered if he really understood.
Waiting to discover her mother alive felt like holding her breath
year after year. She felt it all the more now that she knew her

80
father. By now, Stef was ready for the waiting to end… even if the
end was an unhappy one. She doubted that Bri felt the same way.
“You must be willing to let her go, Ahair.”
Bri scowled. “You’ve been talking to Camella.”
“Camella wants her to be dead. I want… to mourn. To be
free. I want you to be free.”
He only shook his head.

81
15
Hours later, Stef entered Glister base.
Already it was disheartening to wear shoes again — to be
surrounded by what passed for beauty in the controlled and
sanitized environments of “advanced” humans. Stef kept the
journal tucked safely under her arm.
After decontamination, the doors unsealed, and Stef
stepped over to the guard on duty. “Hello. May I please speak to
whoever is in charge of approving trips into the city?”
The guard consulted his chart. “According to this, you're
already cleared.”
“Yes, but there is one person in particular who is never
permitted to leave with me. My brother.”
“Ah.” A knowing look spread across the guard’s face.
“You’d better talk to Colonel Balzac. He’s in charge of Glister base
now.”
“Oh?” Stef’s pulse quickened. “I-I did not realize that he
had been transferred here.”
“Yeah. I don’t know when he would have time to talk to
you, though.”
She took a chance. “Tell him Carvernon Winchester’s
sister would like a brief word with him.”
The guard looked skeptical, but he reached for a
communicator. “I’ll ask my C.O.”

82
16
Stefana wasn’t totally sure what the colonel had done to
earn Carvernon’s antipathy. He had said something about a woman
being attacked, and what else could that mean? But as time went by,
doubts crept into her mind. She didn’t want to jump to
conclusions. She did not like to be judged. She had already judged
too much today. Carvernon was moody sometimes, like the rest of
the family. Could Balzac’s crimes truly be so serious? Should she be
friendly? Should she be cold? Could either greeting encourage an
“attack”?
“You are Stefana! I am not sure we have met.” Colonel
Balzac reached for her hand, holding it delicately as if he might kiss
it, but he never did. He, like her, was clearly far from his native
culture and now lingered somewhere between archaic and modern,
as did his greeting. With a warm smile, the colonel explained, “It is
always a pleasure to greet the sister of a dear friend.”
Stef’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you and Carvernon still
friendly?”
“In more recent days, we are not as friendly as I would
like, I am afraid. Fraternization among ranks, you know, it is
frowned upon, and Inter-D is becoming the highly regarded
military state. Ah, I am not supposed to say ‘military state.’ Let us
forget all of this, no?”
“I do not want to take up much of your precious time,”
said Stef, feeling a little more confident now that she’d found
something professional-sounding to say. She removed her hand
from his. “You see, I come here frequently to walk into Glister,
where a friend and I attend Mass…”
“A fellow Catholic!” he beamed, pressing her hands.
Oh, no, him? She tried to hammer her wince into a smile.
“My brother would love to join us.”
“Ah. You realize that Carvernon is considered…” He
searched for the words. “He is unreliable. Were we to lose track of

83
him, the loss would be greater than one man. We would have to
dedicate much time and manpower to the search for him.
Otherwise we encourage the behavior in other soldiers.”
Stef’s mind raced. “There is only one place where he could
hide,” she said, reaching for the fine chain that hung around her
neck. The advanced Shee device she had just used to visit her
father hung there. “And I possess the gateway. Perhaps this could
be collateral…?”
It was too good of an offer, she realized. She saw some
spark of awe in his eyes, some hint of excitement, as he stared at
the gateway hanging between her breasts. His fingers closed around
it, and she blushed hotly. “This creates a portal to Lenovra?” he
murmured.
“Please!” The world’s name was a highly guarded secret.
She’d been trained to behave as if anyone outside of Lenovra might
be an enemy of Lenovra. Yet here she was, offering the gateway to
a man that her brother had warned her about. Which was worse?
“It must be completely and safely hidden,” she hissed, pulling away
from him. “Otherwise, I would rather keep it on my person. I
should think something this powerful… you understand…”
Suddenly she felt warm, the same way she felt when
someone wasn't simply looking at her, but watching her. With a
tremble, she realized that Balzac seemed as harmless as ever while
he regarded her; the façade of his friendly countenance had never
wavered, but something was off. Sinister. Balzac assured her, “It
should be more than enough collateral, my dear. I will clear
Carvernon for regular pass.”
Stef’s voice had shrunk to a whisper. “Thank you,” she
said.
She handed him the gateway, keeping an arm’s length
between them. Balzac accepted it with impeccable politeness.

84
PART III

85
1
When Carver returned from the barracks, he was wearing
the civilian clothes Ruby had brought in: Baggy pants, a T-shirt that
said “Sweet Mnemosyne” for some reason, and a long, dark gray
coat. They were all comfortable, though the pants were a little too
loose around the waist. He wondered what a native of Glister
would think of someone in these clothes. He would have to get
acculturated (again) to find out.
Ruby, now off-duty, was also wearing civilian clothes. He
squinted at her, thinking she looked different. Maybe she was
wearing makeup. Maybe he hadn’t seen her wearing any for some
time; he honestly hadn’t thought about it.
“Looks like they fit you,” said Ruby, who had been
assessing him coolly. “You’re not wearing the contacts?”
“They're impossible to get in,” he replied, resisting a
shudder at the memory.
“It's easy. You just...” Ruby thought better of it. “Here.”
She dug around her bag until she found a pair of sunglasses.
“Thanks,” he said with an embarrassed chuckle. It was
strange to have her on his side all of a sudden. “Hey, these aren’t
women's sunglasses, are they?”
A soft ding issued from the nearby lift, and Stef emerged, a
warm smile on her face. “Carvernon.”
“Stefana,” he called, hugging her tightly. “My favorite
family member.”
“Do not tell Ahair,” she laughed. Then she handed him a
neat pile of paper. “Copies of Mathair’s journal.”
“Oh…” He took them, a little perplexed. “Hey, are you
the reason I was dismissed early?”
“Yes. You are coming to Mass with us. And afterward…”
“Afterward, straight back to base,” Ruby said, raising her
eyebrows at Stef meaningfully. A strange look crossed Stef's face.

86
She nodded dumbly. Then she seized Ruby's hand. “Hurry, let us
go before they change their minds.”
They headed for the exit, a tunnel unknown to the public.
Once cleared by the guard, Ruby and Stef stepped through the
door easily. Carver hesitated.
“You coming?” asked Ruby.
He stared down the long, narrow tunnel lit harshly by a
few well-spaced fluorescent lights.
Stef noticed his unease. “Are you alright?” she asked
softly.
Carver nodded, but he wasn't alright. He was sick of
tunnels. Stupid. He'd been trapped in this place, scooping sewage
for how long, but the tunnel seemed far, far worse. He stood there
for a moment, counting people under his breath. When he finally
spoke, he felt certain he was speaking too loudly. “I haven’t left
Glister base since I got here last year.”
“I know.” Stef touched his arm. “We are with you.”
He counted again. It eased his tension. “Sorry,” he said.
He tried not to think about the time he’d been boxed into darkness
with a mummified soldier. Or elected leader of a guerilla force
under the ruins of war-torn Breena.
Ruby’s low voice brought him back to the present. “Take
your time.”
Stef stayed right where she was with her hand on his arm.
Ruby turned her back and pretended to be busy on her mobile. He
appreciated both gestures. Finally, he found himself taking the first
step into the tunnel. A transit car waited with its doors flung open.
“PLEASE FIND A SEAT,” said an automated voice. It
repeated the request in French. “VEUILLEZ VOUS ASSEOIR.”
It would be a brief ride. A quiet ride. They all found
themselves making silly faces at each other.
“Carvernon,” said Stef. “I can look you in the face!”
He pushed up the sunglasses. “Yeah. It's nice.”
“So I'm not the only one weirded out by your eyes?” asked
Ruby. “No offense.”
“No,” Stef replied, “they seem to frighten people. But
sometimes it is convenient. It makes them leave you alone.”

87
 “Or slows them down long enough for you to shoot
them,” quipped Carver. “Stef, you aren’t hiding your eyes out there
in human land?”
She shrugged. “No one here has confronted me about
them. Now that there are Gaiskosk living in the city, I seem far less
strange by comparison. Their long ears and green skin are so
noticeable.”
“I almost feel bad for them,” Ruby muttered. “Almost.”
Stef looked down. “I ought to…”
“There is no ‘ought to’ with feelings, they just are.”
The transit pulled to a stop. Stepping out, they found
themselves at the bottom of a staircase leading to a public street.
Anyone who saw them emerge wouldn’t suppose that they were
from Glister base, or that they knew anything about it. As they
stepped into an alley in the mid-morning light, the door swung shut
behind them. EXIT ONLY, it read.
“The secrecy seems a bit unnecessary,” Stef complained,
and they started walking.
Ruby replied, “Inter-D is pretty unpopular right now.”
“But why?”
Carver said, “Nobody likes a stranger. Especially when the
stranger lives next door.”
Ruby shrugged. “I s’pose that’s true, but there’s a whole
mess of politics, too. You got a handful like me, who know that
Inter-D never started anything. You got the people who always
wanted to see another world, and they’re the ones enlisting. Then
you got the à droite,” she said distastefully, “who think they’re
entitled to the resources of other worlds just because they traded
for them. And they think multiple exo-Earths makes
environmentalism obsolete. They like that, too. But even though
they got no problem going into other people’s dimensions, they
want people like you guys to stay out of Kanata.”
“Like I said,” Carver repeated, “nobody likes a stranger.”
Ruby went on, “Well you also got the à gauche, who
question whether we have a right to plunder other worlds’
resources. They have a point. Even if it wasn’t stealing, aren’t we
just delaying the inevitable? If we keep living wastefully, we’ll
eventually have the same problems the rest of the world has. Earth

88
— this one, Dimension Earth 12 — is really struggling with clean
water, farm land, death control. Other countries besides Kanata
want to be Inter-D allies, too. They’re even offering citizenship to
outsiders.”
“Really?” asked Carver, perking up a little. “What
countries?”
“Ameriga, of course. Amerigans have to have everything. I
don’t remember what other countries. I could look it up for you.”
Carver frowned. “Maybe. Yeah...”
They were on the sidewalk now, and had been for some
time. No one from Glister base could overhear them. Still, Ruby
spoke softly. “There’s a smoke shop about a block away from the
church. Todd still thinks he’s meeting me. I’ll sit out in the open,
and you guys can hang back a little, and then I’ll break it to him
that you’re here.”
“Or,” Carver said, “I could go in alone and find him.”
“I think I need to be there.”
“Are you really going to meet an Ex-D soldier?” hissed
Stef. “Is he really your friend?”
“I don’t know if he is. He was.”
“Why is this so important?”
Carver smiled wistfully. “I’m starting to ask the same
question.”
They walked in silence for a while. Carver soaked in the
look of the motley crowd, holographic billboards, multicultural
shops, and various taxis, buses, and trains. He had lived in Glister
before, but he was seeing everything with fresh eyes again. Strange
to realize that the prosperity which people here took for granted
was secretly thanks to Inter-D. Kanata owned farms in other
dimensions, and the water facilities here were supplied via portal.
Now their dwindling workforce was being bolstered, too.
The spires of the old cathedral rose in the distance, even
dwarfed as they were by skyscrapers. The Old and New Worlds
were so close they almost touched. Maybe Carver’s presence here
was not so different.
It was a moment before he noticed what Stef was trying so
very hard not to stare at: a couple making out on the corner. Ruby,

89
who was watching Stef not-watching, looked like she was holding
back laughter.
As they crossed the street and left the couple behind, Ruby
poked Stef’s shoulder good-naturedly. “You okay, sweetie?”
“Is that not considered rude?” Stef demanded. It might
have made her feel better to focus on this minor outrage than the
dangers ahead. “They are practically mating on the street!”
Ruby and Carver both laughed.
“My parents’ generation thought it was kind of
controversial,” Ruby said. “I usually don’t even notice.”
Stef sighed. “I hope I find my husband soon.”
Ruby leaned toward her. “Feeling horny?” she teased.
“Ruby! Shush. I want to have children before I run out of
energy. Heaven knows this medical training will be the death of
me! And I have been waiting so long! I was so lonely as a child. I
told myself that someday, I would have eight children and things
would be different.”
“Eight,” Ruby blurted. “Where would we put them all if
everybody had eight?”
Confused, Stef asked, “Why should everyone live the same
life?”
“For equity.”
Stef shook her head inquiringly, but Carver was still
surprised that he and Stef had been dreaming the same dreams
while worlds apart. “I was the same way,” he confided. “I mean, I
never wanted eight...” He thought for some time, keenly aware that
both girls were staring at him. “I didn’t have memories, you know,
I didn’t understand why my parents would abandon me in a human
world. That's what I really thought happened. From day one, I was
looking for a new family and planning on making my own. The one
I was always missing.”
Ruby looked up at him dubiously. “So you actually want
kids.”
“Of course he does!” Stef chirped. “Everyone does.”
Ruby just smiled.
“She's right, in general,” Carver said. “I can’t speak for this
place, but most societies do everything with the next generation in
mind. Like that church up there. The people who started building it

90
knew they wouldn't live to see it finished, but they built it anyway.
Your generation has, uh... different priorities. You want to spend
your wealth on yourselves.”
“You just tried to speak for this place,” Ruby pointed out,
“and you’re wrong. The population is aging and it’s ruining the
economy. My parents’ generation, they’re the ones who feel guilty
if they have more than one.” She tapped her own shoulder. “Only
child. But babies aren’t… the worst thing ever.”
“They certainly are not,” Stef agreed. “They are the best
people. They love and trust without question. Their every cry and
expression is honest.”
“And you really want eight?” asked Ruby.
“As many as possible. More than ten!”
“Okay,” Ruby chortled, “maybe I spoke too soon, because
that sounds like the worst thing ever.”
Carver teased, “Stop, before she raises the number again.”
“How many...” Stef’s lips half-formed the beginning of a
word, and then the two girls were just staring at each other,
communicating silently. Carver thought Stef must have wanted to
ask a question. A painful question. A discussion they didn't want to
have in front of him.
Hastily, Stef switched gears and worked up a smile. “How
many children do you want, Carver?”
He shrugged, a little uneasy now that the women were
leaving him out of their telepathic conversations. “As many as the
wife wants, I guess. It’ll happen on its own. I do want some.”
Ruby was frowning at him pensively. She must have
thought he was a strange. Effeminate, maybe.
“Not,” Carver continued, “that it’s likely to happen.”
“Why not let Ahair arrange a marriage for you?” asked
Stef.
Ruby thought that was a joke in itself, but Carver jested,
“With who, a Gaiskosk warrior?”
“He does know that one young woman. The one who
took shelter with them during the winter. Ember?”
Carver made a face.
“Who?” Ruby asked nonchalantly.

91
 “A former hostage of the druids we encountered at the
war’s end. She lives with our father and what remains of Lord
Rendyn’s thralls. She has a little boy. Hunter.” Stef beamed. “He is
absolutely precious!”
Ruby smirked up at Carver. “Want to marry a woman you
barely know and raise another man’s son? Sounds like a great
time!”
“I don’t think women from her world really go for
arranged marriages.”
“That’s your only problem with it?” asked Ruby.
“I guess I’m horny,” he replied.
Ruby stifled a laugh, snorting, while Stef scolded him —
“Carvernon!” — adding covertly, “I think Ember would prefer
Ahair, anyway.”
Now that was a strange thought, Brionan dating a woman
their age. He wanted the man to be happy, but something about Bri
and Ember together unsettled him. “You think Ahair could ever
give up on our mother and remarry?”
“Lord knows I could not convince him, but perhaps that is
why He sent Ember.”
“I can just imagine someone my age going after my dad,”
Ruby said. “If only it would break up my parents.”
“One shouldn't wish for such things,” Stef chided.
“I'm kidding. Kinda.”
“Carvernon,” Stef murmured, “it is not that I wish it to be
true, but do you think Camella is right and our mother must be
dead by now?”
It was a question that nagged at him a lot, and he didn't
like it. “How would we verify it?”
“That is precisely why Ahair remains alone.”
A silence settled over them, and Carver's mind wandered
back to Todd and the gang of Ex-D recruits that might be waiting
to jump them. He pushed the thought away, turning to Ruby.
“Ever getting married, shorty?”
“You might remember I had pretty different plans a year
ago,” she said, looking at him pointedly. “Hell, I was a different
person. I’m not even sure if I want to join the Catholic Church, and

92
then I’ll probably have a shitload of reading to do on who I’m
allowed to marry…”
“Any man who agrees to convert and raise the children in
the Church,” replied Stef. They had reached the cathedral now, and
she set out to climb its massive stone steps. “Though of course it is
preferable if he is already Catholic.”
Ruby mused, “Do that many people really let their kids get
brainwashed into a religion they’ve rejected?”
Stef seemed offended. “Brainwashed!” she exclaimed, and
stepped into the church.
“I didn’t mean…” Ruby trailed off.

93
2
When Ruby followed Stef into the cathedral, followed
closely by Carver, she was struck by the cool, pressing hush of the
narthex. She made apologetic motions to Stef. I know you aren’t
brainwashed. They would have to make up later.
Mass would not begin for some time. They joined the
short line in front of the confessional. When Stef’s turn finally
arrived, and she disappeared behind the heavy wooden door, Ruby
motioned for Carver to bend toward her. “So what are you looking
for in a wife?” she whispered teasingly. “Catholic? Child-bearing
hips?”
He smiled. “I’m not really looking. What do I have to offer
a woman?”
“Dick.”
He covered his bark of a laugh with a cough. For a few
seconds he sat with his fist pressed against his lips. “Do you mean I
have nothing, or…?”
Now she covered her mouth. She would not start giggling,
especially here.
No one seemed to have noticed them, so they kept talking.
“You can’t say ‘dick’ in church,” he teased.
“I always hated that,” Ruby confided. “What’s so special
about a church? Isn’t God everywhere? Either it’s okay to do
something or it’s not. If this is really God’s house, everyone belongs
here, eh.”
Carver just listened, the wince on his face deepening. She
realized her voice had risen well above a whisper. She stopped
herself, looking around in embarrassment. For the second time,
Carver patted her head. Reminding her how short she was, how
childish she seemed to him. She fumed.
Who cares what he thinks, she told herself. He wants marriage
and kids. You have sex with a new person every time you get drunk.

94
 They remained quiet until Stef emerged from the
confessional. Ruby would not go to her first Confession until she
had been confirmed, so she didn’t go in. To her surprise, Carver
didn’t move toward the box, either. The three of them lingered by
the sanctuary entrance.
Stef spoke to Carver as softly as she could, almost too
softly for Ruby to hear her. “You ought to go to Confession before
you receive the Sacrament.”
“I’m not doing it,” Carver said softly. He touched her arm
as if to reassure her, but the blood had drained from her face. She
looked at him pleadingly. He shook his head. Smiled like there was
nothing to worry about.
“You really ought to go to Confession before... your
meeting,” she said. “And participate in the Mass. Receive grace.”
“Trust me,” he said.
She turned away, but Ruby saw tears in her eyes.
As they entered the sanctuary, the building opened up
above them. Ruby craned her neck at the vaulted ceiling towering
high overhead, its detailed complexities barely visible from ground
level. Light from the windows tinted everything with rich blues,
reds, and purples. Even before she had found Jesus interesting, she
had loved this architecture and spent a few afternoons creeping
around empty churches and sketching the gothic arches. Now it
struck her that Christians in older countries, peasants, had
constructed wonders like these in the Middle Ages. How could she
have thought they were stupid?
They found an empty pew. Facing the crucifix over the
altar, Stef dropped to her knees and crossed herself before sitting.
Ruby followed suit, feeling like a moron. Carver waited and,
without so much as nodding toward the altar, slid into the pew
after them. Well, at least he wasn't pretending to be the perfect
Christian anymore. But what was he, then?
He caught Ruby looking at him curiously. He glanced
around, rifled through a hymnal or whatever it was in front of him,
rifled through another book, and finally pointed to a passage
toward the front: The celebration of the Eucharist is a sign of the reality of
the oneness of faith, life, and worship. Members of those churches with whom we

95
are not yet fully united are asked to refrain from receiving the Body and Blood
of our Lord until they have come home to the Roman Catholic Church.
She looked at him. He jutted a thumb at his chest as if to
say, That’s for me.
So he’d decided he wasn’t Catholic. She wondered if that
was a sign that she shouldn’t be, either. She wondered what her
reasons were for wondering.

96
3
The Mass ended some time before noon. Though Stef
received the Eucharist with a look of relief and joy, they all
understood without saying so that the meeting with Todd was
beginning to cast a shadow over them.
Ruby showed Stef the time. “We have close to an hour. It
won’t take that long to walk there.”
Stef bit her lip. “I will light a candle for Tully before we
go.”
Carver and Ruby stayed where they were in the sanctuary’s
main aisle. They watched Stef glide away to find a votive candle.
Ruby still did not fully understand the purpose of the candles. Was
it only in remembrance of the dead? She knew by the way the
parishioners gazed at the bread and wine that what they did in
remembrance had power to them.
“She won’t talk about it,” Carver said presently, his voice
thick and dry.
Ruby flinched. “We couldn’t do anything,” she tried to
explain. Though she had no more words, she had already cried as
much as she could about it. Now it was old and familiar, that razor
sting of memory: Tullian begging for his life, screaming for help
before he was dragged underground. It was just another wound to
live with.
“I know.” In the long silence that followed, Carver
confided, “I said I’d come back for him.”
Ruby winced and shrugged. She almost said, We’d all do
things differently if we could, but it sounded so callous. There were no
appropriate responses to such things. She couldn’t even say, He was
a great kid, because she’d sort of disliked him. He’d been arrogant,
and not as smart as he believed he was, and he’d stared at her chest
a lot.
But she never could have ordered his death without
hesitation or remorse. What sort of person did something like that?

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What threat could Tully possibly pose that he didn’t deserve to live,
didn’t even deserve a trial? An Ex-D ally. Idiots. Monsters. Todd
had joined the people who had wanted Tully dead along with
anyone else who happened to be from another world. Or in the
way. Ruby gritted her teeth and silently called down burning hail on
anyone who could be so insipidly ruthless.
The hail did not fall. This, she remembered, was one of the
things that had kept her from being a Christian, and it still gnawed
at her. If she were God, she would smash all these people. Where
was justice? Where were the plagues?
Why was she still alive?
Her heart dropped into her stomach as she suddenly
recalled the words that had passed from her own lips mere minutes
ago, words she had recited with the entire congregation: Forgive us
our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. She had called
down wrath upon herself.
Stef rejoined them. She opened her mouth to say
something, but Carver asked suddenly, “How come you hid it from
us at first?”
Stef looked down. “That Tully was dead?”
“Yeah.”
“You were at war,” she stammered.
Carver just looked bewildered.
“I thought... what if you were distracted in battle?”
He hung his head, lips pressed thin. “You… you don’t
have to protect me, okay? That’s not your responsibility.”
Stef hesitated. Then she looked at Ruby. “We can go. I will
do my penance later.”
Ruby led the way to the door. “Penance for Tully?”
Somberly, Stef replied, “No. In Confession, I was assigned
Hail Marys and Our Fathers as penance for my sins.” Ruby
suppressed a snicker at the notion of Stef sinning. “Tully did not
receive his Last Rites… so he may have unconfessed sins to do
penance for in Purgatory. My prayers are to alleviate his suffering
and speed his ascension to heaven.”
“I thought that was what Jesus was for,” Carver said softly.
Stef studied him patiently, but there was a look of worry
on her face. “Repentance must be sincere. It is not enough to

98
mouth the words, ‘Forgive me.’” They pushed the doors open and
stepped into the daylight, squinting. “If I am truly sorry for what I
have done, then I will make amends. Penance is how we demonstrate
that we are truly sorry, thus gaining forgiveness.”
Carver nodded compliantly, but clearly disagreed. “God
can't tell?”
“The smoke shop is this way,” said Ruby, leading them
further down the street. She found herself searching the crowd for
anyone wearing red and black, or the Ex-D arm band that
sometimes marked the gang. She wondered if she was leading them
all to their deaths. Was it really worth it, this experiment in
forgiveness?
“Listen,” Ruby blurted. “If I do this Christian thing, do I
have to forgive everyone? Even the worst kind of people?”
To her surprise, neither answered immediately. Stef,
judging by her expression, must have known where this question
was coming from. “That makes me uncomfortable, as well.”
Another pause. “I feel I am doing wrong by Tullian if I forgive his
murderers.”
Ruby could see the smoke shop in the distance. It filled
her mind as she tried to explain, “I don’t think God has the right to
throw my sins back at me just because I hate people who are
hateful. And if hell is real, then that means God doesn’t always
forgive, either. Why is He telling us to do something that He
doesn’t do?”
Carver said, “Reverend Sayres would ask me, ‘What do the
Scriptures say?’”
“St. Paul the Apostle said that,” Stef sniffed.
“Okay, my bad. Jesus said if we love Him, we’ll obey His
commands. He said that people will know His disciples by their
love for one another.”
“This is true,” Stef said reluctantly.
“What does it say in I John 4?” Carver asked. “‘...Love is
from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God.’ And
anyone who does not love...”
Very softly, Stef said, “Does not know God.”
“Not very encouraging,” Ruby said.

99
 “Ha. Sorry. I’m trying to tell you what I learned the hard
way.” He added, “It’s easy to limit love to a feeling. But Jesus dying
for us was love, and that didn't feel good. Love does good. Love is
choosing to do what’s right, even if it sucks. And since Jesus did
that for us, proving His love, we can trust Him.”
Bristling a little, Ruby said, “It doesn’t look like you’ve
forgiven Balzac for whatever he did.”
“I fight to forgive him every day.” Carver avoided looking
at her, as he’d been doing for some time; he just scowled at the
other pedestrians milling around them. “He isn't sorry for what he
did. He doesn't want reconciliation, so he doesn't have it. And
that's his problem, not mine.”
“What did he do?”
Carver winced. “Not my story to tell.”
Ruby could infer a lot from that. “I see.”
“While we're on the topic...” Carver worked his jaw for a
moment. “I haven't been exactly loving to you two.”
“Oh, no,” said Stef dismissively, but Ruby let him keep
going. She remembered the time Carver had pushed her against a
staircase and yelled at her. And the time he had called her fat. If he
was going to condemn sinners, he could at least acknowledge his
own sins.
“I'm a jerk,” Carver said. “When you two met me, I
definitely let my feelings control me and I took them out on other
people. Especially you, Ruby.”
“I’m a jerk, too,” Ruby admitted. “But thanks for
apologizing.”
“Of course. I need to take myself down a peg and
remember that I don’t deserve to be saved. I didn’t even ask for it,
it's just that one day I knew Him.”
Ruby bit her lip. “Maybe the real question is, how do you
define forgiveness?”
Someone bumped into Carver. In an instant, he’d whirled,
punching the air and narrowly missing the man’s head as he
shouted, “Watch where you’re going, moron!”
The stranger shot an offended look over his shoulder.
“Excuse me, sir,” he barked in a tone that was more judgmental
than apologetic. Then he was gone.

100
 Shaking, Carver ran his hands through his hair. No one
had to say what the outburst was really about. All three of them
were scared to meet with Todd. All three of them saw the irony in
the moment and laughed a little.
As they reached the end of the sidewalk, where a post let
out a constant ping for blind pedestrians, the crosswalk ahead
flashed a red right hand. Ruby stared across the street at the shop’s
neon sign. It read, ANGELA'S ASHLESS VAPE EMPORIUM.
“I think... forgiveness must mean putting it behind you,”
said Stef. “You will not be destroyed by your own anger.”
“I like that,” said Carver.
“I do not think I can do it,” she returned, and then
covered her mouth in surprise.
Zero. The way was clear. Stepping into the crosswalk, Ruby
turned to Stef and mustered up a smile. “We’ve done a lot of things
we never thought we could do.”
Stef smiled back at her. “You are right.”
Pointing at the shop, Ruby said, “We’re here.”

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4
The walk sign was blinking, but nobody moved. As Carver
absorbed the little building and its dark, tinted windows, he paused
for that familiar sense of foreboding that so often visited him. The
sense that said, Get out of here now or you’re dead. Although a storm of
fear thundered within him, from without, he got a different uneasy
sense that he was supposed to go into that shop.
He started counting pedestrians. No, no, bad move, he'd
be counting them forever. He had to stop. The very thought of not
counting them, however, filled him with greater anxiety. He
covered his face for a moment and felt the tension build and build.
It seemed as if it would escalate forever. It was all he could do to
appear as composed as possible.
“Carver?”
Time ticked by. And gradually, finally, he found the fear
subsiding, if only just a little.
Firmly this time, Carver placed his hands on Stef’s
shoulders. She embraced him almost desperately. He wondered if
she wondered what he wondered: whether this was their last time
seeing each other alive.
“You two don’t have to go in with me,” Carver whispered.
“You do not have to go, either,” Stef returned.
“...I think my days as Jonah are over.” He pushed Stef
back a little, his hands still on her shoulders. He wanted to look
into her eyes. The sunglasses finally made it easy, and it struck him
how pretty she was. “You don’t have to remember just the bad
things that happened to Tully. You can remember the good times.
You aren’t loving him less for that.”
He turned to face his fate. The girls fell in next to him, one
on either side, and gratitude curbed his apprehension.

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5
Standing in the threshold of the shop's door, Stef was
pleasantly surprised to find no one waiting to murder her. She took
a moment to breathe the clashing scents of incense and coffee
grounds. The walls were papered with posters she lacked the
context to understand. She liked some of the dresses crowding the
clothing racks, and under different circumstances she would have
outright laughed at a unicorn figurine to her right, its dainty charm
a stark contrast to the massive and foreboding anhorns she knew.
A series of strange looking pipes and grass samples were displayed
in glass cases, and to the far left of the store was a small coffee
station. At the very back of the room was a doorway blocked by a
black curtain with a sign that read, ADULTS ONLY.
“I’ll wait for him over here,” Ruby was saying, indicating
to the coffee shop. She cleared her throat and the tremor left her
voice. “You wait in the back room. Carver, did you bring a
weapon?”
Carver grimaced apologetically.
“Suit yourself, I guess.”
Stef supposed they could always use one of the samurai
swords on the wall. Then she remembered Christ and felt like a
hypocrite. Since her last time in Lenovra, she had decided that war
was contrary to His teachings. The medical profession had been
her loophole, a way to serve Inter-D without harming anyone.
Now here she was, planning a killing. Not an hour after
Confession, she had a new sin to confess. How quickly she threw
away her progress.
She and Carver headed toward the black curtain, but they
weren’t quite prepared for what waited behind it. The pipes
displayed here were shaped like phalluses, sometimes straddled by
little naked figures. Some of the images appeared to be children.
The books and decals featured anthropomorphic animals. One of
the posters actually made Stef cover her eyes.

103
 “Can I help you?” asked a clerk.
“We’re waiting for someone,” said Carver. “What's, uh...
what is all that stuff?”
A jaded shrug. “It's important for people to have an
outlet.”
Shoulder to shoulder with Carver, she made the mistake of
glancing at him just as he glanced at her. They broke eye contact
and waited in deeply uncomfortable silence.

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6
Ruby bought a coffee she had no intention of drinking.
Staring at it where it sat in the center of the table, she fantasized
about throwing it into Todd’s face. Every little sound, the other
people in the shop, the music playing overhead, ground on her
nerves. She smoked some hester. The shaking left her hands. She
stared at the front door. Waiting.
11:45.
11:46.
11:47.
Though she had been expecting Todd to walk through the
front door, she still felt her heart thud hard when he finally did. He
noticed her and swaggered toward the table. She kept her hands
where he could see them.
“What you want?” he asked.
Ruby dragged hard on her joint. Making him wait. Making
herself feel more in control. “You still with them?” she asked.
“Yeah, so?”
It all came flooding out of her. “Why? Why did you do
those things to me? Was it because I never flirted with you? You
scared the shit out of me, you humiliated me, why? Why would you
do something so ugly?”
He shrugged, looked away, offered, “I didn’t pull the
trigger.”
“You strip searched me! Outside! At gunpoint!”
Todd was staring through her now. Surely he felt guilty for
what he’d done to her. He must have.
And she, once a confident girl far too mature for the likes
of him, was humiliating herself by crying. “You know those other
people are dead because you targeted me. And they weren’t
dimension hoppers, either. Like the reverend?”
Behind Todd, another young man stepped through the
door. His every movement was casual, but he didn’t even glance at

105
the merchandise. Instead, he sat at a table near the window, empty-
handed, his back to the wall. He was facing them, but looking
through them with the same tough guy expression that was on
Todd’s face. Another young man entered the shop. He went
straight for another table. Didn’t glance at the coffee menu.
Ruby's pulse raced. The place was filling up with them.
“Bitch,” Todd was saying, “you made yourself and
everyone around you a target when you spied on the Ex-D.”

106
7
Stef took a step toward the curtain. “Is that Ruby's voice?”
she whispered.
Carver grabbed her by the arm, too tightly. He shook his
head. They listened for a moment, but couldn’t hear anything.
“Excuse me.” It was a customer, a tall, pale man in a black
three-piece suit and a top hat. He wore dark eyeliner and kept his
beard trimmed short. Stef’s first thought was that the Ex-D had
sent this man to kill them, but he only smiled amiably and said, “I
want to compliment you on your look. The balance of humble and
elegant is something I’ve honestly never seen before.”
“I do not know what that means, but thank you very
much!” Self-consciously touching her hair, and still aware of the
danger they might be facing, Stef looked down at the outfit she’d
cobbled together over the years, layer after layer of thin, tattered
clothing. Purple. Pink. Blue.
“And your eyes are absolutely stunning,” he continued.
“Where do you buy your contacts?”
“These are,” she stammered, “my eyes.”
The man lowered his voice. “I knew it. You’re a dimension
hopper, aren’t you?”
In a shock of fear, Stef sent a panicky look at Carver. He’d
turned his body so that it faced the stranger. Ready. His hands
closed into fists.
“Can I ask you something?” the man continued. “There
are infinite worlds, right? Odds are there’s another world just like
this one, right?”
“We… we are always finding new worlds, yes… I
suppose…”
The man whipped out his mobile. “Let me show you…
here… This is my dad. He died six years ago. Have you seen him?”

107
 She understood then. She wished she didn’t understand so
well. Gently, Stef said, “I am very sorry. What you are talking about
is possible, hypothetically, but I have never met anyone’s double.”
“How about dead people? Ghosts trapped between
dimensions? Nirvana or heaven or hell or anything like that?”
She winced apologetically. “If I ever went to places like
those, I doubt I should return.”
The clerk behind the counter spoke up, though he kept his
tone hushed. “Excuse me. Uh. What about dinosaurs? Living ones,
I mean?”
“I have not seen any personally… I have heard rumors.”
The man in the top hat laughed excitedly. “You mean
there is a world out there with living dinosaurs? Not just bones and
constantly changing theories, but actual animals we can capture and
observe and dissect?”
A derisive snort. It came from the only other customer in
the close little room, a woman with piercings for dimples, piercings
in her lips and eyebrows and nostrils and even the bridge of her
nose. “Please. You’re all really going to let the government tell you
there are multiple universes? They just engineered those alien-
looking guys! You all just want to believe there’s another world. A
better world. And I don’t blame you.” Turning to Stef, he
demanded, “Can you prove to me, right now, that you’re from
another dimension?”
“I suppose I cannot.”
The customer started to say something else, but Carver
stepped closer to her. Too close. He motioned for her to be quiet,
tilting his head toward the curtain.
Ruby’s voice reached them, shaking with bitterness. “You’re
the one who tried to kill me!”
And a man's voice answered. “Another reason not to trust
you!”

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9
Carver went cold when he heard Todd. Ruby yanked back
the curtain, bringing him face-to-face with his former best friend.
Todd’s visage went from suspicious to astonished to hateful. His
hand was already behind his back, reaching for something tucked
into his waistband.
Carver raised his hands. “Hi, Todd,” he said, his voice low.
“How are you?”
“What are you doing with this piece of shit?” It was
unclear who Todd was addressing.
“Tell him what you did, Todd,” Ruby told him.
Carver interrupted. “He’s not here to apologize. I am.”
He felt Ruby turn to him indignantly. Todd scoffed. A
long moment passed and nobody moved. Not Ruby, with her hand
on the curtain. Not the clerk or the other customers, who all
seemed aware of the seriousness of the situation. They were a tiny
solar system revolving around one person, Todd.
God, I'm pretty sure you brought me here, Carver prayed, so
fervently that he almost said it out loud. Help!
Without taking his eyes off Carver, Todd shouted over his
shoulder, “Go home, guys.”
Two men in the background exchanged glances. “You
sure?”
“I can handle him,” Todd growled.
There was a dreadfully long wait while the other Ex-D
thought about it. Their retreat was equally elongated, but finally,
they stepped out of the shop. No one else dared move.
“Well?” asked Todd.
“…I don’t know,” Carver said lamely. Whatever he had
wanted to say to Todd, it had fled his mind now. Had he hoped to
discover it was all some misunderstanding? What was he doing
here? Why had he brought Stef and Ruby?

109
 Todd moved ever so slightly, and Carver was sure the gun
was about to come out. Trying to sound much calmer than he was,
he blurted, “You’re allowed to be mad. I didn't tell you the truth. I
acted like I’d never done a thing wrong when really I was the worst
sinner to ever set foot in TeenRec. You deserved better than that.
You were a true friend to me, and I let you down before
disappearing for years. I’m really sorry, Todd.”
Stef stepped closer and hooked her arm around his. He
wanted to scream at her to stand back, get away. Whatever was
about to happen to him would happen to her, too. Maybe that was
what she wanted. Losing Tully had changed them all.
Todd's mouth twitched. “I knew you weren't like the rest
of them.”
Carver stopped holding his breath. “Huh?”
“You lived in our neighborhood for a long time. I never
saw you hurt anyone unless they started it. Even then, you were
nicer than I would have been.”
I wasn’t showing my true colors, Carver thought.
Todd thought for a second. His hand was still on the gun,
but he seemed a little more relaxed. “So what was true and what
was a lie? Who are you?”
“My name is Car-ver-non. I’m not really a Winchester. It’s
just a human name my parents adopted. I’m half human. A quarter
Gaiskosk — the green guys who came through the portal last
spring. A quarter Shee... I don’t know how to describe them. I've
never seen one.”
“Why’d you come here?”
“A man’s gotta live somewhere.”
“Why don't you go home?”
Carver set his jaw so as not to take the bait. He had never
had a choice in where he lived. For that matter, both sides of
Todd’s family had lived in Puerto Rico before the economy tanked
everywhere but Kanata. They’d been the outsiders once. He
resisted the urge to bring it up. “I don't have a home. You still play
piano?”
Todd nearly laughed. “Not really. I don’t have time.”

110
 “I almost didn’t recognize you. I never saw you hurt
anyone. What happened to you, the guy who just wanted to joke
around and chase girls?”
“Is not what happened to me. Is what happened to
Nerita.”
Carver’s mind raced. He remembered Nerita. She was
Todd’s sister.
“She was working the program. Her daughter was nineteen
months, going to TeenRec’s day care. On the same day your boys
rolled in and shot the place up, every kid there was slaughtered.”
Carver’s mind reeled, trying to process the tragedy, the
spin. Todd, you were there! You saw what really happened! How could he
not know that the Ex-D had shown up first?
In his outrage he almost missed the point: Todd’s niece
was dead. That had to feel a lot like... well, a lot like a dead little
brother. “And Nerita?”
“She survived long enough to bury her daughter. A week
later she relapsed. Overdosed.”
Carver’s mouth felt dry. He waited for Todd to say, but they
revived her, she's still alive. The words never came.
“Sometimes I wonder… if it was an accident.” In a more
condescending tone, he continued, “I know you're different, man.
But that war the D-hops started with the Ex-D, it ruined
everything. All the good TeenRec managed to do. The center was
closed for a long time. Too many people were visiting the site so
they tore it down. All I got left is my home, and I'm gonna keep
aliens out of it.”
Carver glanced over at Ruby. “Get her out,” he said.
Ruby nodded. She practically tackled Stef, whose grip on
his arm tightened as she shrieked, “No!” He pried her loose, and
Ruby carried her into the back of the shop, under a glowing exit
sign. A few people rushed out after them.
Carver was trying to lock eyes with Todd again, keep his
focus. In the calmest, lowest voice he could muster, he said, “Sit
down with me.”
Todd took a cautious step backward. Slowly, he drew the
gun. It rested at his side, heavy and dull grey, probably smuggled in
from Ameriga. Stepping carefully, they remained neither too close

111
nor too far from each other as they made their way back to the
once-cozy, now-claustrophobic dining area.
The tiny cocktail table wobbled between them. Todd
rested the gun on its side, aiming at Carver’s torso. He flashed a
terse, almost apologetic smile. It was a brief glimpse of his former
charm.
“I remember Nerita,” Carver said. “I forgot her daughter’s
name.”
“Emily.”
“You remember my little brother?” he asked.
“The one who started all this?”
“His name is— was Tully.”
Todd narrowed his eyes and nodded a little.
“I know what you’re feeling, Todd. I’ve lost people.” He
felt his face contort a little. Keep it together. “Some because of the
Ex-D. Some because of Inter-D, too.” When Todd seemed
interested, he went with it. “Remember when I said I grew up in
the system, in New Mexico? That was true. It just wasn't this
world's New Mexico. No one knew where I belonged, not even
me. No one wanted me.”
“Sucks, man.”
Carver chuckled. “Yeah. These two girls, Kristi and Lisa,
were the only ones who would talk to me. They said they knew I
was from another world. They tried to get me to join Inter-D with
them, but something held me back.”
“Yeah?” Todd wanted to know all about that.
“I don't know what.” Carver shrugged. “It was just a
feeling. I dated Lisa, though. You know how it is, falling in love for
the first time. I thought I knew what love was. I was so sure we'd
get married...” He gathered his thoughts for a moment. “You know
why she joined Inter-D? She wanted to help people like me. Ex-D
killed her on her first combat mission.”
A muscle in Todd's face jerked.
“That's why I joined,” Carver confessed. “I'm not proud
of this. You need to understand that. But I joined because I wanted
to kill Ex-D. After a while, I wised up and realized Inter-D killed
her, too, by recruiting a naive girl and sending her into a
battlefield.”

112
 “Exactly,” Todd grunted. “And they got you the same way,
didn't they?”
“I was eighteen when they got me. Mission after mission, I
slowly realized we were just playing defense. We never looked for
ways to stop the Ex-D. We never looked for ways to keep people
from falling into other worlds. Every time, it was just picking up
the pieces. Someone would call saying they were being chased, and
we'd try to save them... That wasn't good enough. So I went out on
my own. I'd set traps. I'd use portals to lure Ex-D. I hooked up
with someone who hated them just as much as I did.” He worked
up some courage and breathed, “We murdered people. That was
when I knew... of course... I had become my enemy.”
Todd nodded slowly. Carver could see Todd's opinion of
him plummeting. “So you're a killer, too.”
What am I doing. The accusation renewed his fears. But he
couldn't deny it. After some silence, he said, “It took a long time
for me to humble myself before God. Sometimes I still feel
entitled. I don't know to what... But I'm not. He already gave me
more than I deserve. Someday I hope you can forgive me.”
Todd nodded slowly. He stroked the gun with one finger.
He muttered, “Alright.”
Carver flinched, expecting the gun to go off in the next
second, but it didn't. “Please don't kill me,” he added.
Todd chuckled. “Not gonna kill you. We both know who
the real enemy is.”
So Carver was still the exception to the rule. He was a
good guy “for a D-hop.” He could have been insulted, but he
viewed Todd through the same prejudiced lens, as too good for the
Ex-D, too much of a real person.
“It's pretty insulting when a friend lies to you,” Todd said
pointedly.
“I know. I’m sorry. I can't spy for you, though. They don't
tell me anything, anyway.”
Todd thought that was hilarious. “We're never gonna be
seen together again, Carver. Or we'll both be dead. But we'll part as
friends for old time's sake.”
Todd swept the gun off the table, firing into the floor.
Carver leapt back, much too late. He was still realizing that he was

113
unharmed, unthreatened, when Todd stood and tucked the gun
back into his waistband. With a charming grin, he said, “If anyone
asks, I did my best to kill you.”
The front door burst open. Stef rushed in. Tears were
pouring down her face. Ruby stumbled after her, desperately short
of breath but still trying to drag Stef to safety, God bless her. They
froze when they saw both men standing still and empty-handed.
“Ladies,” Todd muttered, and he stepped around them to
exit the shop.
Carver wanted to call after him. Just say one little word
that would show Todd he needed to leave the Ex-D. But there was
no such word. And it was time to run.

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10
“Stop,” Ruby panted. “Please.”
They had run until she’d lost her strength. Now they were
just walking briskly. The only way to return to the base was
through the front door, and all along the extensive trip they were
looking over their shoulders.
“He’ll be okay,” Carver mumbled, mainly for his own
benefit. “He’ll tell them he shot me but I got away. He’ll be okay.”
“You're actually worried about him,” Ruby said, shaking
her head.
After a pause, Carver responded, “He used to be
different.”
“No. He was always a creep. Now he's a creep who smiles
less often.”
Carver studied her. She pretended not to notice, silently
daring him to ask. She could tell him what his precious Todd had
done to her. Show him with whom he’d chosen to associate
himself. Carver didn’t ask, however, and they returned to the base
in silence.

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11
After making her goodbyes, Stef approached Balzac’s work
station. “May I speak to the colonel, please? He is expecting me.”
As she waited, she rested the side of her face on the smooth, cold
countertop.
She remembered Carver’s warning not to associate with
Balzac. Good thing it was just this once — and nearly over, too.
Balzac greeted her with an amiable smile. Not too bright or
too friendly. Normal. “How was Mass?” he asked. Without pausing
for her, he added, “You must have gone to Confession, as well.
You were gone so long.”
Her nerves were still jarred from the Ex-D encounter at
the smoke shop, and now her heart began racing anew. Stef
nodded. “It was a weight off my shoulders.” Changing the subject,
she said, “You can see that Carvernon has returned to the base
without incident. If I could have the gateway back?”
“I would hate for you to rush off so soon.” Balzac’s hand,
smooth and warm, brushed the back of her hand. “More women
like you must enlist here. You brighten an old man’s day.”
Stef’s heartbeat accelerated further. She wasn’t sure why
she felt afraid.
“Colonel!” someone called. “I’m here to relieve you.”
A wrinkle, a chilling expression, cast a shadow over Balzac
for a moment. Then it was gone. “Take as many trips into the city
with your brother as you like,” he told Stef.
He strolled off without returning the gateway.
“What does he want with it,” she whispered to herself.
Carver had seen Balzac committing some terrible crime. It
must have taken place in Lenovra. Did Balzac plan on erasing some
evidence that existed there?
And had Stef made it possible?

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12
P.T.M. satellite.
When Inter-D had told her she was shipping out, Cam had
thought herself vindicated. Now that she stood in a quarantined
hospital, her feelings were markedly different.
“You. Strip down,” said what sounded like a female in a
hazardous material suit.
“Inter-D scans everyone for viruses, you know,” Cam said.
She must not have been the first person to say it, because
the woman spoke over her. “I said, strip down.”
Cam glanced back to make sure the male soldiers, who had
been herded in a different direction, couldn't see down the plastic
tarp tunnel that had been constructed in the hospital. She steeled
herself and undressed as quickly as she was able, figuring that the
sooner she got naked, the sooner she could get dressed again. She
was examined from head to foot. This must have been a military
doctor.
The woman lifted Cam’s arms, turning them upward to
reveal a trail of overlapping, thin scars. Cam felt a pair of
judgmental eyes consider her fitness for duty. When the doctor
inserted an auriscope into Cam's ear, Cam quipped, “Can I put on
some clothes, now?”
“No.” After a little more prodding, the doctor ordered,
“Put your clothes in the bin.”
It was a hazardous materials waste bin. Cam followed
orders with a humorless smile. “You sure know how to make your
new friends welcome. Through there?” she guessed, pointing to a
plastic tarp door flap.
On the other side of the flap were two more women in
hazmat suits holding hoses. Cam was barely in when they blasted
her from both sides with lukewarm foam, lots of it. They got every
crevice (thoroughly, hurriedly) and waved her on. Cam hoped the
goodbye gesture she gave them was offensive on this planet.

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 She barely had time to wipe the soap out of her eyes
before the people in the next room hosed her down again. This
time it was just water.
“I guess up next is shaving my head?” she yelled, snuffing
water out of her nose.
“Keep moving,” was the reply.
Finally, no more tunnels. Now Cam was thrust into a
room full of other naked D-hops, all women, all picking through
racks of the new lightweight uniforms the Gaiskosk recruits had
designed. Cam shoved her way into the fray and didn’t find her
manners until she’d found a tank top and some combat pants.
They were the crisp cobalt blue of the P.T.M., and brand
new, too. She had to admit, it felt good. Having always avoided the
showers at Inter-D headquarters, she couldn't remember the last
time she'd been clean and in clean clothes. Being examined and
hosed down like an animal hadn't done much for her mood, but
there was no such thing as perfect happiness. Cam stuffed the
lingering, dreadful reminder that her body was odious.
It was while trying on boots that she heard the buzz of
hair clippers in the next room. “I knew it!” she yelled to no one in
particular. She found a jacket that fit and went to accept her fate.
The barber simply hacked off most of her matted knots.
To her surprise, he combed out the rest of it, found the natural
part, and trimmed it in a bob cut. “How’s it look?”
Cam knew better than to look in the mirror. She glanced
around the room, noting similar haircuts on other women. “It’s
great, thanks.”
The rest of Inter-D's soldiers, the men, were here, too. It
took her a moment to recognize Andrew with a crew cut. He
looked more masculine without the long bangs, and she gagged a
bit. She remembered the last time she had seen him like that: on
the maze world mission to rescue her father. Andrew had been
wounded pretty badly that time. Then they had both faced General
Alton... The memory made her uncomfortable, and she turned to
distance herself from Andrew.
“Camella,” he called. Great, he'd seen her. She smiled
sardonically and nodded at him. Tugging on his new P.T.M. jacket,

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Andrew lowered his voice as he approached her. “Did they say
anything to you about this?”
“It's weird, right? Are we P.T.M. now?”
“And you notice anything about the kind of soldiers Inter-
D sent?”
Cam glanced around. She saw a few of the boys who had
tried to beat her up in the barracks. An older man who was
muttering to himself. Someone with a prosthetic leg. And Cam
wasn't the only one missing fingers. Some were missing their whole
hands. A woman with burns on the side of her face seemed to be
blind in that eye. The lid had melted. There didn’t seem to be any
healthy recruits from their new ally, Kanata. All were people she
had seen living in the barracks for some time, the washed up, used
up survivors of an embarrassing era. In this group, Andrew looked
like the pinnacle of fitness, but he was only an inch taller than Cam,
nowhere near regulation height. The P.T.M.’s people towered over
them both.
Cam saw what Andrew was getting at. Inter-D had
respectable, able-bodied soldiers now, and allies asking ethical
questions. For the first time she began to think, Maybe Inter-D is
ashamed of us. Out loud, all she said was, “Well, at least we’ll die in
good company.”
Andrew half-smiled. Presently, he added, “I'll be honest. I
feel better knowing we're in this together.”
She squinted at him. “What do you mean?”
“We're… friends?” He hesitated, testing out each syllable
to see how she would react. “You always had my back. And I have
yours. I like the haircut, by the way.”
“D-hops, listen up!” someone bellowed. “Your bags have
been searched and they're arriving at the hangar. You will find your
bag, verify that it's yours, and bring it forward to be weighed.”
They filed after him and into the hangar. Blinking down
from the transparent dome, stars glittered on the reflective,
chromatic bows of countless spacecraft. Mechanics and technicians
were working to install D-gun turrets on the roof of every ship.
Occasionally, the hushed shadow of a ship outside passed over
them all. This was how the P.T.M. traveled to distant worlds: not

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by leaving the dimension, but by embarking on long journeys
across space. It was so whimsical. So archaic.
Being without luggage, Cam hung back and drank it all in
while her comrades scrambled to find their things. She pretended
not to notice whenever a pair of eyes fell on her. Sure enough,
Andrew was hauling his bag back over to her. It would have been
odd if he hadn't.
“Need some help with that, muscles?”
He dropped the bag to the floor and unzipped it. “Check
this out,” he said. He produced two narrow and flattened
cardboard boxes and unfolded them. A hole had been cut
lengthwise on each of them. Lining them up so that one was open
at the top and the other faced down, he placed a small square of
mirror inside the open one.
“That's some nice garbage you brought to this space
station.”
“Your hand hurt, still?” asked Andrew.
She paused. “All the time.”
A bizarrely proud smile spread across his face. “Stick your
arms through the holes.”
Cam was still uncomfortable from the P.T.M.'s welcome.
The thought of lying on her stomach to put her arms in the boxes
made her more uncomfortable. But now that she was thinking
about it, the constant ache of her missing fingers felt more
pronounced. She did as Andrew said.
“Whoa!” she breathed. A rush of relief swept through her.
The moment she had seen the reflection of her good hand in the
mirror obscuring her bad hand, it had been as if both hands were
whole again. “I can feel my fingers!” She cackled. “I can feel fingers
I don’t have!”
“It’s working?” asked Andrew, turning red.
“Yeah, I can feel the fingers that aren't there!” she
exclaimed.
“The pain is like microphone feedback. Your brain just
wants to find the fingers. So when you see the reflection of a hand
where your hand should be, it stops sending signals down there.”
Cam's eyes stung with tears. She told herself that if she
didn't blink, if the tears didn't roll down her face, then it didn't

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count as crying. Andrew was still watching her. Come to think of it,
he was always watching her. She felt another wave of revulsion and
knew he was due for a reminder that his attentions were
unwelcome. Nevertheless, he had brought her relief she hadn’t felt
in years.
“You know, you’re okay sometimes,” she said.
Cam kept her arms in the boxes until Andrew had to fold
them up and have his bag weighed. She followed close behind him
now.
Andrew hefted his bag onto the scale.
“Too heavy,” the officer said.
Andrew looked inside his bag a little glumly. He removed a
stack of books and, with a little frown and a moment’s hesitation,
threw them into a trash bin.
“Still two ounces over limit.”
Another book hit the bin.
Cam laughed to herself. “Dork.”
“Next.” They waved Andrew through and turned to Cam.
“Did you bring anything?”
Cam slammed the trash bin onto the scale.

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13
On the other side of the hangar, Andrew handled the worn
paperbacks lovingly. He picked a piece of trash off one of them.
“Thanks,” he told Cam.
“You could have just had me carry some things, you
know.” Cam handed him another book, The Island of Dr. Moreau.
“The fuck is an is-land?”
He suppressed a laugh. “Island.”
“That says is-land, fucktard. There’s an S.”
Eyes downcast, he pressed his lips together to keep from
laughing at her. “Don't look at me. I didn't invent English.”
“Think I’m an idiot?”
“No.”
“I’ll beat your face in.”
“Okay,” he chuckled.
Cam was unzipping his bag, pulling out the mirror box
again. He caught himself admiring the way her inhuman eyes
glinted behind her wayward locks. She was biting her lip. Why was
that so hot?
“There something on my face?” she asked pointedly,
giving him a sharp look.
He took a step back, flushing. He'd been staring again. He
knew she could tell when he was doing it, and he knew she hated it.
He simply seemed incapable of breaking the pattern.
“What's your terminal?” Cam asked.
“Twenty-one.”
“Oh. Huh. Same as mine.”
He had requested they serve on the same crew. He didn't
say so.
“Excuse me...” They turned to see a towering, barrel-
chested man with olive skin. The top half of his uniform hung
loosely around his waist so that the most they could see of him
were tightly folded, muscular arms over bulging pecs which

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strained at a tight tank top. A pair of oversized goggles rested
uselessly on his forehead. With a faint Greek accent, he asked,
“Did you say the terminal twenty-one?”
The same mean-spirited smile was always on Cam's face,
but now Andrew heard tension in her voice. “Yeah.”
“This is my terminal, also.” He, too, kept a smile on his
oversized, ridiculously handsome face. He extended an oversized
hand. “Ensign Miklos Galanis.”
Andrew introduced himself and tried to hide how fragile
he felt when Miklos shook his hand firmly. The towering heap of
muscle laughed. “I suppose I could always throw you at the enemy!”
Andrew nodded. Good joke. Good joke…
“I'm Cam, by the w—”
“You two are lucky. I'm probably the best soldier in the
P.T.M.. Strong, smart, great marksman.”
“Yeah,” Cam drawled, “you know 'marksman' is, like, the
second to worst rating, right? At least it is where I come from.”
Miklos feigned a smile, but he was clearly offended.
“Excuse my English. I am also fluent in Greek. I mean that I am
the good shot. Come with me to the terminal twenty-one, and I
will introduce you to the captain, the famous robot Amadeus.”
Cam's mean-spirited smile got bigger and she fell in behind
him.
“Some hate the robot Amadeus because they do not do
good work. But he has brought many criminals to justice. He is
very impressive. Also mysterious. Years ago, Sigma Corp was
developing secret technology to fix Earth’s dying sun. This
technology was stolen, and the owner of Sigma Corp was
murdered. Amadeus returned the technology safely, but not in
time. Earth’s sun died. Actually, it disappeared. Very strange.”
Miklos watched Camella’s reaction as if he expected shock,
or at least sympathy. Without even blinking, she quipped, “Huh so
I guess you’re the Proxima Nothing Military now.”
He was not amused. After a sufficient pause, he continued.
“Luckily the P.T.M. was already evacuating citizens. Amadeus
spent months after that rescuing stranded humans. Some people
think the whole thing is suspicious, but I like Amadeus very
much.”

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 The ship he led them to, Chrysostom, reminded Andrew of a
dragon. The two forward-swept wings and the curving underbelly
may have been meant to invite the comparison. In addition to the
D-gun turret fitted to the roof, a cannon curved forward above the
rear hatch like a scorpion’s tail. A group of athletic P.T.M. soldiers
were busily loading supplies into the open side hatch.
“Everyone is already here,” said Miklos. “Hey, listen up!
This is Andrew Lucado and... you said your name was Cam? Weird.
They're here to help with the inter-dimensional stuff. Guys, this is
Ensign Ramirez, that's Airman Brooks, Ensign Kelly, Ensign
Flores, Airman Gonzalez, and Airman Alexopoulos. They all
outrank you.” With that he chuckled and gave Andrew a good-
natured but powerful slap on the shoulder. Andrew pretended it
didn't sting.
Cam said, “That's a lot of ensigns, does the P.T.M. just
hand promotions out once a week?”
Suddenly Miklos didn't seem quite as good-natured. “We
have lost many officers. That’s why you’re here. But the Chrysostom,
she is the luckiest ship in the fleet. And here is why. Captain?”
Andrew's eyebrows shot up as he watched a two-meter
robot clank out of the ship, shouldering past Miklos. “Camella,” it
said in a flat but not totally monotonous baritone. “You will follow
orders on this mission.”
“Looking forward to not being your prisoner,” Cam
retorted.
“Unless you are on the ship, you will inform me of your
whereabouts at all times. I will confiscate your D-gun if necessary.”
“Like I said, don't try to put me away and we shouldn't
have problems.” Cam patted his metal chest and joined the rest of
the crew in loading supplies. “There's food in some of these,
right?”
“Andrew Lucado?” The robot turned to him now. “I see
you have worked with Camella in the past. I requested her for this
crew because she doesn't fear death. I accepted you for this crew
because records note you may be a stabilizing influence. These are
my expectations.”

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 “Uh, yes, sir.” Was that how he was supposed to talk?
Andrew thought back to the space travel TV shows he'd watched
as a kid. “Aye, captain.” Was that wrong, too?
The robot went back to work.
Miklos, who had not once been acknowledged, shrugged a
little too nonchalantly. He reached down and lifted Andrew's bag
onto his own shoulder. “Let me help you with that, little guy. So
the captain arrested Cam once, huh? And she got free and lived to
talk about it. Wow.”
“She's...” A smile tugged at Andrew's lips. “Out of
control.”
“Haha. Dibs.”
What? Andrew found himself panicking. “You can’t do
that. I’ve known her since I was twelve.”
“Twelve?!” Miklos burst out laughing. He shouted
something in Greek to Alexopoulos, who also laughed. “You blew
it, spasíklas. It’s time for someone else to have the chance.”
Laughing again, he carried Andrew’s bag onto the ship.
Andrew shut down for a moment. He couldn’t remember
the last time he’d been so angry. His vision tunneled, and Miklos
seemed very small, very far away, and the worst human being in
existence.
Then he remembered how Cam responded to people like
Miklos. And he began to look forward to it.

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14
Their time aboard Chrysostom turned out to be uneventful.
Once everything was in working order, Amadeus patrolled the ship
around a P.T.M. colony planet. For a week.
To Andrew’s relief, their most fearsome opponent seemed
to be boredom. He read most of his books. The crew cleaned and
re-cleaned the weapons, or played cards in the cargo bay. Cam
could often be found sitting alone in the armory, just smiling at the
fully stocked gun racks and cheerfully inviting anyone who
interrupted her to go to hell. As the days crept by, Andrew learned
from Gonzalez that his accent was too Mexican and from Ramirez
and Flores that his Spanish was Spanglish. Miklos and Alexopoulos
had long, loud conversations in Greek. Their bellowing voices
resonated through the ship almost tangibly.
“Where are you going, koukla mou?” Miklos called to Cam.
She had been walking past them. Now she gave them
wider berth. “To the shitter, is that fucking okay with you?”
“How cute,” said Alexopoulos, “she makes little fists when
she’s annoyed!”
They might not have heard the humorlessness of her
laughter, the two muscle heads were laughing so hard themselves.
Cam self-consciously unclenched her fists. “You’ll love me when
I’m really annoyed!” she chirped.
Andrew couldn’t wait.
Cam had just reached the latrine door when the lights went
red. Ami’s voice boomed through the speakers system. “Battle
stations.”
“Fuck,” Cam hissed.
A flurry of supposedly calming and heartening orchestral
music invaded their ear drums. Miklos and Alexopoulos drew their
sidearms for seemingly no reason. Ramirez, Kelly, and Gonzalez
bolted for the turrets. Flores joined Ami in the cockpit. Brooks
swept as many playing cards as she could into a drawer while

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Andrew made his way to the portal-equipped turret that Inter-D
had modified. Cam was right behind him, donning a headset.
“Why am I stuck tracking portals?” she complained.
Andrew thought her history of insubordination was
probably the culprit, but he only smiled to and shrugged. “Here we
go.”

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15
It was lightly raining on the P.T.M. colony, but the low sun
sent a warm glow through the little town. The emergency sirens
were wailing now. Here and there, hover bikes loaded with cargo
or small children cut across the countryside. Most of the colonists
were on foot, trampling the valley muddy. Trampling each other,
too.
Atop the power plant, a three-meter mantid was fighting
two gunmen. And winning. Their battle was cut short by an
explosion that sent a harsh ripple through the moist air.
It was difficult to see the portals. The colonists had always
heard that they glowed. These were more like slits in the wall of
reality — they blended in. The crowd of fleeing people was
occasionally broken up by a mantid leaping into their world,
skewering them on the barbs of its forelegs and thrusting them
aside in search of new targets. Their towering and grotesque forms
distracted from the more anthropoid monsters who murdered in
the crowd.
A pair of old men reached for each other. They closed
their eyes against the turmoil around them. They braced themselves
against the sudden blast of wind and rainwater as a P.T.M. ship
roared overhead.
More gunfire.

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16
Aboard Chrysostom, Ami radioed orders to the crew.
“Target the big ones. Clean shots only.”
Miklos’ voice cut in. “I already killed some!”
“Lucado. Winchester. Get a lock on the enemy’s portals.”
“They keep moving around!” Cam hollered.
“You have approximately six minutes.”
Leaning into a periscope, Andrew blinked to clear his
vision. He didn’t have much training in this — he simply knew
more than the P.T.M. did about dimension travel. His job was to
perform the same trick the Ex-D had often played on dimension
hoppers: Calculate the coordinates of the portal, inform everyone,
and follow in force. If only they had the smart technology for it.
He locked on one, an elliptical shadow where there should have
been slippery yellow grass. CALCULATING appeared briefly on the
screen. Then the portal shrank to nothing. NO DATA.
“Son of a bitch!” shouted Cam. Andrew heard her put
away her periscope. “There’s one on my turret!”
He looked up. She had already leapt onto a ladder to open
the hatch above them.
“Camella, don’t!” Andrew touched his headset. “Captain?”
A burst of chilly air shot through the hatch, stirring a few
loose playing cards into a flurry. As Andrew went for his sidearm,
Cam hooked her feet around the ladder and shot at whatever
creature was breaking their equipment.
“Got him!” she exulted.
An eerie sensation, like a bad dream, settled onto Andrew.
He couldn’t move. He could see something behind the hatch door
as Cam reached to close it. He couldn’t take aim at it, or even find
the words to warn her. A pair of claws ripped the door loose. Cam
let go. Debris rained down as she landed on her feet next to
Andrew. He yanked her back.

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 A mantid plummeted into the cabin, crushing equipment
underfoot in its scramble to get at them. The front claws stabbed at
the air with lightning speed, shattering a screen. The exoskeleton
more or less absorbed their initial gunshots. It tilted its head
thoughtfully. Andrew didn’t notice the irises until they swiveled to
one side. There was an eerie intelligence in its bearing.
A deafening boom echoed through the cabin. The mantid
twitched. Half its head was gone. As it collapsed into death throes
on the floor, Andrew looked back to see Miklos still leveling a
massive gun at the creature. Andrew’s ears were ringing, but he
could assume Miklos was saying something arrogant and
infuriating.
Miklos turned around suddenly. Cam hurried in the same
direction. Beyond a small partition, near the main hatch, Andrew
could see the flashing light of gunfire. He ran toward it.
Two anthropoids had been ripping the hatch door from its
pneumatic cylinders. Ramirez and Kelly were trying to fire at them
through the narrow opening. A stinger lashed into the cabin,
grazing Kelly’s neck. He recovered promptly. From where he stood
at the back of the group, however, Andrew soon noticed Kelly
losing his balance. He holstered his weapon and caught the man.
“Hey, he’s been stung!”
While Cam and Miklos closed in on the enemy, Ramirez
ducked over to a first aid kit. He slid it in Andrew’s direction. That
was when another stinger snaked its way through the crack in the
door. It jabbed Ramirez in the ribs.
The ship changed direction, causing the first aid kit to slide
across the floor. Andrew lunged and caught the handle with one
finger. He pulled it to him and dug through the contents. “Anti-
venom,” he said, and his own voice sounded muffled to him.
“Where’s the anti-venom?”
Ramirez shouted something.
“What?!”
“There isn’t any!”
The gunshots got louder. Andrew’s hearing was returning
now. Making everything more real.
“D-hops, man the portal turrets,” boomed Ami’s voice,
gratingly calm.

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 Andrew scrambled over Kelly. Cam hesitated, but she was
right behind him.
The sunlight through the cracks around the hatch was
suddenly extinguished. “Disregard,” commanded Ami. “Defend
ship.”
Drawing his sidearm again, Andrew aimed at the door.
Stingers whipped in and out of the ship like sinewy snake
tongues. The soldiers were all standing farther back now. Miklos
managed to damage the door further by missing a shot, and now
there was a gaping hole for the enemy to work with — and for
them to aim through.
It was unclear who finally picked off the last creature. It
could have been Cam, Miklos, or Andrew. It could have been
Alexopoulos, who’d walked up behind them with a gun even bigger
than Miklos’. In the lull that followed, they all turned to wonder at
it.
“Why aren’t you at your turret?” asked Miklos.
Something snaked around Alexopoulos’ neck. He tensed.
In the torrent of gunfire that followed, they didn’t hear his neck
snap, and barely saw the anthropoid behind him before it was
blown to bits.
“Who’s manning the turrets?” Cam shouted.
“Little guys, take the starboard one!” said Miklos, running
port.
Andrew and Cam bolted for the starboard turret. They
found it smashed, just like the body of Brooks. An extra pool of
blood indicated that Gonzalez had fallen out. The world outside
the ship was dim and hushed now.
They bolted back. Andrew paused to kneel next to Kelly,
whose body was completely limp. The venom had nearly finished
its work now. Only his eyes turned this way and that as his
breathing went raspy, shallow and thin. Andrew opened the first
aid kit again and found some morphine. He rested a hand on
Kelly’s shoulder, even as he remembered that Kelly couldn’t feel it,
and tried to keep a courageous look on his face as he administered
the shot.

131
 “I’m sorry,” he said. Sorry you’re dying. Sorry I can’t do anything
about it. Sorry if you don’t want this ‘cuz you’d rather die wide awake. Sorry if
you’re braver than me… I just don’t know how else to help.
He glanced over at Ramirez. Cam was already holding the
morphine shot to Ramirez’s neck. It was one of the few moments
when real empathy showed on her face. Briefly, he re-experienced
the day he had fallen on his back, paralyzed first from the pain and
then from the drugs, as she watched over him. He couldn’t forget
it.
Ramirez’s eyes rolled back in his head.“¿Por qué me está
pasando esto?” Why is this happening to me?
Just a few minutes later, Kelly asphyxiated, eyes reddened.
Ramirez wasn’t far behind.
Miklos had returned also. The look on his face told them
he’d found a similar disaster at the other turret. Glassy-eyed, he
knelt briefly to squeeze Alexopoulos’ shoulder. He looked as if he
had lost a most precious treasure.
Without a word now, they crowded into the narrow
corridor to the cockpit. Amadeus was still looking straight ahead,
adjusting instruments on the console. Flores slumped dead in the
co-pilot’s seat. The window next to him had been smashed.
“Robot?” said Cam. “Everyone else is dead.”
“I am aware.”
“Why is it so dark outside?” she asked.
“You were unable to learn the coordinates of the enemy
world. I had no choice but to fly through one of their portals.”
Andrew froze. Then he looked outside again, more
carefully this time, expecting to see an army of hybrid monsters
scrambling to take them or… anything, he supposed. But there was
nothing but darkness and calm. He turned to the ship’s console,
wondering if it wasn’t picking anything up or if he simply couldn’t
read the instruments.
“Can you adjust your D-gun to make a portal big enough
for the ship?” asked Ami.
“Nope,” said Cam.
“Can you trace the coordinates to this world after
returning us to the P.T.M.’s dimension?”
“Nope,” said Cam.

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 “Then we stay as long as we can. Our mission is now
reconnaissance and, if possible, sabotage.”
Cam leaned forward and switched off the classical music.
The port wing must have brushed against a tree, because a
moment later, a cluster of branches pulsed white. The pulse rushed
along down a long line of barren trees stretching into oblivion.
Turning to go, Cam patted Ami’s hard head. “I really gotta
piss.”

133
134
PART IV

135
1
Glister base.
Ruby’s shift had ended. As she wandered the greenhouse
in search of a quiet place to enjoy her coffee, she found herself
watching soldiers move back and forth between this dimension and
Inter-D’s headquarters. The neon glow of the portal, flickering in
and out of existence, was still mesmerizing to her. Nothing else felt
strange, however, except for the fact that it didn’t feel strange. She
was a part of this. Still a dissident in some ways, perhaps, but in so
many other ways, she “belonged” now. A good little cog in the
machine.
Ruby found herself looking for Colonel Balzac. Maybe she
should end every shift doing that, just keeping an eye on him. He
would find that Glister was less tolerant of men like him. She made
a little promise to herself: it would be so.
Apparently, she wasn’t the only one thinking about Balzac
that day.
“’Scuse me, have you seen the colonel?”
It was not a sweet, timid “excuse me” like the sort Stef
peppered into every encounter. It was a doing-the-bare-minimum
“excuse me.” Ruby looked up, and up, to meet the eyes of a young
black woman with a graceful neck and a strong chin. She was
skinny, but her hips were wide, and she was absolutely rocking the
bald look. Her unzipped jacket said she was off-duty, but she
looked very at home in her uniform. She was the sort of beauty
who could make anything look good.
“Not yet,” Ruby said. “Between you and me, I’d
recommend any officer but him.”
“I wasn’t asking because I wanted him.” The woman
looked concerned. She lowered her voice. “You alright, hon?”
“Yeah. Are you?”
They had struck upon a shared secret and entered sacred
fellowship. They were no longer strangers. If neither woman

136
viewed herself as weak or helpless, they still viewed each other as
being in need of an ally.
“I’m Ruby Connors.”
The woman thrust out her hand. “Kristi Bailey.”
“What can I do?” asked Ruby, marveling at how long and
lovely Kristi’s fingers were and trying not to let jealousy set in.
With a hint of tension, Kristi answered, “Not much. But if
you’re off-duty, I would appreciate someone to walk with while I’m
here.”
The implication was clear. Ruby fell in with her, and they
strolled away from the launch room. “Where are we headed?” she
asked.
“To give bad news to a friend.” A pause. “I grew up with
this neighbor kid. Never had much in common, except one day
him and me and this other friend got lost in another dimension.
You know how it is.”
“Believe it or not, I do,” Ruby smiled.
“Sweet little boy. Quiet, and it’s hard not to love quiet
people. And if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have joined Inter-D. I
don’t even know who I’d be. Anyway, this kid just went MIA.”
“Ooh, I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. Another… friend is missing, too. I’m here to tell
her brother.”
Fear jolted through Ruby. “This missing friend isn’t named
Stefana, is she?”
Kristi’s eyes widened, and for a moment Ruby thought her
assumption had been correct. “It’s their other sister. How do you
know Carv?”
“Through mutual acquaintances, when he first moved
here. How do you know him?”
Kristi’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “He my ex.”
Ruby felt that jealousy threatening to rear up again.
Without looking Kristi over again, she instantly did inventory on
her body type, her smooth voice, her feminine contours and toned
biceps. So this was what Carver found attractive. And who could
blame him?
Feeling oddly ashamed, Ruby pointed at the lift. “Carver is,
uh, he works this way.”

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2
Carver peeled off the upper half of his jumpsuit, leaving a
plain white undershirt, and tied the jumpsuit arms around his waist.
He wiped the sweat off his face and breathed the relatively fresh air
of the lift. He didn’t mind sewage treatment. The menial and
mundane work was a welcome relief from the past several hectic
years. He wouldn’t mind trading in the hazard suit, though.
The lift deposited him on the main floor. He wandered
out, wondering how he would kill the remaining few hours of his
day. Then he heard Kristi’s voice.
“I met him here, actually. Never got his name, but never
forgot him. Now I try to memorize hymns, too. It’s an easy way to
commit wisdom to memory. Even if you’re like me and not very
musical.”
Carver’s first thought was, She came to see me. That was how
he knew he still loved her. His second thought was that someone
was staring at his face. That was how he knew it showed. Ruby, he
realized, Ruby was there and she was staring at his face, but he
couldn’t tear his eyes away from Kristi.
When Kristi saw him, there was no love in her eyes, only a
weariness. Nevertheless, she ran to him. When her arms crossed
behind his shoulders, it felt as if he’d regained a missing part of
himself. He squeezed her tightly.
Kristi patted him and then made him let go. “Hon, when
was the last time you saw Cam?” she asked. She had set clear
expectations: Whatever this was, it was about Cam, not them.
“I don’t know,” he stammered. “I guess… a year ago?”
“I got news. It ain’t good.” Kristi was using that soft voice
that sent little tickles across his scalp, a pleasure on any other day,
torture when he knew he was about to hear something bad. “Cam’s
missing in action.”

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 He waited for something to happen inside him. He could
still feel Ruby watching him. Now Kristi was watching him, too,
but he couldn’t react. “She does that sometimes,” he said lamely.
There were tears in her eyes. “It was a P.T.M. mission. A
lot of last year’s army is dead. Also she’s probably dead…”
He nodded slowly, trying to feel something.
“Andrew’s gone, too,” she continued, and he heard her
throat close.
He hugged her again. He knew Kristi had lived down the
street from Andrew longer than they had even been dimension
hoppers.
Ruby half turned away, took a swig of the coffee she was
holding, and moved as if to leave. That was when Kristi pulled
herself together. Once again, she was the one who broke the hug.
“Your friend Ruby here kept me company.”
“I should go,” Ruby said apologetically.
Carver was about to agree, but Kristi blurted, “No! No, I
should be getting back, I’ll go with you.”
“At least let me tag along,” said Carver.
They walked on either side of Kristi. It should have felt as
if they were protecting her. Instead, Carver thought Ruby, like him,
must have been drawn to the beautiful fortitude that always seemed
to emanate from Kristi. It couldn’t have been easy to come here.
She’d simply faced it in order to be good to him. In spite of
everything.
As they approached customs, Kristi asked him, “How you
holding up?”
“It doesn’t feel real yet,” he replied. “How are you?”
Kristi nodded. She turned to Ruby. “I’ll send you that
song.”
“That would be cool,” Ruby said.
Kristi said her goodbyes. As they watched her make her
way out of the dimension, Carver asked, “What song?”
“Some old church song I’ve never heard of,” replied Ruby.
“She said a guy from Glister taught her the importance of
memorizing them. We were just talking about whatever.”

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 Carver nodded absent-mindedly. His eyes were fixed on
Kristi's figure. The light of the portal covered her, and she was
gone again. “I’m never gonna hit that,” he sighed.
Ruby laughed. He wasn’t sure if he had heard her laugh
before. It was raspy, almost dorky, as if she were having trouble
breathing. She asked, “You don’t let things go, do you?”
“I think I need a drink.”
“I can help with that.” Her smile faded, reminding him
that he was now an object of pity. “I’m so sorry about your sister.”
“Forgive me for this,” he said, “but I’m not sure how to
feel. It doesn’t really change our relationship.” After a moment, he
said, “Maybe in a few years. If she doesn’t turn up.”

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3
Miscreator World. Chrysostom.
Miklos zipped the bag up around the body of
Alexopoulos. He paused as he neared his friend’s face. As he
reached around the dead man’s collar, dog tags jingled faintly.
Miklos found a cross there, too. He kissed it, placing it gently on
Alexopoulos’ chest, and murmured, “May your memory be
eternal.”
He glanced around the cabin then, perhaps wondering if
he had adequately masked his grief. Cam just chewed the piece of
gum she had found on Kelly and glanced over at Andrew. Andrew
dragged Ramirez onto a body bag and paused there, trying to pose
nonchalantly as he caught his breath and fought one dark emotion
after another. She could see them struggling across his face.
“First real battle for you guys?” she asked.
Neither responded. They went back to work.
Amadeus’ voice cut in over the speakers. “Body of
Gonzalez located. No enemies detected.”
Cam stood up as the damaged hatch door jerked down and
up before practically falling open. Blue light from the ship’s engines
greeted her. Grabbing hold of a grapple, she propelled into the
trees.
Gonzalez was caught in some branches. They flashed and
pulsed frenetically, as if agitated by the corpse’s presence. Perched
on his back, Cam hooked up the harness built into his uniform.
“Ready,” she called.
Either Andrew or Miklos pulled a crank to recoil the rope.
As she and Gonzalez ascended from the tree, it went dark again.
They hauled Gonzalez on board. As Andrew fitted the
body bag around him, he muttered, “We should visit his family.
When it’s all over.”
Cam snorted. “You’re never gonna see his family.”

141
 Miklos matched her attitude. “Why you are being such the
bitch?”
“Fuck you, that’s why.”
Ami’s voice cut in again. “Galanis. Do what you can to
close the turret hatch. Lucado. Make sure the other turrets are
sealed off. Winchester. Cockpit repair.”
A chance to get away from the boys. Cam had never been
so eager to follow orders. She felt Miklos watching her body as she
left, and it made her want to scream.
Amadeus was bent over the console of the ship, pressing
buttons and flipping switches.
“Scanning for life forms?” she asked the tartly.
“The ship has no such function,” Ami replied. “I have
found few signs of life thus far, but the atmosphere is habitable.”
“Uh, yeah, I noticed. Does it feel like we’re underground?
I feel like we’re underground, in a… giant cavern, or… hollow
Earth or something.” Cam was staring at the broken window, still
stained with Flores’ blood, wondering what she was supposed to
do about it. A tepid breeze whistled into the cockpit, and a few
ghostly branches sailed past her view. “What about the trees,
though? Plants need, like, an ecosystem, right?”
“They are not trees. They are inorganic.”
She glanced outside. There wasn’t much to see at the
moment. “So what are they?”
“Receptors of some kind, although they do not seem to
have alerted anyone to our presence. No bogeys approaching.
Nothing is moving away from us, either. Still mapping terrain.
There are goggles and a blowtorch to your right. Seal the cockpit.”
“Awesome.”
Amadeus watched the instruments while instructing her.
Once she got the hang of it, she worked happily for quite some
time. It was good to be busy. Slowing down too much meant
thinking too much. As the work began to come more naturally,
however, so did unwelcome thoughts.
“Hey, robot?” she said presently. “Did you really take Jerry
Reynolds to jail?”
“That was the deal. Your freedom in exchange for him and
the other fugitives.”

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 Cam frowned. “Did you ever check up on him?”
“His prison was attacked by the Miscreator.”
She lost her grip on the blowtorch. The light flickered
momentarily. Fumbling, she went back to work more fervently
now. “Idiot. Why would he do that for me?”
“You were younger then. Humans tend to favor suspects
who fit your profile.”
“Yeah,” she scoffed, “he was probably a pervert.”
Amadeus said nothing. There was nothing to say, of
course. No reason to believe anything of the sort about Jerry, no
matter what his other crimes were. Cam would have known if he’d
looked at her that way. She had been suspicious, but the “catch”
she’d been waiting for never presented itself. Jerry had gone to
prison and she had gone free.
The thought pricked at her, so she’d spent the last few
years trying to forget him.
She wandered out of the cockpit. Maybe Miklos would
give her a reason to stab him.
Miklos, as it turned out, was still fixing the roof hatch.
Under a shower of sparks, Andrew was trying to get the dead
mantid out of the equipment. “Want to help me chop this up?” he
asked.
“It’s stabbing something,” she said to herself.
The grisly work was less cathartic than she’d hoped. It
took ages to make even one incision. The mantid’s green blood
stained her skin, reminding her of her own. She tried to block out
the thought of harming herself to relieve all the stress. Why was her
skull still in one piece? Why hadn’t anyone had to clean her up yet?
Round after round she met death in the arena with her fists held
high— she had no other choice —but her opponent kept delaying
the final blow. It was a constant dying, in a way. Get it over with.
Cam held up what was left of the mantid’s head. “I used to
think I might be one of these guys,” she said.
Andrew glanced at her curiously. “Really?”
“Yeah, you know, I never met anyone like me and I didn’t
know Miscreator guys looked like this. Then I met four people just
like me. Thought we might all be genetically engineered. Especially
since our mother used to work for the Miscreator.”

143
 “I remember something about that,” Andrew said.
They worked in silence. Then he glanced up at Miklos.
When he looked at Cam again, he was speaking Spanish. “I have been
thinking…”
“Uh-oh,” she said, flashing her teeth.
“Remember how we first met?”
Cam chortled. Andrew had been even smaller, then, caught
in the Inter-D barracks by a rough group of boys. “I saved your
ass,” she said.
“I loved you ever since.”
She shot him a fierce look. He feigned innocence, staring
at the chunk of mantid he was cutting down from the wreckage.
There wasn’t any hope in his eyes. Good. But it didn’t make her
feel any less terrified.
Now she understood why they were speaking Spanish.
“You know what? I cannot help you with this. I am busy.”
“Camella.” He spoke firmly, perhaps for the first time that
she could recall, and the deeper notes of his voice were startling.
When his dark, gentle eyes met hers, she broke out in a cold sweat,
her stomach knotting in terror. He looked hurt, but resigned. He
looked like a grown man. “I already know how you feel,” he said. “Just
let me say this once. We could die and you are the only one I can say it to.”
Cam pressed her mouth shut. She still considered running.
Maybe if she stared at the mess of wires and gore over his
shoulder, she could block it out, just go numb, just go numb…
“We were little kids. But you were fearless. You even found things to
laugh about. The whole time I have known you, you have been honest and
brave. I saw you face Parker Alton twice. You did not even hesitate to fight
him. You even stood up for me when I gave up and begged to die.”
Cam sneered. “I did not do it for you.”
“I know,” he said softly. “You did it because it was right. That is
who I want to be. You make me feel like I could be—”
“Are you done?” she asked, hunching over the dead leg
she’d been sawing at. Miklos was looking down at them now,
probably wondering what all the Spanish was about.
Andrew went quiet. Hopefully for good.
Nope.
“Is there a chance that your feelings could change someday?”

144
 “No.” No hesitation.
The word cut the air between them. He turned to hastily
fill a bag with mantid parts. “Thanks for your honesty. Promise me you
won’t end up with him.”
Miklos? Cam could have laughed if she hadn’t felt like
vomiting. “I promise it!”
Andrew headed for the garbage chute. Miklos called,
“What is the big secret?”
Cam rolled her eyes at him and went in search of
something else to do. “I hate this ship!”

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4
Glister base.
During his off-time, Carver learned all he could about the
P.T.M. During work, he asked other dimension hoppers to retell
every legend they knew about the Miscreator. They all varied
according to the storyteller’s culture: the Miscreator was ugly and
naked and rode on an enchanted horse; he was a trickster who took
many forms; he could pluck anyone out of their world without a
portal; he kidnapped babies and warped them into monsters who
then worshiped him as a god; he was deathless, having removed his
soul and hidden it; he was already dead, having been born without
a soul. People didn’t necessarily believe the legends. They simply
didn’t have any firsthand experience to counter them with. Without
the legends, they knew nothing at all.
The next time Stefana was free, he went with her to tell Bri
the news about Cam. Both before and after, he barely spoke. Stef
gave him a hug and left him to review their mother’s journal while
she went to Confession. Carver often read on the steps of the
cathedral while Stef and Ruby attended a new members class. He
didn’t see many parallels with the Miscreator legends in her writing.
He didn’t see much about the Miscreator at all. The bits about her
children were always what stood out to him.

I have only ever tried to do what was best for you four.
How did I end up worse than my mother? How can you
ever forgive me?

Lillenna's mother, Ilyanara. Carver understood more about

that now. Ashamed of her half-human child, Ilyanara had helped
the entire village send Lillenna into exile. A dull ache throbbed in
his heart. Exile was apparently their generational curse. Maybe it
was some kind of mercy that the family was dying out. Violent

146
waves removing marred footprints from the beach, making
everything smooth again.
Carver flipped back through the pages. Other passages, he
now noticed, mentioned phototrophs, especially green algae. He
understood that better now, too. Phototrophs were essential in
stabilizing the oxygen levels at Glister base. So Lillenna had been in
some kind of biodome, too. Knowing that made him feel a little
closer to her.
Carver knew that, before his memories had been erased, he
had loved the owner of this journal. It was strange to think of this
when, however she had died, wherever she had died, he felt very
little about it. He simply had to know. He supposed that this, in its
own way, was a wounded kind of love. It was a drive to
understand. Why did you leave us? What was more important?
The pages never explained.

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5
“No Stefie today?”
Looking up at Ruby from the photocopied journal, Carver
shrugged. “The clinic has been pretty busy since all this
P.T.M./Miscreator stuff.”
“I s’pose it’s easier to take patients through a portal for
fancy medical care than to load them into a space ship and take
them to another planet.”
“I didn’t think of that,” he confessed. “Hey… did Stef
ever tell you how she convinced Balzac to let me leave the base?”
Ruby shook her head. “You would think something was
going on. All she told me was that she was surprised by how nice
he’s been.”
“Seems suspicious,” said Carver, scowling a little.
“Do you… want to stop leaving the base? In case he’s
trying to garner favors?”
Briefly, Carver considered never going outside again.
“Nah, let’s go.”
It was drizzling outside. Ruby had brought a black
umbrella, which she did not offer to share. He would have had to
hunch pretty low to share it, anyway. He simply pulled his hood
over his head.
“When is your next shift?” asked Ruby.
“Oh six hundred, bright and early. You?”
“I’m off tomorrow. Only asking because I have something
going on tonight, and I wondered if you could spare a little
emotional support.”
He rubbed his jaw. “Let me guess. Coffin design? Uhh,
knife throwing? Westminster Kennel Club Spider Show!”
“Stop guessing. It’s an open mic night. I’m going to play a
song I wrote.”
“No kidding?” He nodded slowly. “I have work in the
morning, but I’d be interested.”

148
 “So, I'll meet you here after Mass, and then we can walk to
my place? I have to get ready first.”
He shrugged.

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6
A few hours later in her studio apartment, Ruby was
staring into her closet. What are nice girls who still think for themselves
supposed to wear? she wondered.
Some items were too small, and she could get rid of those.
But what about all the low-cut tops and the black vinyl hot pants
that still fit perfectly? Were they too sexy for someone coming out
as a Christian? Or was she not actually obligated to care? She
wasn’t going to stop being goth, that was for sure.
Ruby caught herself with a joint in her mouth and a lighter
in her hand. Temperance. That was definitely a requirement for
Christians. Just like loving your enemies. She muttered profanities
under her breath as she broke up the joint. It wasn’t even official
yet, and she was already a hopeless hypocrite. Jesus’ least favorite
kind of person.
Maybe she would feel better once she’d had her first
communion. Stefie seemed to live for communion.
Turning back to her closet, Ruby settled on a high-waisted,
knee-length skirt, a low scoop T-shirt, and an underbust corset, all
black. While none made her look like the lanky goddess that was
Kristi Bailey, all flattered her much better than the Inter-D uniform
did.
“I’m going to change back here,” said Ruby, nodding at
the eastern-style partition that partially hid her bed from the
common area.
Carver didn’t look up from his reading. “Okay.”
Blushing at herself, Ruby stifled a sigh and changed. Then,
cramming on a pair of six-inch stiletto heels, she quietly dared
Carver to pat her on the head one more time.
How am I supposed to do this? she wondered. Years ago, she
could simply snap her fingers, take off her clothes, and make her
intentions clear. Now that that wasn’t an option, she found herself
powerless to get a man's attention. Maybe she’d never had much

150
that men wanted. Maybe no man had seen her as more than an easy
lay…
Carver was out on the couch, eating an apple and reading
that journal again. He barely glanced at her. Instead of finding
something nice to say, he tucked the journal into an oversized
pocket in his jacket. “Ready?”
“Let’s go.”
Ruby noticed that he didn’t offer to carry her bass guitar.
She didn’t actually want him to. She just wanted to be able to turn
him down. Pathetic. Shaking her head, she thought to herself that
she really should have smoked that last joint.
The rain had stopped. Now the world was bejeweled by
tiny droplets glittering with the neon light of the city. After they
had walked for some time, Carver asked, “Hey, this is a different
place than last time, right? No one’s going to ask me for a
password and then try to stab me?”
“It’s pretty tame,” she assured him. “But I guess I should
warn you that a lot of the same people will be there.”
“Great…”
“My people,” she added pointedly.
But she, too, was nervous. Her stomach knotted at the
sight of the coffee bar.
Ruby paused in the doorway to scan the room for anyone
like Todd. She glanced over to see Carver doing the same. Instead
of Ex-D, however, they found a relaxed atmosphere. The place was
decorated to look like a Victorian laboratory. Bare Edison bulbs
filled the open dining area with a warm, dim glow. At the cocktail
tables, people chatted softly over drinks. A long-haired guy at the
mic plucked at an acoustic guitar.
There were Abel, Dylan, and the eldergoth Persephone, a
little cluster of black clothes and neon hair. Ruby did her best to
smile casually as she approached them. She knew the exact
moment that they recognized Carver. Their eyes went wide. Ruby
wondered if there was any other kind of outsider that could shock
them.
Dylan was the first to recover, going in to give Ruby a
squeeze. “There she is! Where ya been?”

151
 Ruby stammered a non-committal answer as she nervously
watched Persephone introduce herself to Carver. Before
Persephone could say something maternal and condescending,
Carver had turned his attention to Abel. “How, uh, how are your
knees?” he asked, stretching out a hand.
Their last encounter had been a painful one. Abel shook
his hand limply. “Ooh, they turned out to be fine. What about you,
did you die?”
“I, uh, turned out to be fine, too.”
An uncomfortable moment passed. Carver excused
himself and headed for the men’s room.
“What is he doing here?” hissed Dylan.
Teasingly, Abel asked, “You’re dressed awfully
conservative, did you get religion on the way over?”
The question was too direct to avoid. Leaning her base
against the table, Ruby positioned herself behind it almost as if she
could hide there, and haltingly answered, “I’ve been looking into
Jesus.”
They laughed a bit. Then they noticed her face.
“Not through TeenRec,” Ruby babbled. “Carver has
nothing to do with it. I’ve been going to St. Mary’s for some
classes. It makes more sense than you’d think…”
Shouldn’t have mentioned the Catholic Church. Now Abel
was choking. “This is a joke, right?”
“Sweetie,” said Persephone. “Don’t you know what that
institution has done to hurt women and gays? They’re still doing
their best to limit our reproductive rights. I mean, they’ve already
given you a guilt complex over the whole… thing with Nick.”
That, it turned out, was what Ruby needed to reclaim her
backbone. Persephone’s invoking the “thing with Nick” filled her
with so much rage that her internal gauges reset to zero. Her voice
was chilled enough to make them shudder. “You mean when he
bullied me into aborting my baby?”
Maddeningly, Persephone rubbed her shoulder. “I know
they want you to think it was a baby—”
“No one had to tell me what to think.” Ruby just stood
there, wanting to slap that hand from her shoulder, but she didn’t.
She just thought of her child. The child that her ex-boyfriend, her

152
counselor, her parents, and even she had dehumanized until she
had seen it with her own two eyes. And then it had been too late.
“Years before I ever even considered that Jesus might be real, I
knew. I saw my baby. I counted all his fingers and toes.”
“Well, I’m sorry I mentioned it,” said Persephone in
serene maturity.
“Are you still beating yourself up over that?” breathed
Dylan, blinking. “You were like fourteen. Nobody judges you. You
weren’t ready to have a baby.”
“Even if it was a baby,” Persephone said into her iced
coffee, “imagine being raised by a kid or growing up in the foster
care system.”
“Come again?”
Ruby cringed at the voice behind her. Carver had rejoined
them. Her friends went deathly quiet, knowing it wasn't their place
to talk about someone else's abortion. Never without her
composure, Persephone took the helm. “We were just talking
about how overburdened the foster care system is. Just a frightful
way to grow up, you know?”
“Oh, I know what it’s like,” Carver replied casually. “I
grew up in foster care.”
Ruby suppressed a bitter smile. Abel and Dylan glanced at
each other nervously.
“Really!” said Persephone.
“Yep.” Carver shoved his hands into his pockets. Dorky
look on his face. “It's really not a big deal or anything...”
In the awkward silence that followed, Ruby murmured,
“I’m glad you’re alive, Carver.”
He stared down at her in surprise. “Thanks! Me, too.” He
was clearly wondering what was going on, but not confident
enough to ask.
The music ended. Everyone clapped politely. Ruby picked
up her bass. “I need to do a sound check.”
They wished her luck as she hurried off.

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7
Carver made lame conversation with Ruby’s friends. He
knew Abel from his days at TeenRec. Abel didn’t seem much
better these days, but he didn’t seem worse, either. Abel’s
boyfriend, Dylan, seemed friendly enough, and Carver thought he
might have seen him once before. He definitely didn’t know
Persephone. There was something in her genial manner that he
disliked, but he didn’t know what, and didn’t really want to know.
“Is that not the men's room?” he asked, pointing in
confusion at the restroom he'd just been in.
They exchanged looks, laughing. Persephone patted his
forearm. “We don't worry too much about labels in here.”
Ruby didn’t take long setting up. Seeing that she’d brought
a bass guitar and was playing alone, he decided to set his
expectations low. The dress and corset flattered her, though. She
was thick for her height, but she looked good.
Ruby began strumming the bass in earnest now. Abel
shushed Dylan and the table went into Supportive Friend Mode,
everyone in rapt attention. Persephone held up a lighter in kidding-
not-kidding adulation.
Methodical notes, heavy and gritty, growled from the little
stage. Though the bass line seemed lonely, it created such an
atmospheric presence that it needed no accompaniment. When
Ruby leaned close to the mic and parted her lips, the echo of her
husky voice sent a chill down his spine:

Morning is cold
And my heart is heavy.
The light rushes in.
I draw back in dread.

Carver no longer recognized the person onstage. Just a

short time after meeting him, she had him pegged for a hypocrite

154
and, years later, he still didn’t know her. It almost made him
nervous.
The cryptic lyrics painted a picture of a self-debasing
woman waking daily to a horrible truth. Most of the coffee bar
patrons continued enjoying their drinks and softly chatting with
friends. Maybe he’d been just as ignorant during the last
performance, but now it seemed as if they were carrying on at the
scene of a crime. Or in a funeral home.
The strumming changed suddenly, and the dismal tune
shifted to a more traditional structure. What Ruby sang next went
mostly unnoticed, but it sent an uncomfortable ripple through her
cluster of friends.

Long my imprisoned spirit lay

Fast bound in sin and nature’s night;
Thine eye diffused a quick’ning ray,
I woke, the dungeon flamed with light.
My chains fell off, my heart was free:
I rose, went forth and followed Thee.
Amazing love! How can it be
That Thou, my God, should die for me?

Carver watched expressions cooling to disappointment.

Even resentment.
Abruptly, she stopped plucking the guitar strings. The final
word of the song hung clear in the air. A declaration of faith. Ruby
slung the guitar off of her shoulder and cleared out for the next
musician. Polite applause broke out across the room.
At the table, Persephone raised her eyebrows and sent a
look to Dylan, then to Abel. Then Ruby returned, blushing red.
“We better get going,” Persephone said sweetly. “You
were great, as always.”
Abel was more direct. “How could you?” he asked, his
eyes welling up with tears.
Imploringly, Ruby told him, “It’s not about that.”
“It was supposed to be us against them.” Abel whirled
away. Like a mother hen, Persephone rushed after him, sending
Ruby a chastising glance over her shoulder.

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 Dylan came to give Ruby another squeeze. “It was nice
seeing you again.” His tone was a bit too formal.
Carver just stood nearby, wondering what he was
supposed to do in a situation like this, until the disappointed trio
had disappeared. Ruby hung her head for a moment. “Buy you
something to drink?” she asked, wincing a little.
Well, he couldn’t leave now.

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8
They chatted softly over coffee and cocoa. Light topics,
mostly commentary on the talented musicians taking their turns in
the spotlight. By closing time, Ruby seemed to have cheered up a
bit. Still, Carver was obligated to offer. “Walk you home,” he said.
She smiled. “You’d better.”
They followed the last of the customers to the door, which
was none too subtly locked behind them by an exhausted-looking
barista. Outside, the night was chilly, but the street was full of
people and warm neon light.
“So was that Kristi’s song?” asked Carver.
“Yeah. I mean, the hymn at the end was.” Ruby hesitated.
“I wrote the other stuff.”
“Wow.” He didn’t know what else to say. “That sounds
condescending. I really was impressed.”
“Good,” she quipped. “Thanks. I haven’t shared a song
like that in a long time and it was scary. Not just because I was
coming out to my friends. A song is personal.”
“What’s it about?” he asked.
She sucked the breath through her teeth, thinking.
“Accepting that I’m forgiven. Maybe accepting that I need to
forgive. I’m not there yet.”
“Sure. Do you want to be?”
“Well, I don’t want to be a hypocrite and withhold grace
from someone when I need it so badly.”
Scuffing the sidewalk with his shoes, he said, “You have
every right to stop talking to me, you know. It might even make
forgiving easier.”
She cackled. “You think I mean you?”
He felt himself blush. That meant he was turning green,
and knowing that made him blush more. “No, it’s just—”

157
 “I’ll admit it, I give you a lot of shit. We’re even now,
Winchester.” She pursed her lips. “Other people, though, I really, I,
I don’t think they deserve forgiveness.”
He frowned. “Well, exactly.”
She sent him a questioning look. She and her guitar nearly
ran into someone.
“You want me to carry that for you?” he asked.
A secretive smile spread across Ruby’s face. “No thanks.”
Confused, he went back to his earlier point. “The Ex-D
took someone I loved, and I honestly thought it would be wrong to
forgive them for what they did. But trying to make them pay made
me worse and it made everyone around me worse.”
“You’re saying forgiveness is something you do for
yourself. Like Stef defined it the other day.”
“Maybe. It’s definitely not defending what they did or
forgetting everything.” He held his breath, gathering his thoughts.
“When someone walks up and says, 'I forgive you,' what they're
saying is you've done something wrong that warrants forgiveness.
It's hardly making an excuse. I don’t need to hold onto my pain to
hold onto my loved ones. I have a few good memories. Those
things I can never lose.”
Ruby seemed to muse about that for a moment. “What if
you don’t have any good memories to hang onto?”
“I don’t know,” Carver admitted. “What do you mean?”
She pressed on as if she didn’t hear the question. “What if
you deserve to die?”
Carver stopped short, forcing her to stop, too. He had
ignored comments like that before. He’d learned his lesson.
She must have known from the look on his face what he
was worried about. “I’m not going to do it,” she said. “It’s not that
bad. Just bad.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to tell me...”
“There’s an empty hole in my life. I feel it every day. All
day. I’ve forgotten what it’s like not to feel it. It was just normal
until all this Jesus shit happened. I think, if I still feel like this, then
God hasn’t forgiven me. If I still feel like this, I can’t forgive
myself…”

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 They walked on. Carver wasn’t sure what to say. He just let
her talk, not understanding in the slightest what she was talking
about. Silently, as if shooting off a flare, he asked for the right
words. He knew he still felt the corrosion his sin had caused in his
own life. He had spent plenty of time wrapped up in the past.
Daily, he recoiled at the memories of his own actions. And
inaction; he raged against Balzac. Like the fear that threatened to
paralyze him, unforgiveness always got back up for more, if he was
willing to engage with it.
Ruby was still talking. “Jesus keeps telling me to get down
on my hands and knees and crawl through this tiny door called
forgiveness. For me and my enemies. How am I supposed to feel
ready to forgive something so— so vile?”
The question was rhetorical, but when she looked at him,
he knew she was waiting for an answer. It came to him
unexpectedly. “Forgiveness isn’t a feeling. You’re never ready to
forgive.”
“So you just don’t.” She looked at him quizzically.
“I do, I make a conscious choice to, because I’m tired of
fighting with God. If He loves my enemies, that’s His business, the
— that's the beauty of being God. And if He says He loves me,
then He loves me. Doesn’t matter if I don’t always feel it.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “Feelings are valid, though.”
“They’re real, sure. Are they rational or binding?”
“They’re who you are,” she returned.
Carver didn’t know what to say. They walked in silence for
a moment. “I used to feel like my father abandoned me, but that
didn't turn out to be true. I also felt like I couldn’t live without
Lisa, but I did. Feelings are liars.”
Now Ruby was quiet. “I think that’s really invalidating. But
I can’t say that without being invalidating… This is my building.”
“Oh.” He looked up at the now-familiar high rise.
Thinking about the last time he had walked her home made him
uncomfortable. “You feeling okay lately?”
Ruby side-eyed him. “I’m not going to kill myself tonight, if
that’s what you mean.” He blushed again. She added, “I am feeling
pretty depressed lately. I appreciate you asking.”

159
 “I know you probably don’t want to talk to me about it,
but if you’re having a hard time… Stef maybe? Or me. Me is fine.
I’m just saying.”
Ruby nodded.
Taking a step back, Carver tried to sound like a real
Kanatian. “Welp. I s’pose…”
“Yeah. I’m really glad you were there tonight,” Ruby
confided as she made her way up the front steps. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
She whirled. “Are you doing okay? You know, with your
sister MIA and everything?”
“You’re gonna think I’m a scumbag, but I’ve spent more
time thinking about Kristi.”
Ruby gave him a sad smile. “You’re really hung up on
her.”
He dug into his pocket. Unfolding the worn, creased
photo he kept there, he pointed at three gangly teens with bad hair
styles. She closed the distance between them again, peering at it.
“Lisa, my first girlfriend. Kristi, just a friend back then. And me.”
“You look like you’re in a reenactment.”
“That’s because that world is about a hundred years
behind this one,” he explained, musing, “I don’t know why I spend
so much time looking at this. All it makes me think of is how many
things I did wrong and how I messed things up between me and
my oldest friend. I should have had a better relationship with Cam.
I feel bad about that. But she didn’t want to know me, anyway.
With Kristi… there was a chance of building a family, I just blew
it.”
Ruby set her bass on the front step. “You want some
advice? You don’t give yourself room to get over her if you keep
looking at her and talking to her all the time. Clear her out of your
life for a while. Then, when you are over Kristi-the-ex-girlfriend,
you can have Kristi-your-friend back.”
He mulled it over for a moment. Ruby definitely had more
emotional intelligence than he did. And he was becoming
increasingly aware of how unhealthy his relationship with Kristi
had been. What he wanted was simplicity, and the piece of himself
that their past together represented.

160
 “I’ll try anything once.” He thrust the photo at Ruby. “Can
you hold onto this for me?”
Amiably, she nodded and took it from his hand, studying it
some more.
“Thanks,” he said. “I could use more friends like you.
Usually I lose my female friends by dating them.”
She smiled tautly. “Well, that won’t be a problem with me,
will it.”
The long goodbye stretched on until it wasn’t a goodbye
anymore, and soon they were sitting on the step watching traffic go
by. Carver tried to talk her into playing the song again, but she
refused. She was laughing when he suddenly asked, “What time is
it?”
She glanced at her mobile and laughed. “Oh-five-
hundred!”
He cursed. “I gotta go to work.”
“Hurry!”
He took off in the direction of the base. An exhausting day
lay ahead. For now, though, he could smile. He hadn’t gone out
with a friend in a very long time.

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9
Ruby slammed the apartment door, set down the bass, and
kicked off her shoes. Wearily, she journeyed just a little farther to
flop onto her bed.
Carver’s old photograph was still in her hand. She folded
along the preexisting creases, first on one side, then the other, until
Lisa and Kristi were tucked safely out of sight. Tacking teenaged
Carver onto her night stand, she studied him and sighed. “I should
start taking my own advice.”
She drifted off to sleep.

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10
A week passed. Carver hastily finished another shift. He
had been leaving the base more and more often, and getting quite
accustomed to it, too. If he allowed himself to think about it, he
found he was almost looking forward to the future. Yes, there were
plenty of problems, but there was also finally something to do
other than test and filter sewage or lift weights. The past year of
sudden monotony had almost been therapeutic; but self-
improvement was more meaningful when he could share it with
people. He was even beginning to enjoy Ruby's company.
Something he never would have imagined.
She was waiting for him now. Still wearing her uniform,
but ruffling her frosty hair into a less priggish style and flipping
through a holographic card game as he remembered her often
doing. Without makeup, her expression was less fixed but, he
noticed now, somber. He wondered how often she had been hiding
this fragility behind her prickly exterior.
“Stef can't come,” Ruby told him, instead of greeting him.
“It's fine if you don't want to go to Mass with me.”
Aw, he thought. “I don't mind.”

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11
Glister. The cathedral.
Carver appreciated how little pressure there was to be
social when attending the Roman Rite. It had its tradeoffs, of
course, but now that he wasn't worried about being recognized as
an alien, he could truly focus on the liturgy.
There was a lot of standing and kneeling. There was a
reading from Scripture, followed by a responsorial Psalm (Psalm 22
today):

My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?

Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning?
…All who see Me mock Me…
Yet you are He who took Me from the womb…
Be not far from Me…

Then the gospel acclamation: “I am the living bread that came

down from heaven, says the Lord; whoever eats this bread will live forever”
(John 6:51). Then a longer reading from one of the gospels (John
6:25-59). The priest called it “feeding the people of God from the
table of His Word.” His homily was short and to the point, easy to
grasp:
“We were enemies of God, grumbling and wandering in
the desert. But in Christ, God was reconciling the world to
Himself, not counting our sin against us. Although the Father
knows precisely what we are, we have peace with Him through our
Lord Jesus Christ. And because Christ died for all, our deaths are
counted as already done. Those of us who still breathe, therefore,
do not live for ourselves. No Christian on earth lives life to self
alone. How could we spit in the face of One who loved us so well?
Christ suffered so horribly that a new word for pain came from the
act: excruciating. But His suffering was not in vain. Nor is ours.
Suffering produces character, perseverance, hope.”

164
 I'm unstoppable, Carver quipped to himself with a smile.
“Many people ask me, 'How can you stand to live a
celibate life?' I tell them, 'God gives me the grace to fulfill my
vocation, and He gives you the grace to fulfill your vocation.' We live
for the one who died and was raised for our sake. We have been
entrusted with a very important task: to preach the message of
reconciliation.”
The Universal Prayer might have been longer than the
homily:

Lord, I believe in You: increase my faith. I trust in You: strengthen

my trust. I love You: let me love you more and more. I am sorry for
my sins: deepen my sorrow. I worship You as my first beginning, I
long for You as my last end, I praise You as my constant helper, and
call on You as my loving protector. Guide me by Your wisdom,
correct me with Your justice, comfort me with Your mercy, protect me
with Your power. I offer You, Lord, my thoughts: to be fixed on
You; my words: to have You for their theme; my actions: to reflect my
love for You; my sufferings: to be endured for Your greater glory. I
want to do what You ask of me: in the way You ask, for as long as
You ask, because You ask it. Lord, enlighten my understanding,
strengthen my will, purify my heart, and make me holy. Help me to
repent of my past sins and to resist temptation in the future... Let my
conscience be clear, my conduct without fault...

As the liturgy approached its climax, Carver and Ruby

stood to allow parishioners to slide out of the pew and approach
the altar. Ruby hurriedly hunched over her sketchbook, scribbling
pensively as if to distract herself from the hushed celebration
before them. Carver stole another covert glance at what she was
drawing: a raven shyly tucking its beak under one wing. With some
embarrassment, he then watched her scrawl out, I just want to feel
forgiven. His heart broke a little.
Delicately, the priest offered Body and Blood to the
people kneeling before him. Carver wondered how many of them
appreciated what they were receiving. Then, judging himself, he
wondered if he had ever truly appreciated it.

165
 “Want to do something bad?” he asked Ruby as they made
their way down the front steps of the cathedral.
A blush of pink crept up her cheeks. “Like what?”
“Let's go take communion at TeenRec.” He was actually a
little nervous about the idea of revisiting TeenRec, but he knew
they would be serving communion that night and he was suffering
a strange new bout of compassion, though not pity, over whatever
Ruby was going through.
“Why would that be bad?” she asked.
“Because once you're officially Roman Catholic, your
priest won't allow you to take it at Protestant services.”
“I guess it's now or never,” she replied.
He suppressed a grin. He felt like a bit of a devil.

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12
The new TeenRec center was a marvel. But a garish one.
Ruby figured they must have had a storm of donations after their
original campus had been ground zero for an inter-dimensional war
(and then a tourist attraction, followed by a pile of bulldozed
rubble), but instead of building a sweeping testament to beauty that
drew the eye upward, as the neo-Gothic arches of the cathedral
did, TeenRec had chosen to build a facility that was no form, all
function. How could something so hideous be so expensive?
The evening service was already in session, and it was a
mash of contemporary and traditional. A young black man with
sideburns, long dreadlocks, and a labret piercing stood in front of
twin banners reading, THIS IS MY BODY and THIS IS MY BLOOD,
respectively. Ruby mused that she had once used almost the same
terms in reference to herself and her rebellion as she coped with
what had come out of her on the bathroom floor. The speaker
briefly shared his story to a crowd of gang bangers who had
wandered in for the free donuts and coffee. He then preached on
John 3, verse by verse, sometimes word by word, while the band
behind him played softly and progressively. The message got
boring. The music was okay. The kids shouted riffs and insults to
impress each other, and sometimes the speaker shouted a few back.
That finally gained him just a little respect.
“Now we'll celebrate communion,” he announced.
“Understand, this isn't a free meal. If you ain't a Christian, don't
come up here. If you take this without repenting, you're eating and
drinking God's judgment. Jesus' death was God's judgment. We'll
ask only those confirmed in our church to come up now.”
Ruby sent a disappointed look at Carver, but he whispered,
“Just wait.”
“The Lord Jesus Christ, on the night when He was betrayed, took
the bread, and when He had given thanks, He broke it, and said, 'Take; eat;
this is My Body which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of Me.' In the

167
same way He also took the cup after the supper, saying, 'Drink of it, all of
you. This cup is the new testament in My blood, shed for you for the forgiveness
of sins. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of Me.'”
They watched a small crowd of TeenRec graduates come
forward and kneel by a plain railing of cheap metal. The speaker
approached each person one by one. Handing out a plain round
wafer, he would say, “This is Christ’s body, broken for you.” He
then circled back with a tray of tiny cups. “Christ’s blood, shed for
you.”
“Quit hogging Jesus!” someone shouted. Their friends
burst out laughing.
After the service ended, Carver nudged Ruby and led her
straight to the speaker who had given communion. “Jayshawn!”
“Well, lookie here,” the man japed. “They ain't banned you
from this place yet?”
Ruby had come to recognize this pallor as Carver blushing.
With an awkward grin, Carver asked, “Ruby, you remember
Jayshawn?”
Ruby shook her head. “I don't think we’ve met.”
“He left for seminary a while before all that stuff at the old
building.”
“Did you know my friend Abel?” she asked Jayshawn. “Or
Dafna? Goth kids.”
“Uh, yeah… Yeah, I remember them.” Jayshawn nodded
slowly. “How they doing.”
Ruby winced and shook her head. “So, seminary, huh?”
“Just finished my internship. Now I'm a full-fledged
pariah.” Jayshawn shared a laugh with Carver.
“So we came in late,” Carver said, “but Ruby here was
wondering if she could take private communion.”
“Are you confirmed?”
With a sinking heart, Ruby shook her head.
“She's in confirmation,” Carver explained. Ruby noted that
he didn’t mention which church was confirming her. “The way I
see it, she understands more about what communion is than the
disciples did on the first night they took it. Maybe you could bend
the rules for her a bit.”

168
 “This ain't bapticostal night,” Jayshawn shot back. There
was still a total lack of animosity in his speech, just unbridled
masculine confidence that still rubbed Ruby the wrong way. He
turned to her. “I’d love to help you guys out, but the Bible has a
serious warning against taking communion disrespectfully. Do you
understand what it is?”
Ruby had not prepared for an oral examination. She
adjusted her grip on her sketchbook. “Well. Jesus said the bread
and wine are His body and blood. Another time He said we had to
eat His flesh and drink His blood. I want to be His follower. I
want…”
Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. Ashamed, she glanced
at Carver, who immediately excused himself. “I’m gonna go say hi
to some old friends.”
As Jayshawn closed the distance between himself and
Ruby, hands in his pockets, his tenderness became more apparent.
He said nothing. He simply waited for her to share what she felt
comfortable sharing.
“I want to feel forgiven for my abortion,” she whispered.
She watched Jayshawn's demeanor for a change. There was
none. “You wanna feel forgiven, huh. Have you confessed that sin
to God?”
“Over and over,” she replied, despairing.
“I John 1:9 says, 'If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to
forgive us our sins, and purify us from all unrighteousness.' You understand
this is a promise of Christ.”
She nodded, wondering what that had to do with it.
“Then trust in His promises.”
Ruby tried to wipe her tears as subtly as possible. From the
corner of her eye, she watched Jayshawn give Carver an apologetic
no.
Carver rejoined her. “Come on. I know a place.”
Ruby was absolutely not going to give a repeat
performance for some other pastor, but he just nodded at her,
saying, “I know, I know,” and guiding her along to some third
location. They chatted about nothing as they went.
As they approached a repurposed warehouse, an absolute
deluge of rain let loose on them. Ruby threw her hood up and her

169
head down, crouching over her sketchbook to keep it dry. She
followed the dim shadow that was Carver. As suddenly as the rain
had begun, she found herself inside the building.
It still looked like a warehouse, but it was nothing but
secondhand couches. All faced a hollow stage made of plywood
where a pastor in jeans indicated to a pedestal of bread and grape
juice, shrugged, and strolled into the shadows.
One by one, bubble goths, cyberpunks, and aging hipsters
came forward and helped themselves.
Ruby’s palms went sweaty. Carver struck out ahead of her.
She scrambled after him.
This is Christ’s body, broken for you.
Maybe it was wrong to do it this way. To pinch off a bit of
Jesus and pass Him to your friend like a snack.
To the left of her, Carver popped the host into his mouth.
The person on the right of her did the same. She couldn't hesitate
much longer. She tore off the tiniest piece of bread and bit down as
she tried to remember reverence, to remember Christ’s body
collapsing even as the wafer collapsed between her teeth. Her sins,
she thought, the disease of her innate sin, had broken Him just as
she now broke the bread. She was a participant in the death of
Love. But in knowing this, and confessing it, she was supposedly
also a receptor of grace.
Christ’s blood, shed for you.
Her mouth was dry from the bread. What an irreverent
thought to have as the bittersweet liquid did little to slake her thirst.
She tried to imagine the blood of Jesus washing her sins away. She
imagined her own blood, instead, dotting the toilet seat and the
bathroom floor. She imagined the cold tiles on her feet, the
cramping, and the hopelessly delicate, lifeless body curled in the
palm of her hand. That hand felt dirty again. Dirty and heavy.
Ruby and Carver turned to walk back to a couch. There
were plenty of empty ones toward the front. She had trouble
focusing on the rest of the service, if there was one. “What if I
don't feel any different?” she whispered.
Carver frowned a little, not in judgment but in thought. He
leaned closer than he'd ever been to her before. His breath tickled
her hair. “Feeling and being are two different things.”

170
Insensitive. Still, she wrote it in her sketchbook.
Feeling and being are two different things.
Trust in His promises.

171
13
Inter-D. After explaining to Ruby that she had to work
extra hours, Stef sighed to herself. Then she lamented her self-pity.
Then she wondered if it was self-pity to lament self-pity. Again, she
felt her sins piling up on her shoulders.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the familiar
movements of Joshua's boxy frame. He always seemed to cheer her
up without even trying. She turned to him hopefully, then blinked,
stunned. Joshua was talking to a Catholic priest.
He soon resumed his work and began pushing a cart of
catheters past her. “Joshua,” she said, stunned. “Are you Catholic?”
He grinned sheepishly. “The only Catholic in Jamaica.”
“I am, too!” she replied. Then she giggled. “I mean, I'm
Catholic!”
He tilted his head, obviously pleased but also weighing
something in his mind. She didn't waste time waiting for his reply.
She headed straight for the priest.
“Father!” she called. “Can you hear my confession?”
The priest turned to her. He held a medium-sized leather
briefcase tenderly in both hands. “Of course!”
Stef desperately needed to use the toilet and had been too
busy running after patients to make time. Now she made time to
huddle with Father Marneni in a corner of the busy floor.
She made the sign of the cross. “Bless me, Father, for I
have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession.
“I have been viewing my father and sister as burdens and
annoyances. I almost feel that I am their mother and sometimes I
think it is too much.
“My little brother died a year ago, and sometimes I wish it
had been my sister instead. My brother and I were close and my
sister and I have never understood one another.

172
 “I know I am serving Christ in the people I serve here, but
sometimes they are so disgusting and vulgar and they treat me with
such discourtesy that I do not revere them, I hate them.
“I crave the supper but I am too selfish and hateful to
receive the supper.”
After hearing her rattle off everything that had been in her
heart, Father Marneni seemed to pause, even to pray. She began to
fear he was about to agree with her.
“Christ died for the selfish and hateful,” he began. “You
need to stop relying on your own strength. Just as it is a gift to find
Jesus waiting for us in the bread and wine, it is a gift to find Him
waiting on the hospital bed. And these patients find Jesus in you as
well. You are closer to Him when you are reviled unjustly as He
was. It is a difficult thing, just as it is difficult to lack an earthly
father, but you have a loving father in God, who needs nothing
from you. Bring your cares to Him.”
Stef nodded slowly. She didn’t feel much better, but she
knew he was right.
“Are you ready to make your act of contrition?”
Nodding, she recited: “O my God, I am very sorry for having
offended you. I detest all of my sins because of Your just punishment. But most
of all, because they offend You, my God, who is all good and deserving of my
love. I firmly resolve with the help of Your grace to sin no more and to avoid the
near occasion of sin. Amen.”
“I absolve you of your sins. Say five Our Fathers and six
Hail Marys.”
Very gingerly, Father Marneni laid his case on the floor
and unlocked it. Inside were a bottle of blessed oil, some holy
water, a rosary, and a crucifix, but most importantly, Christ
Himself. He was waiting to pour His love back into her. She gaped
at the communion kit, then gaped at Father Marneni in utter
disbelief. Was he really going to commune her here and now, on
faith that she would do penance in her own time?
Lord Jesus, she prayed as Marneni placed Christ's Body on
her tongue. Renew my strength to fulfill my vocation.
She had been ashamed all day. But when it was over, a
weight lifted.
“Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”

173
 That night, she dreamed that the cold blue corpse of
Christ lay on a stone slab. Those who desired to be saved had to
eat from it. The line of penitent sinners stretched around the world.
She woke, and thanked God that He had made a better
way.

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14
D’jii ran through the Miscreator.
Lungs burning, he paused to catch his breath as the steel
door slammed shut behind him. He leaned back. His tendrils
pressed against cool metal. He would stop for a moment. Only a
moment. Regain his strength. Assess the obstacle course ahead.
Stillness, darkness, stretched ahead of him, but he knew it
was not empty. As he ruminated over the problem, it presented
itself: the dreaded wave of light. Skeleton trees lit up in rapid
succession before going dark again. Never a good sign, but for now
it would work in his favor. It showed him his path. He plunged
forward.
It wasn’t long before he heard that steel door open again.
The mocking hum of drones echoed across the hellscape. Pests.
Bloodsuckers.
D’jii’s scalp tingled. Something up ahead! He jerked to a
stop just before a mantid leapt out of the tangled branches in a
burst of electric white. His eyes locked with those of the mantid’s
grotesque head. Should have paid more attention to the front legs.
They moved fast. In the same instant that he pulled up, that the
light swept over them, and that the mantid had pounced, D’jii felt a
sharp, brutal pain in his chest.
Then the drones caught up to him.
D’jii swept the longest tentacle growing at the base of his
skull. Its poison tip lashed the air in front of the mantid’s face. The
mantid, however, had backed off to let the drones do their work.
They had extended those thin, terrible tendrils that bored through
an escapee’s skin and skull.
D’jii tried to knock them away, but there were too many.
He shrieked as they invaded him. They probed, so awfully but so
delicately, until they reached his pain receptors. A direct, pragmatic
punishment. As he crumpled to the ground, the drones lifted him
up and carried him back to the door.

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 He might have passed out briefly. The next thing he
remembered was lying on the floor of what she called the chapel.
He knew by the fog of his breath.
Blinking and bleary-eyed, he caught a blurry glimpse of the
long cylindrical tubes of unformed substance silhouetted against
the dimly glowing wall. There were rows upon rows of them,
columns upon columns. He could hear the drones flying back to
their perches. A diminutive figure in a lab coat approached him.
Her bare feet stopped just short of the blood pooling around his
chest.
“I awake, and I am still with you,” said D’jii, his voice a
deep but malign rumbling.
“Where would you escape to?” she whispered, hurriedly
staunching his wound. There was a brief, burning sensation, and
the gash was sealed.
Dizzily, D’jii closed his eyes again. “I had no plan.”
“There is nowhere to go.”
“Why did you ever awaken me?” Weakly, he gestured to
the containers of liquid nitrogen on the wall. “I could be like them.
They do not know that they suffer.”
Her pale hand framed his face. “But they suffer alone.”

176
177
PART V

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1
Miscreator world. Chrysostom.
“Lucado. Report for duty.” The robot’s cool yet
commanding voice reverberated over the PA system.
Andrew started awake in the holding cell. He and the rest
of the crew had been using it as sleeping quarters. Now, Amadeus
had put his last three crew members on a rotation of twelve hours
on, six hours off. He groaned. His six hours were up.
The pillow, Andrew realized, was no longer under his
head. It was in his arms. He could still catch the scent of Cam’s
hair in the fabric. Feeling like a creep, he reluctantly flung the
pillow aside and got up.
Out on the main deck, Miklos and Camella had made
plenty of progress in repairs. Steel doors blocked off the gun
turrets that the enemy had so easily smashed, and the hatch
underneath the D-gun turret was permanently sealed. Cam and
Miklos were hunched over a small table, where they played what
looked like a very dull game of poker.
“Your turn to sleep, Galanis,” Andrew mumbled.
Miklos collected the piles of nuts and bolts they were using
as poker chips. “Almost done. Want to play a hand?”
Andrew shook his head.
Cam was introducing a new strategy of calling and folding
after the river over and over.
“You cannot get out of the game this way,” Miklos argued,
pulling in his winnings.
“Watch me,” she chirped.
Stifling a smile, Andrew turned his back and rifled through
a pile of photocopied pages scattered on the table. They were
Lillenna Winchester’s journal, he realized. The sketches were what
Andrew lingered on: anthropoid shapes with sharp plates emerging
from their spines and shoulder blades. He had seen men like this.
Detailed studies on the mechanics of a praying mantis’ legs. He had

179
seen that now, too. Whatever P.T.M. scientist had reviewed the
journal had left the pages full of red ink noting technical insights:
enzymes as “snipping tools.” Reprogrammed viruses. Lillenna’s
sketches of strange anatomy sometimes perfectly matched the
cadavers the P.T.M. had studied. Had she simply studied the same
creatures? Or designed them?
Andrew shifted his feet uncomfortably. Dr. Crowdog had
observed many human similarities. What if these things were as
intelligent as they seemed? What if they were people? If they were,
he hoped they didn't know why they'd been given life, or how soon
that gift would be taken back.
Andrew wondered if it even mattered what they were
conscious of. Senselessly killing someone in their sleep would be
wrong even if they never realized they were being killed. It brought
him back to the problem of living with other intelligent species:
was personhood something the individual earned by being more
intelligent than other animals, or was personhood inherent to any
species capable of reflecting on its place in the universe?
“Goodnight,” Miklos said, shoving past Andrew on the
way to holding. Andrew ignored the insult and took the seat across
from Cam, who stubbornly persisted in a hilariously inept attempt
at shuffling the cards.
“Interesting stuff here,” he said, waving the photocopies.
“Yyyyep,” she replied without looking at him.
He flipped the pages rapidly with his thumb. “What’s so
bad about being with me?”
Cam threw her head back with a loud sigh. “Dude, why
don’t you go after my sister? She looks just like me, but prettier and
nicer, she combs her hair, and she falls in love with any boy who's
remotely nice to her.”
Cam had neglected to mention that Stefana was also
considerably taller, but Andrew only shook his head. “I don’t just
want a girlfriend. I want you.”
“No! You don’t!”
“Pues, I disagree.”
Cam’s card shuffling got even worse. “In order to want
me, you’d have to know who I am. I don’t even know who I am.”

180
 He held up a hand. “You aren’t into me. I knew that
already. I just want to know why.” Deep down, he knew he didn’t
sound as mature and collected as he wanted to, instead coming off
as despicably pathetic, but he had to understand. How could he
love her so much, and she dismiss him like nothing? Maybe (he
knew he was foolish for hoping) she didn't even have any real
reason for rejecting him. Maybe she was afraid to admit that she
loved him, too.
“You want to know why,” she repeated. “Everything's
about you.”
Andrew shook his head. “You don’t hate me. You’ve
risked your life for me.”
“Just because I don’t want you to die doesn’t mean I’m in
love with you!”
“You don’t actually have a reason. I’m just one more safe
thing for you to run from.”
She slammed something onto the table between them. He
recoiled before he even saw what it was: a combat knife. A pretty
big one. Andrew’s mouth dropped open.
“I just did six hours of this with Galanis,” she said through
her teeth. “I’m done.”
Cam wrenched the knife free. He tried not to look up
from the table as she marched away, a storm of playing cards in her
wake.
Andrew tapped his foot for a minute. Then he sprang up
to follow her.
Amadeus was waiting in the corridor. Blocking it.
“Lucado. I find it necessary to remind you why you are on this
ship: as a stabilizing influence.”
Andrew winced. “Yeah.”
“Your actions toward Winchester of late have been
destabilizing. Flores, Ramirez, and Gonzalez were stationed here
for efficiency’s sake, because they shared language and culture with
you. Were their deaths in vain?”
The thought of it pierced him. “…No, sir.”
Andrew turned to go back the way he had come. Amadeus
went back to work.

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2
Some time later, Cam inched the latrine door open and
peeked outside. No sign of Miklos or Andrew. Tugging her sleeve
down one last time, she grabbed the first aid kit and stepped into
the narrow corridor. It still smelled like monster blood. Hopefully,
any green smudges on the sink would be attributed to that.
“You are bleeding.”
She screamed. Then she turned and slammed her good fist
into Amadeus. Her rings, like brass knuckles, clanged on his frame.
“How did you sneak up on me?!” she panted. “You're like a million
feet tall...”
Ami ignored the question and pointed at her arms. “You
are intentionally injuring yourself.”
“So arrest me.” Cam turned to put the first aid kit away.
Before she could, the robot’s hand clamped down on her collar.
She writhed and kicked, but he lifted her effortlessly.
“Self-injury is adverse to a well-ordered and disciplined
body of soldiers and will result in court martial. Do you intend to
avoid service?”
“It’s just something I do when I’m stressed. It’s not a big
deal.”
“Incorrect. You may be punished with dishonorable
discharge. From now on, you will refrain from self-injury by
remaining with me or another crewman at all times.”
Cam groaned through gritted teeth. “You stupid fucking
machine, you’re just making me more stressed!”
A tremble ran through the ship. In the same instant, Ami
dropped her back onto her feet. “Battle stations.”
The command was piped through the sound system,
immediately followed by the plodding strains of a requiem. Cam
ran after Ami to the cockpit.
He switched on the floodlights. Instantly, their view was
populated by the hinterland of trees-that-were-not-trees. Their pale

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fingers grasped and scratched their way out of a pitch black liquid,
but these were not what slowed the ship’s flight. Something sinewy
writhed in the water.
They were no longer straining forward. Now Chrysostom
was fighting to remain airborne at all.
“Adjusting thrusters,” said Ami. He flicked a few switches.
There was another tremor, and Cam felt them jerk upward, if only
a little. He targeted the blind spot underneath them, but with each
searing blast that seemed to free Chrysostom, they seemed to catch
on something else, whirling from one direction to the other.
Andrew appeared with a gun in each hand. His feet were
firmly planted against the corridor walls on either side of him.
“What’s happening?”
“Out of the way!” Cam said tartly, and to her pleasant
surprise, he raised both arms and pressed back so she could pass
without touching him. She opened a panel to grab a supply pack,
checking the contents: a com-link, a fire starting kit, some rations, a
gun-cleaning kit, and ammunition.
Miklos burst from holding with his night vision goggles in
one brutish hand. Though he, too, attempted to get out of Cam's
way, he had less space to work with. “What is happening?”
“Give me those stupid goggles!” Cam snapped, and he did,
perplexed, but she brushed against his arm hair as she squeezed
past. She gagged at the sensation. Already the numbness was
seeping back in.
No, not now! I just got the feeling back! She struck her fresh
wounds.
The meat mountain was lumbering after her. “You will
give those back, right? Hey, stop!”
She’d opened the side hatch. “Close it behind me!”
As Cam jumped out onto the starboard wing, Miklos
shouted to Ami, but he didn’t hesitate to close the hatch. A frigid
wind raked her hair back as she danced across the ship to keep
from slipping off.
From this vantage point, she had a much better view of
the thick, muscular limbs twisting around the ship. They did not
appear to be working in unison, but each was taut, attempting to
haul them down into the water.

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 Cam drew her sidearm. One shot hit its mark, and a
pustule of obsidian burst, sending an agonized tentacle recoiling
back to the water. Two or three new ones splashed out, waving
their barbs frantically.
The ship hovered higher. Just a meter or so. The other
tentacles seemed to groan. One of Chrysostom’s wings tapped a tree,
sending a wave of white light through the ethereal forest. The
waters of the abyss briefly went transparent and illuminated a foul
tangle of serpentine vermin. Some were coiled around stones or the
trunks of the trees. In this way, they were pulling the ship down.
Cam fitted the com-link into her ear. “Robot, can you hear
me?”
“Yes.”
“They’re organic, I think! Like snakes! Some of them are as
big as the ship!”
The cannons on the ship’s underbelly fired into the water
again. Little screams, like air whistling from a hose, went off all
around them. For every tentacle that released its grasp, new ones
took their place. Cam jogged in place on the wing. The ship swung
and careened underneath her. It was flying painfully low now.
Water splashed the hull.
“You’re going down,” Cam said over the com.
Andrew’s voice cut in. “Camella, get back on the ship!”
The floodlights refracted through the water. For a
moment, she glimpsed a flat face with four eyes, mandibles,
bristles, and feelers.
“Belay that. Do not get aboard,” said Amadeus. He was
probably trying to keep anything else from getting on at this point.
“Take off your boots.”
Cam’s head bobbled as she considered the order.
The cool blue fire of the thrusters kept Chrysostom stable
for now. Ami continued, “You should be light enough not to set
off the trees.”
“Sure. Right.” Cam’s breath whistled past her lips. He’s a
robot, she considered. He’s pretty dumb. But he’s pretty smart. She
dropped and kicked her boots free. Then nodding to herself, she
lowered the goggles, ran down the wing and leaped.

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 Without much gear to weigh her down, she got good
distance. Cam stifled a thrilled scream. If she was going to land in
the water — or be snatched into it — well, she might as well enjoy
her way down.
A basilisk tail shrugged under her in a wave-like motion.
Then her feet struck something solid. A faint pulse revealed the
branch that had broken her fall. It was all she could do to keep
from laughing as she breathed, “Holy fuck, it worked!”
There was no response from the com. She twisted around.
Through the jagged branches, she could see Chrysostom glowing in
night vision green. It tilted forward sharply. Cam stopped
breathing. She watched as the ship righted itself, then tilted in the
other direction. It finally plunged under the water with a terrific
splash and a cauldron of bubbles.
“Robot,” Cam whispered, “come in.”
“We are fine. The ship is air-tight.”
She sighed in relief. “Right. Spaceship.”
“Are you under attack?”
Cam resisted another laugh as she looked at the bubbling,
thrashing mess where the ship had once been. “Nah, you just relax.
Doesn’t look like anything is coming at me, and…” She checked.
“I have ammo.”
Ami continued, “With power, our oxygen can be recycled
for three months. However, under current conditions, we will only
have power for two weeks.”
“You have the plan?” asked Miklos.
“Winchester will continue reconnaissance. Do not engage
Miscreator soldiers. When the power runs low, Lucado will open a
portal for himself and Galanis. I will fight my way to the surface
and bring a D-Gun to Winchester. This means you will have to
return to the ship when the power is nearly gone.”
“Pretty sure I’ll get hungry before then,” Cam snorted.
“What exactly am I doing?”
“You are to ascertain the exact location of the enemy, his
numbers, and whether any P.T.M. citizens yet survive.”
“Will do.” Cam jumped to the next tree. Again, it pulsed
ever so faintly, but not even as brightly as the last one. She listened.

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No movement in the gently lapping water below her. No rustling
or light show in the trees around her. “This should be fine.”
“Camella, be careful,” said Andrew.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“And Winchester,” added Ami. “Your desertion has been
noted in your file.”

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3
Camella made good time. The smallest twig at the end of
each branch could support her, and she sometimes jumped over
entire trees just to entertain herself. Whenever she felt she’d
traveled a good distance, she would stop to check the coms.
“How’s it going down there, boys?” She made no attempt
to hide her glee at being out of the ship.
Miklos answered this time. “They can see us through the
windshield. Ugly guys! They want us bad but they are not as good
at breaking in as the last ones. How are things on your end?”
“All quiet.”
“If you take all your clothes off, do you think you can walk
on water?”
Cam resisted the urge to tear the com out of her ear and
hurl it into the darkness. “I never wanted to find out that bad,” she
said wearily.
“You’re so light. I could lift you with one finger. I can’t
stop imagining all the positions we—”
She turned off the com.
Some distance later, she thought she noticed something in
the night vision lens: a break in the trees, a vast, dark wrinkle that
swept one way and then another as if carved out by a river. As she
made her way toward it, she noticed white flashes on the horizon.
Something far off in the distance was sending out a ripple of
signals. When she finally reached the point of interest, she found
no river. Just a chasm. Great, this game again.
Cam was still so angry about Miklos that her hands shook
a little when she turned on the com-link. “Can you guys hear me?”
Amadeus answered this time. Thank God. “Report.”
“I’m seeing a lot of activity up ahead. It — Whoa!” A tree
at the other end of the gulch was illumined, and a blast of silent
lightning breached the gap to glitter and expand on Camella’s side.
She pushed back the night vision goggles. Rubbed the stars out of

187
her eyes. “Ugh, these tree things are like power lines or something.
I’m blind right now.”
“Regain your sight before proceeding with caution.”
Cam crouched low on the branch. She didn’t like this, the
stillness, the quiet with her own thoughts. Lowering the goggles
again, she found her vision clouded by spots and blotches. She
closed her eyes again and waited for them to pass.
Cam kept her back to the tree, one hand on her knife, and
one hand on her sidearm. This must have been how her father felt
all the time. At least he knew when people were nearby. The
thought of what might be making its way toward her made her
heart pound. Maybe she had her father’s powers and she hadn’t
figured out how to use them. She strove to see without seeing. All
she really accomplished, of course, was imagining menacing faces
in the stars that blocked her vision.
“My feet are cold,” she said, hoping Ami would say
something. He did not. “Hey, for the record, I didn’t desert.”
“You left the ship without permission.”
“To get a good look at what was out there! And it’s a good
thing I did! You're stuck back there playing Mozart.”
“Irrelevant. And if you did not mean to leave, why did you
take a rucksack?”
Cam muttered to herself, “Someone should turn you into a
jukebox.”
She could see again. Breathing deeply to steel her nerves,
she stood and gazed down the end of the branch. The chasm was
wide. It reminded her of a few other jumps she had made. And
failed to make. She’d survived every one, she reminded herself. You
survive everything until you don’t, and then it doesn't matter.
Another running leap. She thrust the knife out just in case
she fell short. When it stabbed the trunk of the opposite tree, Cam
dangled there, watching the little flash of light travel out from her.
“No, no, no, no…” she hissed.
“Report,” said Ami.
“I might have given away my position. And by that I mean,
I definitely, definitely gave away my position.”
She peered in every direction. The light did not jump
across the chasm this time. It made its way out to unexplored

188
territory, though it grew rapidly fainter with every jump. Maybe it
would fade completely before anything saw it. A moment passed.
Nothing happened.
“I’m okay,” she announced softly.

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4
“Any change?” asked Andrew as he wandered back into
the cockpit. Neither he nor Miklos could sleep. As if to undercut
the reason, one of the basilisks rammed its head against the
windshield with a resounding thump. It brandished its mandibles
and swayed in frustration, studying them a second more, before
going on its way.
“Watch this,” said Miklos. Grasping a control on the
pilot’s side, he squeezed off a few shots into the teeming water.
Moments later, they were swarmed with snake creatures, both big
and small. The thumping on the windshield intensified.
“You will hold your fire,” said Amadeus. He had been so
still that they’d almost forgotten him.
“Yes, sir,” muttered Miklos.
A whisper over the com link. “Can you hear me? Come
in!”
Miklos pressed the talk button. “Everything is okay?”
“I’m coming up on something,” Cam hissed. “Pay
attention.”
Andrew smiled. In the pause that followed, he confided,
“Never heard Camella talk that quiet before. She sounds like her
sister.”
Miklos twisted in his chair. “Sister?”

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5
Cam peered up at the gray ziggurat. Where most human
structures might have had stairs, this had a series tableaus which,
she guessed, might be easily reached by those mantids with the
springy legs. She saw one or two plummet from the walls to hide in
the forest. So they were the ones setting off ripples of light.
“I think I found civilization,” Cam whispered.
She had no time to wonder how many mantids might be
patrolling the trees around her. The mantid struck her in an instant.
If its aim had been better, she would have been immediately
hooked into its jaws. As it was, the creature's aim was off just
enough to knock her into the water.
The water here was only a few inches deep. She bounced
and stumbled, failed to find her center of gravity, slipped. A salty
chemical taste punished her tongue. Her hair was plastered to her
face. “Robot! Robot, please tell me you have my location!”
The reply didn’t command her attention so much as the
drones whining overhead. All around her came plodding and
splashing. As she wiped her eyes clear, she saw several mantids
were closing in, studying her, intent but expressionless. The nearest
one poked at her left shoulder and the arm beneath it stopped
working. She gaped at the wound. Nothing was left. Only an artery
faithfully pumping all of her blood out onto the ground.
Cam lost consciousness swiftly. In the gathering darkness,
she thought she felt a snake yank her somewhere by the ankle, and
then a pair of arms, clawed fingers like a Gorgon's...

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6
Everything sounded distant and muffled.
Submerged, Cam fought to open her heavy eyelids. She
saw only blurs of deep shadow and lime green light. Her legs were
tethered to the floor, which kept her from simply crumpling at the
top of the tank. She tried to move her good hand. Felt the
resistance of water. Water so perfectly body-temperature that she
had barely noticed it. Feeling her nose and mouth, she found a
breathing mask there. Her left arm... was it gone?
When she lifted her bad hand to the level of her eyes, her
pulse leaped in horror. Translucent new fingers grew there, and
new bones inside them, along with a new hand and arm. She could
even make out new arteries winding through the developing sinew,
and now, she dared hope this capture might be a positive turn.
She was in a tube. Someone was standing outside. They
were closer now, clearer. The taller figure was masculine with
Gorgon-like tendrils where hair might have been, curved ram's
horns, and an anthropoid face. But Cam was more interested in the
solemn little woman with straight, brown hair, almond-shaped eyes
and the slightest point to her ears. She wore a monocle of sorts on
a headband, a blue turtleneck, a lab coat, and an ankle-length skirt.
Her bare feet looked just like Stefana’s.
You!
Cam pounded a fist on the glass.
Lillenna Winchester looked down and pressed a control
panel. Cam began to lose consciousness again. The last thing she
noticed was the restrained sadness in the woman's eyes.

192
193
PART VI

194
1
Some time ago. Lenovra.
Spring arrived with false starts and agonizing slowness, but
it did arrive. As green appeared and the rabbits multiplied and the
birds returned — as food became more accessible — the residents
of Shayla ventured out to rebuild the ruins of the city. They were
all a little sick of each other, and ready to branch out into their own
homes. Even Ember and Hunter ventured out and laid claim to a
little hut that only needed a roof. Only Bri stayed in the palace.
Nulan declared himself the village apothecary and set to
work making what he could. Obyn started a garden. He was soon
overseeing a handful of others in what would hopefully become a
plenteous orchard over the next few years, and if they could save a
little grain this year, they might finally have enough bread and beer
to have their fill year round.
On this particular day, Bri stood above them on a
battlement. He was really just enjoying the breeze, not nearly as
cold as it could have been, but he could also sense the people
below him, and it was always a pleasure to know that Hunter was
romping across the grounds where Bri had grown up. Bri couldn't
wait to tell him all about what sort of mushrooms to hunt for and
where the swimming holes were hidden. Then again, he supposed,
after two decades and a war, he might not know the terrain at all
anymore.
“Good morning, Hunter,” Obyn called from the garden.
“What do you have, there, Hunter?” asked another.
As the only child in the community, Hunter had won over
several of his neighbors with his lighthearted confidence. “I
bringin’ this stick to Mommy,” he explained, as if any idiot could
have deduced that.
“Would you like to see something?” asked Obyn.
There was a pause, and then Hunter was hollering,
“Puppies!”

195
 “They are old enough to leave their mother, now. You are the only
man here without a hound–”
“I want that one!” Hunter declared, before any had
technically been offered to him. Bri noticed Ember approaching
from the direction of her hut, and moments later, Hunter was
babbling in English, “Look, Mommy, Mommy, look, he mine!”
In halting Elvin, Ember tried to shout that it would have
been nice to be consulted before her child was given a pet that they
couldn't feed. Secretly, paradoxically, she seemed pleased. Only Bri
could see this.
No answer came from the field. Apparently, even Obyn
still felt it necessary to shun her.
Bri stewed in pity and anger. He was considering feeling
his way over to the portal that led to ground level. Obyn of all
people should know how to be kinder, and Bri was ready to give
him a piece of his mind. Once he returned his attention to his
surroundings, however, he realized he was not alone.
A familiar little soul was tip-toeing around a few rooms
down. He waited until she seemed to be in the hallway, and then he
called to her. “Stefana.”
“Ahair!”
She still ran to him as if she were a little girl. It always
startled him to find the arms of his daughter were the arms of a
fully grown woman, a rather tall one. “Your work and studies are
finally over?” he asked.
“Actually, they finally gave me an excuse to see you,” she
said bashfully.
“Oh?”
Stefana hesitated. He could not read her. Cautiously, she
explained, “I do not want to… encourage any false hope in you.
Only I recently viewed a cadaver that reminds me of Mathair’s
notes. Some colleagues wanted to review them.”
Bri tried to sort out this information. “You found one of
her creations?”
“We do not know what we have found,” she said.
He led her inside.

196
 “Where is it,” Bri muttered, flinging a blanket from the
couch where he slept and feeling around furiously. He was always
meticulous about where he left things.
“Ahair. It is…” Stefana leaned over next to him. He felt
her lift something from an area where he thought he had just
checked. He took a deep breath to hide his frustration.
“Can you read aloud the pages you had in mind?” he
asked.
That seemed to make her recoil. Fair enough. He had
made her read the journal to him countless times. “If we find any
significant similarities, I will tell you everything, Ahair. I promise.”
“What hope is there?”
“I have always had hope,” said Stefana, touching his arm.
“For years I have had hope… It would be easier if I did not.”
Bri nodded. The hope of finding Lillenna one day
stretched on and on without any perceivable end. It had begun to
feel more like a burden. A constant nagging that he should be
looking. Not making plans that didn’t include her…
Stefana stayed and talked with him for a few hours. Not
about Lillenna. About what she had been learning and the sort of
patients she was treating. He either found himself laughing at how
like her mother she was, or he found himself laughing at her
stories. “And now we are allied with the P.T.M.,” Stef continued
brightly, stroking Gryphon’s sleeping head, “and they are bringing
many new medical supplies in case… I am going to get Carvernon
leave to attend Mass with me. A friend has been coming along, too.
Grand, isn’t it?”
The part of Bri that might have had an opinion on that
was either dormant or dead. He said nothing. He noticed, instead, a
troubled look about his daughter. “What’s wrong?”
Her apparition went totally blank-faced, as if to hide from
him. No eyes, nose, or mouth. “Nothing,” said the real Stef
uncomfortably. “I am worried about something, but it may not
happen. I will tell you if something is wrong.”
The distance between them seemed wider now. “Oh, that’s
grand, then.”
Long after Stefana had gone, he thought about this
moment, running over and over in his head all the possible

197
problems she might have. She was nearly all he had left, and now
she was hiding things from him. What did she fear he would do?
He was helpless. Useless!
As a boy, he might have passed such an evening praying.
Now he passed it in silence. He passed it counting all the ways life
had wronged him. So this was what Camella felt from him. A
burning hatred he inferred from God's persistent absence. He
threw his walking stick as hard as he could. It hit the far wall with a
sharp clatter.
“Bri?”
He had seen Ember and Hunter approaching. He did not
greet them. Ember entered without another word and sank to the
floor next to him. Hunter rushed over and placed his clumsy hands
on either side of Bri's face. He kissed the bandages over his eyes.
Impulsively, Bri pulled him in for a tighter hug.
“Don't lose this one, Ember,” he said.
He saw her flinch inwardly. He hadn't meant to make her
uncomfortable with his own loss. This was what he represented to
all proud parents, all married men: something to be thankful for. It
could always be worse. They could always be Bri.
He got ahold of himself. The pain was still there, blazing,
but he didn't need to show it. Hunter showed off his new puppy.
Ember complained that she hadn't been consulted. Once the
puppy and Hunter had settled into a barking match, she asked in a
low voice, “Is there anything I can do?”
Bri winced. “Me wife had a journal. Me daughter just took
it who knows where... I keep thinking we can find some clue as to
her whereabouts, but beyond that...”
“You don’t know... where she died?”
Irate, he responded, “I don't know that she died.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” There was a long pause. Then, in a voice
so soft he could barely understand, Ember confided, “Hunter...
killed his father.”
Bri's breath caught in his throat. “I beg your pardon?” he
whispered.
“We'd both snapped. I tried to kill Finn first. He was
beating me, I blacked out. When I woke up, Hunter was standing
over the body with the gun.”

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 Bri scrutinized the ghost playing in the darkness before
him, giggling at the tickles from an invisible dog's tongue. Had
there always been something strange about Hunter? Or was he
imagining it now that he knew?
“The weird thing is, I think he actually misses his dad. He
was really proud that he was the son of… It just made him so
angry when his dad hit me. He’s a little boy. Obviously. He doesn’t
understand that death is forever. He thinks guns are cool…”
“Your husband was beating you, and your little son shot
him?”
“I think so.” Ember's voice cracked. “And now he asks
me… He asks me, ‘Where’s Daddy?’”
So Hunter had no understanding of what he'd done. The
problem was a compelling distraction. “Do you speak of it with
him?”
“No.”
“Good. Let the memory fade. He’s so young. He may
forget it entirely.”
There was a pause. She might have been nodding. “Okay,”
she said. With nothing but goodwill shining from her, she leaned
over the chair and threw her arms around him. He ran his hand
across her back and discovered a cascade of long, straight hair. She
smelled good. He wondered what she was using for soap. He
realized how profoundly lonely he would be without her. He was
lonely now.
For the first time, and with bewilderment and shame, he
considered the possibility that Lillenna was never coming back.
Distant shouts. They heard the palace stones grinding as
the underbelly opened to the men below.

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2
Ember stayed behind with Hunter and the dogs. Bri
retrieved his walking stick and met the crowd of worried Gaiskosk
in the deepest circle of Shayla.
“Do you see them?” Nulan demanded. “We can smell
them on the wind. A caravan is headed our way. Whoever they are,
they have cattle.”
Bri did his best to appear lordly. “If they are following the
water, it will lead them straight here. Call everyone into the palace
and raise the alarm.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Are they druids?” a young one called out.
“I do not know yet. I will find out.” Bri doubled back to
consult Gakhrrud. If he could really dazzle them with some good
information, his position as leader was a little safer.
As he climbed to a level where the others were unlikely to
overhear, he did begin to see something on the horizon of pitch
encircling him. Tiny pinpricks of light — a lot of them. It felt odd
to view those people as potential enemies. From here, they looked
like anyone else.
“What is it?” asked Ember once she finally saw him.
“Gakhrrud!” he said softly.
Hunter yelped and laughed at Gakhrrud's sudden
appearance. “I am here.”
“What sort of army is approaching?”
A split second of searching. “Many Gaiskosk, many
Chunash Dochas, but no army. They are the proselytes of Arin'Ya.
Over half are women and children, some lame, some blind.”
Blind? Blind like him. Blinder than him! They had no Shee
blood or Shee technology.
And Nulan was calling everyone to arms.
“Stay here,” Bri said in English. He rushed out of his
chambers again. He felt his way down to the entrance of the palace,

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ordered everyone out of his way, and tapped his stick on the stone
floor. “Down!”
He descended, alone, to the damp and muddy earth.
Smugly, he thought to himself that he must have looked very bold
as he stood and awaited the newcomers.

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3
The caravan stopped a good distance away. By now, even
Bri could smell the trail of manure they left in their wake. The
scent came to him in waves as the wind whipped one way, then
another. A lone soul advanced to meet him under the swinging
stones of Shayla.
“On Taharr Neefa be with you,” came a voice.
“And with you,” Bri returned. “I am Brionan ap Garid.”
“Sylvan ap Neel,” the man replied.
“Sylvan,” Bri mused. “The cousin of Ilyanara? The heretic
who was run out of Urwyd some 40 years ago?”
Sylvan chuckled. “Thirty-nine years.”
“I suppose that would make me your cousin, once
removed. I married Ilyanara's daughter, Lillenna.”
“The poor halfbreed! How did she and her mother fare?”
Bri paused and considered what was worth sharing. “None
of us was welcome in Urwyd for long. But a Gaiskosk elder taught
Lillenna some of his arts. We have two sons and two daughters.”
He felt Nulan and the others making their way down the floating
steps behind him. He had no doubt their weapons were drawn.
Sylvan just seemed excited. This was probably the warmest
welcome he’d received in some time. “The master has blessed you!
I never took a wife. You must understand what it means to wander
for years without a home, despised everywhere you go. Our
supplies are wasted after a winter and war. We need a place to
rest.”
Hostility spiked among the men behind him. Bri spoke
cautiously. “You must understand. I have my own people to look
after, and we have so little already.”
“The land is ravaged,” Sylvan agreed. Craftily, he added,
“But you have land. And we have cattle. Even some ponies ready
to foal in a few months.”
“They are idol-worshiping heretics,” Nulan hissed.

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 And you are a thief, Bri thought for the thousandth time.
Sylvan added, “We have many daughters without
husbands.”
Bri paused. A few of his men, he sensed, were interested
now. He also sensed a bit of sudden gloating from Sylvan. It was a
good play. Feigning incredulity, Bri asked, “Have you no sons?”
“On Taharr Neefa has blessed us with many sons. But we
have more daughters. Whenever we passed a city, we found infant
girls in the hills, abandoned there to die. We adopted them all.
Most of them lived. Sometimes we found abandoned boys, as well,
but they are feeble-minded, crippled, or blind. Most of these
cannot provide for a wife. In any case, we found many more girls
than boys.”
Bri turned around then and smiled in the direction of his
men. He was tempted to asked plainly, Who wants a wife?
A few swords were sheathed. Somebody sneered, “Look at
the ears on that one. Half of these people are Chunash Dochas.”
Bri resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “It looks as if the
Gaiskosk abandoned their daughters with as much enthusiasm.”
“It is more than we ever hoped for,” murmured another.
“Brides.”
A derisive snort. “And the burden of their crippled, feeble-
minded brothers!”
“On Taharr Neefa yet loves them,” Bri snapped. “The
crippled and feeble-minded may yet love in purity and teach us
humility. In fact, they may do this more proficiently than certain
other people.” There was an edge in his voice. He was showing his
weakness, his insecurity. For the moment, he was too angry to care.
Sylvan called a few names, and women stepped toward the
front of the crowd, appearing to Bri as nervous, even afraid, but
hopeful. “Luygsek here reminds us to have joy in even the worst of
circumstances. She weaves. The heart of Niav hungers for a child.
She is gentle, but she carries more supplies than some of our men
and without complaint. Graniwayl is trained to make the finest
dyes. Aylga is a healer...”
Somewhere behind Bri, a man breathed hopefully, “We
don't have a healer.”

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 “We must have a hundred prospective brides! Are there
any men among you honorable enough to serve such noble
women?” Sylvan asked.
Bri knew several of his men couldn’t be trusted with so
much as a pet. When it came to honor, however, one man in
particular stood out to him. “Obyn?” he called.
Obyn was stunned. “No. No, my lord, I am unworthy of a
woman.”
“You're the only man here worthy enough to admit he's
unworthy,” Bri retorted, and laughed at his own joke.
Another grumbled, “I am so very unworthy.”
A jokester added, “I think I must be the least worthy man
in all of Lenovra!”
Most of the nomads and Gaiskosk laughed together at
that.
“Have you forgotten,” Nulan asked, “that these prodigals
were cast out of society for worshiping a spellcasting, deceiving
madman as if he were On Taharr Neefa himself?” He turned to
Sylvan. “Will any of these women renounce Arin'Ya?”
“Absolutely none of them,” Sylvan shot back, “and anyone
who wants to marry these women must renounce warfare and
serve Arin'Ya as his God.”
The reaction was vehement. Bri found himself laughing
again. Suddenly, Sylvan was acting as if he had the upper hand in
the bargain. He probably did.
Finally, one of the Gaiskosk said stiffly, “If you can show
me that Arin'Ya is who you say he is, then I will convert.”
“Your bed must be cold,” said the jokester.
“They have their claim. Let them prove it or renounce it.
Either way, we can settle the matter.”
“I can see this will take some time,” said Bri. “Sylvan ap
Neel, I believe you have bought your people at least one night in
Breena.”
Nulan cursed. The strangers sighed with relief. “Thank
you, cousin,” said Sylvan.
The next morning, a bird was found in a circle of blood, a
knife buried firmly in its heart.

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4
Hunter fetched his mother just as he'd been asked. Bri
waited in strained silence with Sylvan and Nulan. The sun must
have been setting; he felt its warm rays creep through the window
and caress his cheek. The scent of fresh earth and sawdust wafted
in on the breeze. The nomads had been generous with their stores,
and some of the Gaiskosk were gladly helping them build
permanent roofs. A handful of marriages were set to take place
within the week.
Although Bri could see Ember long before she entered the
room, he knew it the moment she did. It was the same moment she
noticed Nulan and Sylvan, and the paranoid looks that were no
doubt on their faces. It was the same moment her soul became ill
at ease.
“If you do not mind, I think we should have this
conversation in Elvin,” Bri said, clearly and slowly so that she
could understand.
Ember stammered out an agreement.
Bri asked the others, “Is the bird visible?”
Sylvan moved, and something unfurled. Something small
and stiff hit the chamber floor with a thud. Bri saw Ember's tension
rise.
“I recognize that living here has been difficult for you,” Bri
began, wishing that he sounded more relaxed. “But you must
understand: I did not know me father because druids killed him.
Me wife did not know her father because druids killed him. These
Gaiskosk lost all their families and their city. You must understand
why this is taken so seriously.”
“Do you think I did this?” Ember demanded.
“You promised me that you would not. Yet it is
unfathomable that anyone else in Breena should consider it.”
“Nulan did it! To get rid of me!”

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 She was truly terrified. Bri couldn't bring himself to believe
that Ember was responsible for the dead bird. Looking at Nulan,
however, he wondered if the thief was incapable of better
manipulation than this.
“My lord,” Nulan droned, thoroughly unimpressed with
Ember's attempt to turn the tables on him.
“I am not a druid and I was never loyal to the White
Planet,” Ember said emphatically. “I practice Wicca, and it's a...”
She'd been stumbling a lot, and now she switched to English.
“Wicca is a 'do no harm' religion.”
Bri did his best to translate the concept.
“Whoever killed this animal,” she struggled to say, “did
not eat it. That is very serious.”
Bri was honestly at a loss and doing his best not to show it.
He laced his fingers and tilted his head at Nulan and Sylvan. “See
here, now, how do you mean to prove that Ember is the one doing
this?”
Sylvan was incredulous. “Did she not admit to being a
witch?”
“Is it now a crime to live peacefully without conforming in
thought?”
Bri regretted the words almost as soon as he said them. To
men like these, Ember’s inner rebellion was most certainly a crime.
An outright war on the all-just will who ruled the universe. “How
can the people live in peace if they are not of one accord?” Sylvan
demanded.
“To worship the earth or an idol of wood or stone, rather
than the one who made them, is most certainly a crime against On
Taharr Neefa,” Nulan agreed.
They looked at each other, perhaps surprised to find
themselves on the same side.
Tempted to raise his voice, Bri instead fought to lower it,
his mind racing. “Can we identify the owner of the knife that killed
the bird? Was it found near anyone's home? Does the blood belong
to the bird?”
Nulan's voice echoed in the direction of Ember. “Or some
such animal.”

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 “After living here for months, what could motivate Ember
to practice witchcraft in the open where she might be discovered?
Why leave the evidence for anyone to see? I do not accuse you,
Nulan, but she is right that someone could be trying to get rid of
her. She is not greatly loved in these parts.”
Nulan drew a breath to say something. He caught himself.
Now what could he be hiding...
Sylvan grumbled, “I must admit, cousin, I regret our hasty
alliance. What measures are you taking to protect this land from
druids?”
Now Bri was angry. “What measures do you take to
defend your own people? Did Arin'Ya command you to be safe?
Or did he command you to protect widows and orphans? This is a
widow and an orphan. When you have some proof that Ember is a
threat, we will speak of it again. But know that I can tell when
someone is lying.” That last part wasn't completely true, but
hopefully they didn't know it.
He was aware that Ember's fear was now mingled with
pride and admiration. A rosy glow ascended from her heart to her
cheeks. He kept his face turned away from her. He hoped the
feelings weren't visible on her face — or on his.
“So, cousin,” Bri said, clearing his throat. “Will you leave
us? Are we to dig up the fields again and collect every last grain of
wheat?”
Sylvan did not immediately reply.
“I think you're safe,” Bri told her in English. “But be careful.”
“I've been walking on eggshells all winter,” said Ember, half-
angry and half-despairing. “Nothing is good enough. Now I’m not even free
to have faith in what I think is real? All I believe in is earth, wind, fire, water,
and spirit. Those things are real!”
Bri had never thought of it that way. He supposed he
didn't know anything about what Ember believed. Come to think
of it, he didn't know much about his professed faith, either.
“How much, like, integrity do I have to lose?”

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5
Lillenna's bare leg brushed against his as she eased off of
him, settling at his side. Her smile, the one he had worked so hard
to bring out of her in their youth, settled on him. Brionan soaked
in the feel of her skin, the smell of her, the colors all around him,
until all corroded as dreams suddenly do and he woke to reality: an
empty bed and a sightless existence.
“Creena, I wish I could stop loving you,” he whispered. “I
know that's a terrible thing to say.”
A month had passed. Bri had forgotten how hot and
humid the summers in Lenovra could be. Now everyone was either
looking back at spring or forward to autumn. Most of Sylvan’s
people had stayed, their numbers had grown, and their industry
breathed new life into Breena. A mill was under construction. Not
everyone was a follower of Arin'Ya, though they were a vocal
minority. Those who did follow Arin'Ya rapidly forgot what it was
to be a minority, and they were none too kind to Ember.
Gryphon remained the same, sleeping next to Bri more
often than not, only occasionally getting up to crack his old joints
or hobble to his water dish. He couldn't help where he relieved
himself anymore.
Bri was stroking the wiry gray hairs of the dog's head when
he heard a portal's hum. He saw them in the same instant
Gakhrrud announced them. “Carvernon and Stefana have arrived.”
Gryphon didn't seem to notice when Bri knocked over his
walking stick in excitement, nor when Stef and Carver entered the
room. “You came!” Bri shouted, trying to hide how excited he was
by the surprise.
Carver seemed to flinch. Stef was the first to embrace him.
“Ahair,” she said, and clung to him a little longer than he'd
expected.
Next Bri found Carver's wrist and grasped it, pulling him
against his chest and slapping his back. Carvernon had had a few

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drinks recently. The acrid scent wafted from his pores. “They let
you out,” Bri observed, grinning. “Sit, sit.”
Bri allowed Stef to lead him to a chair, though he knew
perfectly well where it was. He never moved it. “How are your
studies, Stefana?”
“Exhausting!” she replied, almost too bubbly, as if she
were hiding something. He searched for some sign that she had
been wounded. A sense of dread loomed over him. Like the one he
had felt the day he learned of Tully’s death. Stef babbled on.
“There is never a good time to use the toilet. Yesterday I shadowed
the doctor from 0600 to 2100! He had me examine a child for
contagious disease and the child sneezed in my face! But I am
alright. Dakarai says I am doing well. I am learning so much, and I
get to help people, too. Even pray with them sometimes. It is so
rewarding...”
Bri found himself smiling wistfully while Stef talked, but
his worries never faded. He wondered why Carvernon had been
drinking.
“How have you been?” Stef finished tentatively.
“Tell me what's wrong, Stefana.”
She shifted in her seat. Carver spoke. “Inter-D has joined
forces with a military called Proxima Terrestra. I may have
mentioned it.”
“Yes, you may have. A curious name. They have an Earth,
but they are not from Earth?”
“They seem to have space travel. Their dimension was hit
by the Miscreator several times. Inter-D deployed many soldiers to
try tracking the Miscreator to his home dimension. Ahair, Camella
was one of them. Her ship was lost.”
Bri had difficulty hearing over his own pounding heart.
The room seemed so vast. Carvernon and Stefana seemed so
distant. It was as if he were no longer inside his body, only
anchored there. “What does that mean,” he breathed.
With a strained voice, Carver said, “They made it through
to whatever world the Miscreator is from and then they lost
contact.”

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 For several long, empty seconds, Bri thought nothing.
When he did speak, he surprised himself. “Does she have the
journal?”
“No, Ahair,” Stef sighed. “I can return it to you now.”
“Is she alone?”
A pause. Carver stuttered, “There's probably a P.T.M.
soldier or two. Andrew Lucado was on board.”
“Well, that's good. He's a good boy. She is in the
Miscreator's world. She is with Andrew, and other trained soldiers,
and their ship is equipped with some dimension portal generator.
Right?”
“Let's be realistic,” Carver began.
Bri pounded on the arm of his chair. “No, goddamn you, I
will not give up hope the moment I'm given bad news! Your
worship of despair is pathetic, it's — it's disgusting! I will bear the
burden of hope alone, if I must, if it crushes me, but I will bear it!”
“No one's ever come back from there.” Carvernon spoke
softly, but there was a storm in him, Bri knew. With a little more
pushing, he would rise to the fight. Stefana whispered to him. He
fell silent.
“I will not betray your mother and sister. If you learn
anything,” said Bri coldly, “you will know where to find me.”
They sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do. He
pressed his mouth shut and waited. Then he observed their retreat.
Heard a portal open and close. And they disappeared. Gone again,
like Lillenna was gone, like his eyesight was gone. And Tullian was
gone. Camella, gone.
“Gakhrrud!” he bellowed. “Where is Ember?”
“I believe you told me this was spying,” said Gakhrrud.
Bri swept his arm violently. “Then call to her! Appear to
her! Tell her I need her here, now!”
“There is no one else here. Would that be appropriate?”
“Where is she, Gakhrrud?!”

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6
Finnian Byrne burst out of the fog, his half-decayed face
barely recognizable. A skeletal hand dangling strips of flesh reached
out for Ember. She could not escape. As he pulled her against his
body, sinking back with her into the fog, he said what he said every
night. “Don't you know you'll always belong to me?”
Lenovra. Ember woke with a start. Sticky with sweat, she
reoriented herself. A ghost, or a dream? Was there a difference?
But for the chirping of a few birds outside, the one-room hut was
peaceful. Hunter was still taking his afternoon nap next to her.
With each deep breath, his little belly rose and fell. The puppy
nestled against him twitched a little. As Ember climbed to her feet,
the mattress stuffed with straw rustled gently.
Creeping around the hearth, Ember peered out each of her
windows. When she was content that the rest of Breena slept, she
pulled her thin, worn curtains closed and crept back to her mat. A
crude dream catcher lay hidden underneath it. She hung it over
Hunter as he slept.
She wasn't sure if her neighbors would count dream
catchers as witchcraft. But she suspected they would err on the side
of caution, so she did the same.
Gakhrrud had obliged her request to teach her what he
knew of her people. She herself didn't know much. Aside from
imparting some basic Ojibwe vocabulary, the A.I. had helped her
figure out what she could do for a living, and it had instructed her
in making a traditional drum.
The wooden base of the drum had been the most difficult
to make. She had pieced together several chunks of flat wood, the
outcome being more of a nonagon than a perfect circle. The hide
had only needed to soak in water and juniper for a week. Now it
was dry, and she had hemmed it all around. Ember stepped outside
and set to work tightening the laces so that the skin stretched taut
across the hoop. The final touch was most difficult. The loose

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strings were supposed to cross one another on the underside of the
drum, forming a medicine wheel. Ember wasn't certain if her
ancestors had been among the tribes to use a medicine wheel, but
she had already incorporated it into her neopagan practices.
Maybe her neighbors would say this was witchcraft, too.
Ember sighed as she tied the knot.
“Mommy?”
She leapt to her feet and swept aside the curtain that
served as their front door. “I'm right here, Hunter!”
He was standing on his mattress with the puppy pinned
tightly against his chest. “I hungry. Cash hungry, too.” They had
named the dog after their favorite singer.
Ember stepped back inside. “Did you finish the
drumstick?” she asked, plucking the dream catcher from the wall to
hide it again.
Hunter whipped his blanket around in a frenzy until a stick
clattered to the stone floor. Cash barked excitedly, chasing it but
thankfully not too interested in picking it up. Beaming proudly,
Hunter extended the stick to his mother. She saw he had finally,
painstakingly woven a strip of leather to the end. It had taken him
two days, but she'd thought to herself fretfully that he had to get
used to the idea of pitching in.
They held hands as they waded through the wildflowers.
Cash bounded after them.
“Okay, we need to find the biggest, best house,” said
Ember.
Hunter picked one out. “We eat there?”
“Not yet,” she replied.
They sat on the ground just in front of the door stones.
Whoever lived here had plenty of helping hands. The roof was
freshly thatched and a brand new door blocked the ancient circular
opening. With Hunter secure in her lap, she helped him beat a
steady rhythm on the drum. In the best Elvin she could muster, she
recited an old country song from her home world. It no longer
rhymed, and she feared the translation was clumsy, but it was the
best she could do:

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 An old man shouts at the ground.
I am defeated by tears.
We have both forgotten to go home.

She knew the moment Hunter recognized the song,

because he laughed and looked at her as if she were the silliest
mommy in the world.
The heavy door swung open. Ember looked up
apprehensively. An Elvin woman stepped out and nodded at them,
smiling through the rest of the song. A cluster of children joined
her, some clinging shyly to her dress, others approaching curiously
before they were called back, firmly but calmly, to hold the line.
When Ember and Hunter finished the song, the children cheered,
and the woman produced a pair of eggs from her apron. Payment
for the song.
It was exactly the arrangement Ember had hoped for. She
thanked the woman profusely and rushed home to cook the eggs.
It might be all they ate that day, but it was better than nothing.
Of course, Hunter gave half to Cash.
“You're killing me, pup,” she said.
They tried again at a different place. Hunter sang along this
time, maybe — hopefully — improving the translation a little, but
she couldn't be sure. They earned a lot of smiles. Little more. The
hungrier Hunter became, the less charming he was to the audience.
It had already been a long, thirsty day, and now it was
longer and thirstier. Ember was ready to go home, put her starving
boy to bed, and find some private place to cry. Maybe she could go
to Bri again and beg for food, if she could stand the humiliation. If
he could afford the political blow.
“On Taharr Neefa be with you,” a voice greeted her. It was the
smiling woman from the big house. She, her husband, and their
brood of children were all carrying fresh bread somewhere. “Come
along, come along,” she beckoned.
Ember hardly had the energy to doubt whether it was a
good idea. Hunter had already bounded after them.
They met a few others along the way, and Ember found
they were walking toward the palace of Shayla. It lay open for

213
them. Hunter and the other children laughed gleefully as they
hopped from one floating stone to the next.
The banquet hall was lit high and low with a hundred
stubby little candles. A few plain loaves of bread were set aside, but
most were scattered across a table laden with cheese, salted beef,
and a few withered smoked fruit and vegetables from the previous
harvest. Everyone had brought a little something — everyone but
Ember and Hunter — and though each contribution was poor in a
way, the result was nearly a feast. Ember’s mouth watered.
Bri descended from the upper levels, smiling and greeting
people. She wanted to push toward him, but she was afraid of
looking forward. Gradually, everyone noticed her. She realized they
were waiting for something. Looking to her.
“You are the guest,” said the baker woman, smiling and
gesturing at the table.
“No,” Ember said, as politely as possible, terrified of
offending. “No one wants me here...”
The woman insisted in a long string of words unfamiliar to
Ember, pushing her forward. Hunter hopped over to her side, on
the brink of another meltdown but filled with hope at the sight of
the banquet. She glanced nervously at Bri. He seemed calm,
content.
One last look at the woman. “Good be on you,” Ember said
timidly.
Stepping over to the table, she took up a piece of bread
and spooned a creamy dollop of freshly churned butter on top of
it. The ravenous Hunter was right behind her, stuffing a handful of
cabbage into his mouth. Tears filled her eyes. You know your kid is
starving when he'll eat cabbage.
The rest of the elves fell in behind them, and soon
everyone was seated and eating happily. The meal lasted for over
an hour. Hunter climbed into Ember's lap. “My belly hurt.”
“That's because you ate too much,” she laughed. She
couldn't remember the last time they'd had that problem.
Hunter rested his head on her shoulder. Soon she could
tell by his breathing that he was asleep, and though their skin grew
hot and sticky, she tried to memorize that moment, the intimacy of

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it. The trust. The smell of the food and smoldering candles and the
humid air wafting in from outside.
The voices in the room gradually faded. Someone at the
head of the table was standing. Sylvan was his name, she
remembered now.
Once the room was quiet, he launched into a speech.
“When we became Thirdfall, we knew from our observation of Secondfall that
we could no longer govern ourselves. Of course, there is no authority except that
which is from On Taharr Neefa. He instituted governing authorities who are
not to be feared except by those who are lawless. For centuries, our people have
known that whoever resists the authorities is truly resisting On Taharr Neefa,
and those who resist will incur judgment...”
With a sinking feeling, Ember realized she was in church.
“Therefore, for the sake of our conscience and to avoid the creator's
wrath, we have been subject to the basest among us. Many of our new brothers
were bound to follow Lord Rendyn, a treacherous boy who led them to betray
their own people and align themselves with the White Planet. Beloved, when
authorities compel us to serve evil, are we yet serving On Taharr Neefa?”
Sylvan was looking all over the room, yet his eyes never
locked with Ember's.
“He who takes more than is his right we call a thief. He who breaks
the law we call an evildoer. The thief and the evildoer is no rightful lord and no
servant of On Taharr Neefa. How can we follow such a mortal?”
Toward the back of the room, a baby fussed. Everyone
else was stone still and silent. Ember felt her fear returning.
“On Taharr Neefa reconciled us to Himself through the death of
Arin'Ya, purifying us. He appeals to the world through us, imploring: 'Be at
peace with Me!' Before you receive the meal of gratitude, be reconciled to your
brother. If you have wronged him, confess to him and ask his forgiveness.”
Sylvan walked to the bit of bread that had been set aside
next to a chalice. He held up the bread and spoke intimately, as if
recalling some private memory, “On the night He was betrayed,
Arin'Ya took bread and said, 'Receive this into yourself. It is My body broken
for you. Do this as a sign of your reconciliation with Me.'”
The banquet hall was somber now. Though the feast was
over, the meal was just beginning. One by one, two by two, on feet
as silent as snowfall, people went forward to kneel before Sylvan.

215
They did not even raise their hands. They opened their mouths and
were fed like infants, then bowed their heads in gratitude.
Bri did not go forward. He pushed himself up from the
table, his walking stick tapping loudly on the stones as he climbed
toward his chambers.
Another man also hesitated to go forward. It was Obyn.
Ember remembered him as being Bri's favorite. Though Obyn still
shunned her, he at least didn't seem hostile toward her. Now his
new wife was preparing to go forward, pulling his arm with a
concerned expression. He shook his head and turned away.
Obyn's wife seemed on the verge of tears. She went
forward without him.
Cradling the back of Hunter's head, Ember struggled to
her feet and made her way outside. She wasn't sure what she had
just witnessed, but she thought to herself that if Sylvan was trying
to depose Bri, then all the goodwill in the valley couldn't protect
her from Nulan.

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7
Bri could feel that the sun had long set. Still, it was hot in
his chambers, and he sweated as he paced. He hadn't asked these
people to follow him to his ancestral land. He certainly hadn't
asked to be a noble. Now his failure to save face would get him
deposed and evicted from his own home. “Gakhrrud,” he snapped.
“I am here.”
“In your observation of mortal worlds, which civilization
most resembles the government we have here in Breena?”
“I am not aware of any human culture that serves its
government so blindly, nor with such staunch fatalism,” Gakhrrud
replied. “Eventually, the people learn to make exceptions to what
one might call the mandate of heaven.”
“Mandate of heaven?” Bri echoed.
Gakhrrud repeated the phrase in Mandarin. “In ancient
China, tianming. The country believed itself to be the center of the
world and the pinnacle of progress. Surrounding countries were
not nearly as wealthy nor as powerful. The ruler of China,
therefore, was the 'central ruler' or 'son of heaven,' commissioned
by Tian to serve as intercessor between heaven and men.”
Tian meant heaven. If Bri recalled correctly, it was
synonymous with the Lord on High. He shook his head
dismissively, anxious to move on to something more comparable
he could draw inspiration from. “I am not worshiped.”
“The Emperor, too, was considered fallible,” Gahkrrud
explained. “The people believed that Tian bestowed its mandate on
the worthiest man, but was free to recall this mandate if someone
more suitable presented himself. The chief ministers would voice
their objections to a flawed Emperor, and if he did not listen, it was
considered legal — even imperative — to dethrone him as
illegitimate.”

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 “Why did no one take this action against Lord Rendyn?”
Bri asked bitterly. He couldn't help but think that if someone had
hacked the young lord's head off sooner, Tully might be alive.
Gakhrrud said evenly, “Elves have only been fallen for a
few centuries. It did take humans some generations to fall into the
pattern of affluence, corruption and decay which we still see
today.”
“I haven't oppressed anyone,” Bri muttered. “In fact, I
freed them! The men have brides now, and land, and homes, and
food. They ought to be happy!”
“They are not primed for ko-ming,” agreed Gakhrrud. The
word he used made Bri imagine a snake shedding its skin, but in
this context, it was heaven’s mandate that needed to be shed.
“When taxes creep higher and higher, when natural disasters occur
and the crops fail, then they will doubt your right to—”
Gakhrrud's voice ceased suddenly and Bri knew the A.I.'s
physical form had been deactivated. It was supposed to hide itself
when others were nearby. Bri looked into the darkness in which he
wandered. Down the hall, Obyn was climbing out of that darkness
and shuffling toward Bri’s chambers … and he knew by the
anguish in Obyn's soul that something was horribly wrong.
Bri's favored subject lingered in the doorway. “My lord,” he
said softly, and he seemed to kneel.
“What is it, Obyn? Come in.” Bri wondered why no one ever
visited him with good news.
Obyn drew a breath, stalled, and tried again. “For many
months I have been burdened with a sin I must confess...”
He did not know why, but Bri found himself suddenly
repelled.
“I saw your son's final moments.”
Bri turned his back in terror. He waited helplessly. He
didn't want to know; but he had to know. He already knew. Others
were making their way up the stairs. Nulan was among them. How
was it that Nulan sniffed out his every vulnerable moment?
Trembling, Obyn confessed, “Lord Rendyn gave the order to
kill Tullian. He gave the order to me.”
Shaking all over, Bri opened his mouth, speechless. Of all
the people in Breena, Obyn was the one he least wanted to hate.

218
He had trusted this man, trusted his humility and loyalty. Now he
knew the source of those virtues. It hadn't been love, but guilt.
Meekly, Obyn croaked, “I attempted to finish it as swiftly as
possible...”
“Stop!” Bri shouted. Then: “Did you?”
Obyn was speechless.
“Did you spare my boy suffering?”
“Yes, my lord, to the best of my abilities.”
“Was he afraid? Did he weep?”
Despairingly, Obyn whispered, “Yes, my lord.”
Bri still couldn't turn around. He was no longer leaning on
his cane, but wringing his hands over it so tightly that his palms
burned. “You carried out the orders of a traitor and executed an innocent
child!”
“Yes,” Obyn whispered. “I have sinned.”
Sinned. The word was too small. There wasn’t a strong
enough word for what Obyn had done. Bri felt eyes watching him,
so many eyes. He knew that most of the followers of Arin'Ya were
crowded in the doorway. Sylvan and Nulan had entered and stood
on either side of Obyn. The room seemed unbearably hot now.
A second ticked by. Then another. Another. Bri wrung his
cane some more. “I have no weapon appropriate for an execution.” Obyn
wept softly. “Sylvan, is there a blacksmith among your people?”
Hesitantly, Sylvan replied, “One of our brothers was a
blacksmith's apprentice before he joined us...”
“I will pay him to forge me a double-edged blade... about this length...
as quickly as possible.”
“Lord Brionan...”
“He confessed,” Bri snapped. “Somebody put him somewhere.”
A pair of men lifted Obyn by his arms. Obyn sobbed,
“Father Sylvan, I am ready to receive the meal.”

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8
Ember hugged herself nervously as she craned her neck up
at the tree. “Be careful!”
From his perch behind the leaves, Hunter gasped.
“Mommy, I see 'em!”
“Are there eggs?” she asked.
“They baby birds!”
“Well, climb down, then! Hurry!” Any moment now, a pair
of angry birds were going to start dive-combing her poor baby.
Hunter made his way to the bottom branch and hesitated.
She opened her arms for him and, after some coaxing, he jumped
down to her.
“I guess it's too late in the year for bird's eggs,” Ember
sighed, swinging him to the ground.
“We go to the feast tonight?” Hunter asked excitedly.
She hesitated. “I don't think so.”
Hunter threw himself down on the grass, whining and
crying. “Whyyy?”
“Because we don't worship their god,” she replied. Then
she saw what was in the field. Her knees buckled.
Someone had been constructing a fence near the edge of
the forest. She could see a few ponies looking in her direction,
nickering and sometimes rearing up apprehensively. Between her
and them, just past the first boundary stone, something lay heaped
in the tall grass. Something that had attracted a lot of flies.
In dread, she crept closer.
It was a foal. Or it had been. The poor thing's gangly legs
lay in a tangle. The slashed throat was dry now, coagulated blood
drawn out in a jagged circle all around the carcass. There didn't
appear to be any knife on the scene.
“Hunter, stay back!” she yelled. She ran to meet him at the
edge of the meadow.

220
 “What wrong?” he asked. She grabbed his arm and
dragged him home. Better to let someone else discover the foal.
Hopefully no one would know they had been there at all.
That night, a crowd of men surrounded their hut.

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9
Obyn was Breena's first convicted criminal. They'd been
hard pressed to find a suitable prison. Nulan, who had apparently
been planning ahead, suggested the ruins at the edge of the valley.
The novice blacksmith had guessed it would take about a week to
forge a special execution sword from the broken old blades they’d
collected. This Obyn gained an expiration date.
Bri “held court” more often than not, but only because no
one would leave him alone. All he wanted to do was grieve — all
he ever did was grieve — but instead he had to save face and come
to terms with his decision silently. He had about seven days to get
used to the idea of executing someone. The thought sickened him.
The thought of pardoning Obyn, as if mercy were such a little
thing, and leaving Tully unavenged, also sickened him.
He had killed in the past. To survive. This was decidedly
different. Were he able to travel back to the moment of Tully's
murder and violently slash his way through everyone responsible,
he would do so without hesitation or regret. It was the only place
he ever longed to be. Now, however... what was the point? What
would it change? Somehow, he knew the dull thud of the blade
would only become one more aspect of his loss.
As soon as Bri felt the first rays of dawn warm his skin, an
agitated group dragged Ember into Shayla. Christ help me, he
thought in exasperation, but then he thought resentfully that Christ
had not helped Tully. What had his son's final prayers been?
As the wraith of Ember came into focus, he hurt even
more deeply for her. Her broken heart matched his.
“Where is her wain?” asked Bri, before anyone could be
announced.
Sylvan, the apparent leader of the group, was the one to
answer. “The baker has volunteered to adopt Hunter and raise him
to walk the righteous path of Arin'Ya.”
Ember sobbed.

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 Bri ground his teeth briefly. “Why bring her to me? It
sounds as if you've already found her guilty. Orphan the boy and
move on to a new victim.”
“Lord Brionan, another creature was found ritually
slaughtered. This time it was a pony.”
“And you have proof that this woman did it?”
Nulan spoke up. “Father Sylvan and I can both testify…
and I am sure my lord will also recall… she has confessed to being
a witch.”
“And wolfhounds tracked a scent all the way from the
slain pony to Ember's hut,” Sylvan added, before Bri could speak.
“I — told you—” Ember stammered. She sounded
absolutely fatigued. Had they harangued her all night? “I found the
— pony in the morning and ran home!”
Completely understandable, considering what was
happening now. Bri resisted the urge to gloat. He had to appear
impartial. “Anything else?” he asked.
A pause. “Yes,” said Sylvan. “Nulan tells me that the first
night this woman and her son arrived here, they were in your
chambers. And many times since.”
“Always together,” Bri snapped. The embarrassment of
that first night threatened to betray him. He leaned back. “Can any
man accuse me?”
“Yes,” Sylvan repeated. “You do not participate in the
worship of On Taharr Neefa or Arin'Ya, and you tolerate the
presence of a confessed witch, the whore of a druid, no less. She
has not repented and she remains free. Obyn has repented, yet he
faces execution. Are we really to believe that your rule represents
divine justice?”
The word tianming echoed in Bri’s head. He raised his
voice. “This is my home. The home of my mother and her people
for ages unknown. I led no one here. I did not ask for lordship.
You all chose to follow me. You are free to leave at any time.”
“Perhaps we must. Or perhaps our village will no longer
extend so far as your palace.”
Bri hadn't expected anyone to call that bluff. They knew he
couldn't feed himself. They knew he needed them.
Ember began crying again.

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 “Obyn killed my son,” Bri sneered. “We need no proof.
He has confessed. I will execute Ember when you can prove she
has committed a capital crime.”
“She is a witch!” Sylvan exclaimed.
“Where I come from,” Ember said in a half-growl, half-
sob, “people like you stole my people's language, and land, and
traditions. They kidnapped our children just like you have
kidnapped my son. You people are the same everywhere.”
Her Elvin had been awkward, childish. No one seemed
much moved.
“Obyn's wife is here,” said Nulan. “With your permission,
she would address your lordship.”
Bri swallowed. He gave a little nod.
Aylga stepped forth from the crowd of phantoms. She
appeared to him like a flower in rain, lovely and trembling, chalky
lines shining from the shadows. She came much closer than Bri
would have expected.
“My lord Brionan,” she said, and her voice shook like her
specter. “I have traversed from one end of Lenovra to the other.
Since the day I became a woman, I have waited four years to know
the joy of husband and children. Obyn has been my husband for
little over two weeks. In that time, he has treated me kindly. I know
that his deeds under Lord Rendyn are ever before him. They
torture him when he wakes and when he sleeps. Had he known
that he could reject Rendyn without angering On Taharr Neefa,
your son would still live. He even abhors plucking a blossom from
a tree, and even moreso, he abhors the pain he has inflicted upon
you. Would you take such a man from this world? Am I to be such
a young widow? Am I to remain childless?”
Bri could barely speak through the tension in his jaw. “Is
the murderer of my son to raise a son of his own?”
Aylga wept. He looked on her with disgust, this lovely
young woman who had come to intercede for his betrayer. Now, as
he examined her being more closely, he saw a tiny pinprick of light
within her. Even Aylga might not have known of it.
Yes. Obyn will have a child. Even if he doesn't live to see it.
When men had presented their daughters as brides, he had
recommended Obyn as a groom. It was all so wrong. He didn't

224
want to hurt Aylga. On some level, he didn't even want to hurt
Obyn. In the past, he had preferred to wonder if Nulan were
Tully’s killer.
Ember spoke in English. “Don't do this.”
Bri was incensed. Using Elvin so that everyone could
understand, he bellowed, “I am the only one standing up for you!”
“This doesn't help me!” she cried.
That was true. If it came down to Ember or Obyn,
everyone wanted Obyn.
Nulan strode up to stand next to Aylga. By Gaiskosk
standards, it was a fairly intimate display. Bri wondered, with
renewed disgust, if Nulan was already planning on becoming her
second husband.
“Lord Brionan, let us have On Taharr Neefa settle the
matter. Lord Brionan, I accuse you. Your reign is illegitimate.
When your new sword has cooled, we will fight to the death.”
Bri was a stone. Then he chuckled a little. It echoed off the
walls, it echoed in the perturbed souls all around him. Everything
had played into Nulan's hands so perfectly. Beyond a few
ceremonial displays, Bri had no idea how to wield a real sword.
And rejecting the duel wasn't a real option. The only alternative to
fighting was stepping down, acceding lordship to Nulan, who
would immediately execute Ember. Maybe Hunter, too.
“Why wait a whole week?” Bri growled.
He stood and tapped his way over to the couch where he
slept. Underneath it lay a pair of human femurs sharpened down to
a point. They had been his only weapons in the prison world that
stole his sight. He'd hung onto them in uncertainty, wondering
whether it would be more appropriate to bury them or send them
back to Noreksus-taib. Now he was glad that he had them. He
hadn't used them for years, but he was more deft with them than
he would likely ever be with a sword.
Gripping a bone in each hand, he turned back in the
direction of Nulan. “We will end this tonight. When I win, Ember
goes free.”
Nulan’s voice was as smug. “I can hear your heart racing,
Brionan.”

225
PART VII

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1
Miscreator World.
“Look at that,” Miklos crowed.
In the cockpit of Chrysostom, Andrew could barely lift his
head, let alone appreciate what was happening outside. He felt sick.
Cam couldn’t be raised on the com-link, and his mind and
emotions were battling over what to believe.
In the water, Amadeus was battling a serpentine coil. The
writhing skein attacked in a frenzy. The robot’s response was brutal
as it was methodical. Finally, his fist went through its skull and a
murky cloud of gore enshrouded them. All the men in the cockpit
saw now was the flash of his blaster.
As minutes passed, Miklos mellowed somewhat. He
slapped Andrew's shoulder. “It's okay, buddy. It's okay. She has
been through worse, yes?”
That might have been true. They waited. No word from
Cam. No word from Amadeus.
An alarm sounded behind them. Both men bolted to their
feet, but once again Miklos and his massive girth gained the right of
way. The corridor blast door slid open to reveal a swiftly draining
hull and one writhing but very small basilisk. Amadeus glistened as
he emerged from the hatch. “Galanis, starboard cockpit. Prepare
for takeoff. Lucado, anywhere with a seatbelt will do.”
The robot brought his foot down hard on the basilisk's
head.

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2
“We don't know how many of those things are out there,”
said Miklos.
“Correct,” said Amadeus.
“What is the plan? You draw them out, Lucado and I slip
in?”
“No.”
“We'll never make it if we all try to break in together.”
“Correct.”
“Are we leaving Winchester behind, then?”
“No.”
The ziggurat was visible. They would be there any second
now. Miklos prepared to pull up, but Amadeus never gave the
command. “Blue?” he asked nervously.
Amadeus made a nose dive for the main gate, which he
blasted open.
With a torturous screech of steel, the ship crashed
through, striking the ground. The violence of the landing
shuddered through Chrysostom's entire frame. Then it was sliding,
spinning. Ami had never lowered the landing gear. Finally, they
ground to a stop with the cockpit facing the destroyed gate and the
rear port blocking the corridor.
“Out the back,” said Ami.
Andrew had strapped himself in near the armory. When he
saw the others running over, he undid his restraints. He and Miklos
stumbled around, shaken by the crash but following Ami's lead as
the robot gathered all the weapons he could carry. With two
enormous blasters crossed on his back, a belt of detonators across
his chest and glinting handguns holstered at his hips, thighs, and
calves, he looked like an avenging angel, albeit one that had come
off an assembly line. There was also, Andrew noted, a D-gun
strapped to Ami's chest.

228
 Almost as soon as the rear hatch opened, Ami shot down a
few drones. “Run ahead,” he commanded. They obeyed without
looking back. Their dim, industrial surroundings were full of
unknowns. Their trigger fingers itched. The skittering and
screeching of the Miscreator's mantids approached from behind.
Soon enough, Ami's thudding feet caught up to them.
“Cover your ears.”
The following blast shook the ground. Andrew and Miklos
turned back to see a mountain of wreckage falling between
themselves and the ship.
“They will clear it soon enough,” Ami warned them.
“Move.”
They followed him into the dark.

229
3
There didn't seem to be any mantids inside the ziggurat. It
was mostly patrolled by drones, nasty-looking orbs with reaching
tendrils, but Amadeus was able to take out most of them with such
precision that the humans rarely had to fire. He nearly seemed to
know where he was going. After passing half a dozen armored
doors, Amadeus stopped at another.
“The blood trail leads here,” he explained.
He holstered his weapon. They cringed as, with another
squeal of violated metal, Amadeus forced his robotic fingers into
the cracks. Shove. The doors began to open. Two more shoves.
Bits of door frame showered onto the robot's hulking figure as he
stepped into a laboratory.
Andrew's breath caught. He glanced over at Miklos, who
seemed just as awed. The lab was lit by a series of tanks and,
floating in the viridescent liquid, a multitude of grotesque and
vaguely human women slept. Their wombs were ripe. And
transparent. The sleeping creatures that twitched therein were even
more grotesque.
Some such fetal forms resided in tanks of their own.
However, these did not move. The vitals on the control panels
were still.
“Ti stol diáolo?” Miklos breathed. It seemed like a rhetorical
question. Andrew was inclined to agree.
As he followed Ami through the lab, Andrew wondered if
he could bring himself to kill these people helpless and sleeping.
He also worried what would happen if he didn't.
A pair of goggles lay on a nearby table. Miklos swept them
up to examine them. They were his. He exchanged a regretful
glance with Andrew.
Amadeus had been making a beeline for wherever the
traces of blood were leading him. Now and then, even the humans

230
could see the little drips of green on the floor. Then Ami halted.
His head turned. He redirected his course.
An automatic door offered no resistance. They left the
nightmarish nursery for a narrower room with a low ceiling. It was
hard to miss the recently harvested human laid out on a table and
halfway through dissection by automaton. Miklos aimed for its
claw, but Amadeus stopped him, slapping a detonator onto the
unsuspecting machine instead.
“Captain,” said Andrew, struggling to keep his voice level
as much as he struggled to speak up. “If there's a chance Camella is
still alive, is this where we'll find her?”
“Rescuing one crew member is not our main priority.”
“Tell me which way to go and I'll get her.”
“That is not your mission, Lucado. Neutralizing the enemy
is our main objective. Then extracting of civilians, then crew
members, then convicts.”
Second to last. Miklos crossed himself. Andrew silently
panicked. Cam's impish smile flashed through his mind and he
wondered if he'd seen it for the final time.
Amadeus moved on. The next room was another row of
tanks, this one full of humans presumably waiting to be dissected.
They were preserved in the best possible way: still alive.
The characters on the control panels were not in English,
or any language Andrew recognized. They were columns of lines,
most horizontal, most diagonal. Now and then, a diamond or X
shape broke the monotony.
“Ogham,” said Amadeus. “An unusual language, but a bad
choice for a code.” He tapped the word in the top right corner of
the panel. The associated tank began draining. “These are P.T.M.
citizens. Free them.”
Miklos pushed the top right button on every panel they
passed. Glancing back, Andrew saw that the prisoners in the now-
empty tanks lay still in fetal positions, even as the doors softly
hissed open. When next he saw Amadeus, the robot had slung an
aquatic-looking person over one shoulder.
They passed through another steel door. This curved room
was cold, below freezing, and lined with concentric shelves in an

231
aesthetically pleasing manner. The shelves were lined with
pressurized containers.
“What are those?” asked Miklos.
“Embryos. This is a cryobank.”
The door closed. As they turned to survey the wall behind
them, they found four more water tanks. The third was occupied.
Miklos shouldered past Andrew and jabbed at the button
that made the tank drain. Camella drifted from one side to another
as she made her way to the cold floor.
“Her fingers,” said Miklos. Not only did Cam seem
completely unharmed, she had all ten digits. She was also wearing a
form-fitting, dark gray smart suit that illuminated her arteries in
green. He shrugged in bewilderment. “A clone?”
Andrew looked a moment longer. “No,” he said, relieved.
“They didn't fix the scar on her cheek. And she still has the rings
on her right hand. Those don’t come off.”
Amadeus pressed on, but the men hung back until the tank
hissed open. For once, Miklos didn’t push. He let Andrew pull the
breathing mask off of Cam's face and lightly sweep the hair from
her eyes.
No words were exchanged. Miklos moved to cover
Andrew, who gathered Cam close to his chest. They rushed after
Ami. They were entering another chamber of tanks, these ones
towering tall, and the developing mantids inside were going to be
huge, but Andrew found himself glancing down at Cam again and
again. Her face was so serene. To hold her like this was a gift. One
he was stealing. When she woke, if she woke, it wouldn’t be pretty.
Miklos fired suddenly. One of the tanks burst. As water
gushed across the floor, they saw the shadow of a woman
disappear into deeper darkness.
Amadeus fired in the opposite direction. They saw the
long tendrils of a foot-soldier. It staggered, wounded. Ami fired a
second shot straight through a tank and the developing mantid
inside. They heard the foot-soldier slap the floor, and a scream that
echoed through the chamber. “Mathair!”
As the robot strode over to finish the job, the foot-soldier
rolled over, wheezing pathetically. His clawed hands stretched out

232
imploringly, as if to ward off the shot, but he rasped defiantly, “Do
it! One last portal.”
The single kill shot was more than effective.
Andrew's skin crawled. It was one thing to shoot
monsters, or even people in self-defense, but quite another to
shoot someone who was fleeing and unarmed.
Ami glanced at Miklos. “Did you get her?”
Miklos shook his head. “Missed.”
“Then the Miscreator will soon know precisely where we
are.”
The fish person on Ami's shoulder stirred. Amadeus set
him down on his feet, holding on until he was steady. “Are you
able to walk?”
“...Yes...”
Amadeus pointed to everyone. “Lucado, a D-hop. You
remember Winchester. Galanis, from the P.T.M.” Now he
motioned to the fish man. “Xel, my co-pilot.”
“Halloo,” said Miklos.
“Disable whatever you can,” Ami ordered. “If you see
P.T.M. citizens on the way, free them. Then we must get back to
the ship.”
The robot was already setting bombs. Miklos started
unplugging things. Andrew balanced Cam on one shoulder, freeing
his other arm to cover the crew. As they plodded past the broken
tank where the foot-soldier had been killed, he froze. So did his
blood.
The foot-soldier was no longer there.
Cam moved suddenly. Andrew wasn’t sure if he'd dropped
her or if she'd leapt out of his grasp, but her elbow hit his ear in the
process. The dim light glinted in her crazed eyes. She was off-
balance. She’d also managed to take his sidearm from its holster.
Andrew shifted his rifle into both hands above his head.
Then he stood very still. It would take her some time to calm
down.
“Where is she, where is she,” Cam babbled.
“Who?”
“There was a lady here!”
“Don’t know.”

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 Timidly, Xel took his place next to Andrew. He, too, had
his hands in the air. “Cam? Do you remember me? It’s Xel.
Amadeus is here. It is time for us to leave.”
Cam’s feet shifted. She kept waving her new arm,
loosening it up. “Oh yeah. I remember you. Nice to see someone
who doesn’t have a penis.”
“Are you okay?” Andrew inquired. “Because we really
have to go.”
Cam nodded. Her new arm twitched. “I’m keeping this
sidearm. Ami! Where’s my D-gun!”
Blaster fire screamed behind them. They all rushed to
rejoin Ami and Miklos, whose attentions were fixed on a doorway
obscured by equipment.
“Don’t shoot!” a human voice shouted.
Ami lowered his gun. “Reynolds. Come out.”
A crowd of figures shuffled toward them. They all wore
the same smart suits that Cam and Xel wore, and their pulses were
racing. The foremost among them was a scruffy, bearded blond
man who carried himself like a cop, cautious but calm, even
intimidating. His hand instinctively hovered over a long lost
sidearm.
“Jerry,” Cam whispered.
Andrew decided he didn’t like this guy.
“Are you being followed?” asked Ami.
Jerry Reynolds shook his head. “We haven’t seen
anything.”
“Then we go back. This room is rigged to explode.”
Some of the civilians cried out, but they quickly parted for
Amadeus and fell in behind him. The crewmen brought up the
rear.
Softly, Xel said to no one in particular, “I do have a penis.”
Andrew watched carefully as Cam tucked in her chin and
marched forward. She was still clenching and moving her new arm,
almost unconsciously, like a baby might. The movements
quickened when Jerry peered at her and asked, “Cam?”
She barely looked at him. “Yeah.”
“How, uh... how you been?”
“Oh! You know! How was prison?”

234
 Ami led them all into the cryobank. It was a tight fit. He
pressed a button to close the doors and then braced his massive
body against them. “Detonating by remote.”
The thunderous boom echoed all around them and
through them. The civilians screamed and even cried. Through the
smoke that had poured into the room, Andrew saw that the doors
had been blasted in but held more or less in place by Ami.
The robot turned back to survey them. He still held one
door as if it were a shield. He drew a weapon and aimed it straight
through the crowd. “Get down.”
Everyone got down.
“Not you.”
Hesitant, a thin woman in a lab coat stretched to her
unimpressive full height. Behind her, fresh blood clouding the tank
and wires protruding from his heart, the foot-soldier Ami had shot
earlier appeared to be on a sort of life support.
“Lillenna Winchester?” the robot droned.
Her shaking, frail hands floated up in surrender. “That is
my name.”

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4
“Please,” said Lillenna. “He has no brain activity...”
Ami kept the gun trained on her. “Correct. He no longer
has a brain.”
Lillenna sighed impatiently. “Are you familiar with the
flatworm? Is there a flatworm in your world? They are one of the
species with the rare ability to regenerate lost body parts, even their
heads, and when they regenerate their heads, they still have their
old memories. A memory is a pattern of connections made by
chemical or electrical signals. It is recreated by the consciousness. I
just need to give him a brain again!”
“Lady,” said Miklos, “are you saying you can resurrect the
dead?”
Her desperate babbling stalled. She glanced aside.
“Hypothetically. Not exactly. There is still life in him.”
“You have done this before?” Miklos pressed. He might
have been thinking about Alexopoulos and the other dead
crewmen back on Chrysostom.
Lillenna’s hesitation was proof she had no idea what she
was doing. “Please let me try.”
“No,” said Ami. “Tell us everything you know about the
Miscreator. Starting with where he is.”
Lillenna closed her eyes and leaned back against the tank
where her friend floated dead, though his heart still beat. Two tears
dashed down her cheeks. “The Miscreator is all around us.”
“His physical location, now.” Ami stepped closer.
“This place is the Miscreator.”
“The cryobank?” Jerry guessed. “The building?”
“The world! We are inside a supercomputer replica of a
human brain. This is the enemy you have come to destroy. To it,
we are microscopic, but worse than that, you are mere data.”
Andrew’s mouth fell open. “The trees,” he said. “They’re
neurons.”

236
 “Simulated,” Lillenna said pointedly. One of her hands
strayed toward the keypad on the dead foot-soldier’s tank. “Please,
just let me adjust…”
“He stays dead,” said Ami. “What does the Miscreator
want?”
Lillenna swallowed a sob. “What do you want, machine?
You simply follow your programming, complex but without
conscience! I was told I would be engaging in virtual research for
self-directed anthropoid evolution. Perhaps the Miscreator really
thinks all of this is virtual. Regardless, our suffering means nothing
to it, just as our survival means nothing to it. There is no end goal.
Who decides which traits are ‘best’? We harvest, splice, test, and
recycle, year after year after year.” She tapped a knuckle on the
glass behind her. “D’jii has been my only friend. My link to sanity.
Please.”
Amadeus ignored the change of subject, pressing, “If the
Miscreator is a simulated brain, it would most likely have a brain
stem. Do you have a map?”
Lillenna shook her head.
“Provide me with a map, and I will allow you to save your
friend.”
“I do not have a map!” she cried.
“Now I believe you. Camella.” While Lillenna drooped in
defeat, Amadeus turned to her daughter. “Unholster the D-gun on
my chest. You and Lucado were to memorize confidential
coordinates to an Inter-D base. Does either of you remember
them?”
“Your faith in us is inspiring,” drawled Cam, who hadn’t
stopped glaring at Lillenna this whole time. Lillenna still hadn’t
acknowledged her.
“It's too crowded in here,” Andrew pointed out. “The
edge of the portal will cut someone open.”
Still holding one door like a shield, Amadeus led them out
of the cryobank. Smoke, and a hissing sound, permeated the
wreckage he'd made of the lab. Mantids were beginning to appear
beyond that wreckage.
Andrew finished programming the D-gun. He blasted
open a portal a few paces from the group and, with the help of

237
Jerry and Xel, began ushering civilians through, warning each of
them to mind the edge. Lillenna was hauling cases out of the
cryobank, imploring the prisoners to each take one with them.
Cam used his sidearm to help Ami and Miklos fend off
mantids.
“I am glad you're alright!” Miklos shouted to Cam.
“I bet you are!”
“Sorry for bothering you. I was bored only!”
She shot him a maddened, incredulous look before going
back to work.
The civilians were out. Next came Lillenna lugging a heavy
case. Andrew nodded to Xel. “You're next, sir!” Jerry went after
him. Andrew turned to Amadeus. “Captain, everyone is through!”
“Lucado and Camella, leave this dimension and close the
portal.”
They were all surprised, but none as shocked as Miklos.
“Our work is unfinished, Galanis.”
Cam took a few more blasts at the mantids as she retreated
toward the portal. As Andrew and Miklos exchanged a nod,
Andrew found himself actually hoping he would see the brash
Greek again.

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5
Glister base had erupted into chaos. Cam had to shout
into the terminal to be sure her message would be recorded.
“Carver, it's your sister. The cool one. Get to the main floor as fast
as you can. There's something here you'll really want to see...”
She glanced over at Lillenna, who had shoved all her crates
together and was now begging every passing Inter-D soldier to get
them to a freezer.
Jerry leaned up against the wall, hard, next to Cam. She
flinched. “I thought about you every day in prison,” he said. “Not
in a weird way! There just wasn’t a lot to do. I hoped that even
though I threw my life away, at least you were doing something
with yours.”
“Wow. Well you’ll probably be happier if we don’t talk,
then. See ya!”
“You don't want to say anything to me?” he called after
her. “Like, ‘thank you’?”
“What is with you entitled dudes? I didn’t ask you to throw
your life away! You saved Hydratellus and you stopped a bad guy.
That’s your reward. Saving me was a bust, though, I’m a piece of
shit, sorry.”
Cam was storming off toward the greenhouse. She slowed
down, finally stopping, and glanced back at Jerry. He looked awful.
And, understandably, indignant.
“Look.” Cam stalked back over to him. “No one's
processed you yet, right? And the robot isn't here. Nobody knows
you exist. Get outside. Disappear. Or say you're trying to get back
to Inter-D headquarters. Somebody there could take you to any
dimension in the known universe.” Cam shrugged. “Or tell them
you're a dirty cop and you belong in space prison. Up to you. But I
won't say anything. And Xel won't say anything! Right Xel?”
Xel had been much too far away to overhear the
conversation. “What?”

239
 “Xel won't say anything.”
Jerry nodded slowly, considering whether the plan was
doable. “I appreciate it.”
“Well. Least I can do.”
Entering the garden area, Cam plopped down on a bench.
It wasn't long before she realized Andrew was on a nearby bench,
staring at her.
“What!” she yelled.
“That guy is really old.”
Cam groaned, rolling her eyes as dramatically as possible.
“It's not like that, you Neanderthal. Couple years ago — you
remember when everyone thought I was dead? — I was in Robot’s
custody. The P.T.M. wanted to send a message: D-hops who cross
their space don’t come back. If I’d known that, I would have picked
some other place to hide from the Ex-D. Robot was supposed to
make sure I went to prison forever. Jerry traded places with me. He
said if Amadeus let me go, he would get him a more important
collar.”
Andrew nodded slowly, processing the information.
“I’m not attracted to men, idiot.”
“Oh...” Andrew clearly felt like an idiot, but then he had
another revelation. “Wait, so you never had a crush on Ron?”
“Ron is attracted to men!”
“That didn’t mean you weren’t!”
“I’m not attracted to anyone! You have better chances of
getting with robot!”
“Okay.”
They both stared straight ahead for a moment.
“I can… kind of remember thinking boys were cute. Kind
of. Now, just... Ugh. Touching you at all makes me physically
sick… Sometimes numb. It’s been like that ever since... Let's just
say one of the first people to find me wasn't as trustworthy as he
looked. Anyway, there were times when I thought I liked Mara…
but since she died… mostly I just hate everybody. So now you
know. Now you have your precious explanation for why I could
ever possibly turn you down. Happy?”
Andrew shook his head. “I'm so sorry...”
“I don't want your pity, I just want to drop it.”

240
 “No, I mean I shouldn't have made you tell me all that
stuff. It wasn't my business. I was being a baby. Camella...”
They heard, and felt, a slight rumble.
Then there were screams, and gunshots, in the distance.
Andrew was suddenly at her side, yanking his sidearm
from her hand before she could protest. “Get up. We gotta go.
Now, now, now.”
The refugees from the Miscreator world were in even
more chaos than before, though Jerry and Xel were trying to calm
them down. Cam glimpsed her mother sitting on a long, low cart
with all her precious cargo. An industrial-size freezer had been
unlocked for her. “Perfect,” she heard Andrew say, before a hand
shoved her in that direction.
Cam tried to resist the tide, but there were too many
people pressing her forward now. Andrew's gentle eyes never left
hers. Not until he slammed the freezer doors shut between them.
The sound of mantids and frantic gunfire erupted outside.
In the freezer, someone wept bitterly.

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6
A soldier hit the floor with a horrible slap that sent blood
splattering from his split gut. Carver dropped next to him, half
focused on getting him to safety, half focused on getting ahold of
his weapon.
“What's happening?!” It was Ruby in the doorway of the
I.T. office, physically shaking with her handgun drawn.
“I don't know. Get a med kit.”
A mantid clopped around the corner. The claw it had used
to slash the soldier was stained red. Carver and Ruby both fired on
it. Carver soon found his weapon empty. As the monster slumped
over from its wounds, Ruby screamed, “This way!”
They worked together to drag the wounded, crying soldier
into I.T. Ruby unlocked the door to a dark little crawlspace filled
with wires. While Carver got the patient settled inside, Ruby tossed
in the med kit. Then she shut all three of them into the dark room.
Crack, crack. Carver found a glow stick. He set to work on
filling a hypodermic needle while Ruby joined the soldier in
weeping and holding his innards in place.
“Why don't I bleed out? Why don't I bleed out?”
“Sshh, I know. Look at me,” Ruby sniffled. With a hand
wet by gore, she stroked his hair. She mustered the power to sing
to him.

No condemnation now I dread;

Jesus, and all in Him is mine.
Alive in Him, my living Head,
And clothed in righteousness divine,
Bold I approach the eternal throne
And claim the crown, through Christ my own.
Amazing love! How can it be
That Thou, my God, should die for me?

242
 Carver had found the right drug. He injected the suffering
man, whose eyes soon rolled back and whose spasms of pain gave
way for sleep. They watched him in silence. His chest still rose and
fell.
“We should stop the bleeding,” said Ruby. “We should get
him to a doctor.”
Carver placed a hand on her shoulder. He knew it was
pointless. “Yeah,” was all he said.
A minute or more passed. Ruby found herself wanting to
think about anything but the present. “I've been meaning to tell
you something,” she said.
“Oh?”
“After he joined the Ex-D, Todd went around accusing all
sorts of people of being D-hops. He... got the Rev killed and he...
made me take off my clothes.”
“That scum-sucking son of a bitch. Why do so many of
my friends turn out to be sex criminals? I'll snap his neck. Did he
touch you?”
“No, he acted like I grossed him out. Which, fair. Even
you think I'm fat.”
He was offended. “When did I say that?”
“About a year ago, I said 'you look greener' and you said
'you look fatter,' or something like that.”
Carver covered his face in his hand for a moment. “I
forgot all about that. I'm just defensive about not passing for
human. You're actually — Wow. Hey, I want to kick my own ass
now.”
“Look, I only want to know whether you still consider
Todd a friend and want him to forgive you.”
“Well, I care a lot less if he does now, that's for sure. I
could never see him again and be fine with it.”
“Is that allowed? Can we please just really not like him or
ever talk to him again?”
“Done. That’s better than he deserves.”
“And God can still forgive us for our sins, right?”
“Of course. What kind of just and loving God would want
us to enable an Ex-D soldier? At least we regret our sins. Has Todd
ever once admitted what he did to you was wrong?”

243
 “No, he acted like it was my fault for being a dirty
sympathizer or something.”
Carver stared at the glow stick for a while. He asked her,
“Why do you still talk to me?”
“You still talk to me,” she murmured. After a moment, she
shrugged and added, “If we get out of here, let's forget the whole
past. We're just good work friends.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Sounds good. Now. You’re
gonna hate me, but we gotta get out there and help.”

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7
Cam hugged herself for warmth, watching her breath fog
and wondering if Andrew was still alive out there. She became
hyper aware of her mother standing nearby.
“I am sorry, so sorry, that I did not keep you safe.”
Now she wants to talk, thought Cam, but she couldn't bring
herself to come up with a biting retort. She hadn't expected
Lillenna to take ownership of such a colossal failure. “Did not.” But
not “could not.”
Finally, Cam asked, “Why wasn't I allowed to remember
anything? Why did you take all my memories away?”
Lillenna thought for some time before answering. The
noise of the carnage outside was jarring.
“Your father and I were very young when we married. We
had just been exiled to a human world. We adapted to the culture,
but barely. Your father found work at a factory. I found that, not
only was I dismissed from pursuing what I was really good at —
biology — but I was thought to be insulting my husband if I
pursued any sort of work outside the home. So I stayed in, cared
for our landlord whose name we adopted, and read the books on
genetics I had managed to hang onto. Books written by the elders
of my village, who had pursued this science for thousands of years.
The human world had barely noticed that DNA existed. I knew
how to take it apart and put it back together again.
“Our situation was bleak, but not so bleak as the one we
had left behind. Motherhood brought new challenges and joys. I
found it was difficult to feel sorry for myself for long when I had
Carvernon, your eldest sibling. I wish you could remember him. He
was a good boy. A sweet boy. He could lift anyone's spirits.”
Cam suppressed a derisive snort.
“Once your sister, Stefana, was old enough to walk, I
actually had more time. She and Carvernon would entertain each
other, and I would go back to my research, though I did not yet

245
know how to turn what I was learning into something useful. Your
father was always practicing his language skills with the other
immigrants at the factory, and he’d decided to teach you all
different languages so that we could assimilate anywhere. We
expected we would eventually be discovered and exiled again.”
Lillenna paused. “I never told him this. But while your
father was trying to teach you to act human … I was trying to make
you look human. I am fairly proud of the result. I found the gene
for my father’s auburn hair and I made certain that you all inherited
it. I tried to make you pale, so that the green hues under your skin
were less noticeable. I could never do much about the color of
your blood, you see, not without ruining everything.”
“You… engineered us?” asked Cam. Why did I turn out so
much shorter than Stef?
Lillenna smiled wistfully, her eyes distant. “I conceived you
the old-fashioned way. I simply knew how to make sure certain
eggs and sperm were repressed so that the most human traits were
passed down.
“When you… When Camella came along, I was
unprepared for how stubborn she… you are. But I knew that it
would help you to survive. I knew you would never let anyone
force you into a mold. You are like me. Like my father, I am told.”
Camella swallowed. No one had ever told her anything like
that, not even Bri. No one had ever said, “We're the same.” It was
in the fulfillment of the longing that she realized the longing had
existed. She blinked back tears. She belonged somewhere. She
belonged with this woman.
So where have you been?
Lillenna was still reminiscing. “Finally, there was Tullian.
My baby. He must be almost grown now. I wish I knew something
more about him…”
The thought of Tully always made Cam agitated, but again
she managed to bite her tongue. She’d seen what Tully’s death had
done to Bri.
“Mr. Winchester eventually died. That was when the
trouble returned. We could not prove we were Winchesters.
Because, of course, we weren’t. When we had to leave the human
world, we had some misadventures. Eventually, we encountered

246
Inter-D. They took a very great interest in your father because he
spoke so many languages. I did not like them, but Bri decided not
to listen to me — he accepted a job with them in exchange for
food. I never saw him again.”
Of course. For all Lillenna knew, Bri was still just another
name on the list of people Inter-D had lost. She had never received
the message he had tried to broadcast to her. For all the time Bri
had spent in a prison world, agonizing over whether Lillenna was
dead or alive, Lillenna had spent many more years in real time,
wondering the same thing.
“But we still needed to eat. Now it was my turn to lie
down with strange bedfellows. Through Inter-D, I contacted a few
other entities. I began sneaking back into my home world, digging
up Shee technology and selling it to other worlds. I was particularly
useful to Eskralantiala. One thing led to another, and I made my
talents known to the Miscreator.”
“I was starting to think you’d built him,” Cam shared.
“Oh!” Lillenna’s tone sharpened. “I am guilty of many
things, but of that at least my conscience is clean!”
“K.”
“I had no idea what he was, at first. I thought it was a
simple research position. He allowed me to bring you children with
me. He said we could live in his dimension for as long as I worked
for him. Gradually, however, it became apparent that my work was
more than hypothetical. He was programmed to make anthropoid
hybrids. He was interested in us for that reason. I was upset
enough when I realized he had harvested all your DNA—”
“What?”
Lillenna bit her lip.
“Did he use it?” asked Cam, feeling suddenly frightened.
“Do I have — kids?”
“You did,” Lillenna murmured. “Each wave of soldiers
was…” She drew a tiny breath. “Descended from us.”
Cam didn’t know how to feel. She stared.
Robotically, her mother explained, “The weaker links are
composted to grow wheat or fed as protein to the survivors. It
does — did — mean we looked to other worlds for nourishment
less often. Really, though, I think the Miscreator was attempting

247
some sort of — irony, perhaps? — in making all of them eat the
weaker ones. Yes, your DNA was harvested and used to create new
anthropoid hybrids. And if I had not hidden you, you would have
been indirectly fed to your children. They were fed to their
children, and so on.”
Cam waited for the wave of grief. She felt nothing for her
nameless offspring. Nothing she could identify, at least. “But why
the mind wipe?” she asked finally, eager to move on.
“Do you understand what I have told you? You were... you
are... a mother. I was the instrument in this. And in their destruc—”
“I get why you got us out of the Miscreator, it sucks. But
why did we have to be scattered? Why couldn’t we know why?”
Lillenna wouldn’t look at her. She bit her lip for a long
moment, until it went totally pale. “My original four children
retained all of their memories.”
At her core, Cam understood instantly. It was the rest of
her that was slow to accept it.
“You newer ones had some of the same neural pathways.
Some of the same basic knowledge. But you had no true memories
because you had not yet formed any.” A tear slipped down
Lillenna’s cheek, and her face contorted. “I wanted you to
understand that I still loved you. Still wanted you. But the
Miscreator would have done to you what he did to the others. I —
I am sorry. I did the only thing I could do.”
“We’re clones?” Cam asked numbly. “I’m a clone?”
“A twin. It is the same thing. Only you were twinned
outside of the womb, unlike twins occurring in nature. Biologically,
I am still your mother, and Brionan is still your father. But you did
not come out of me. You budded off of… my original Camella.
You see, I knew many of my children would die, so I did what
parents have always done throughout history. I had more
children.”
Cam didn’t know what to say. She was furious, but she had
nowhere to direct her rage.
Lillenna seized Cam’s good hand, stroking the silver bands
on her fingers. “These were once my wedding cuffs. They
connected me to your father … before he stopped answering. I
hoped they would connect you to me in a sense. I hoped you could

248
look at them and know that someone cared enough to give them to
you.”
Cam studied her mother’s fingers. Their form was both
familiar and unfamiliar. The greenish tone in her skin made Cam’s
complexion seem warm by comparison.
“Did the church I left you in look after you?”
Cam pretended not to hear the question. “Why did Tully
get guardians?”
Lillenna blinked at her for a moment, stunned.
“Eskralantiala owed me a favor. I supplied their technology.”
“They don’t have technology.”
“Their government does.” Lillenna held up her hands, as if
defending herself from the barrage of questions. She leaned closer.
“You… know where I left Tullian…?”
Hurriedly, Cam changed the subject. “I know Carvernon,
too. He’s not a great brother. Stefana turned out alright, she’s just
really fucking sensitive. She’s studying medicine or something,
you’d be proud.”
In wonderment, Lillenna breathed deeply. “You found one
another…”
“Listen.” Cam found herself at a loss for words. That was
unusual. “Listen. I have a lot to tell you. We're just gonna take it a
little at a time.”
The chaos outside the freezer had gone suddenly still.
Moments passed in slow motion. When the doors swung open, a
chorus of screams erupted before an Inter-D soldier poked his
head in and nodded.
The base was strewn with the familiar sights of the
battlefield. Kristi and several other soldiers had apparently been
called in from Inter-D headquarters; Kristi was directing the
wounded toward a portal to the clinic. Xel helped someone limp
there. Cam saw Andrew briefly, who nodded at her. She also saw
Carver and Ruby carrying out a wounded man, unconscious and
panting with the shallow breaths of the doomed.
Cam felt someone looking at her. She glanced sharply. It
was Jerry. She thought about this for a time, and finally admitted to
herself that he must have never wanted to sleep with her. Nothing
in his plan had given him the opportunity to do so. Which meant…

249
he had been doing something unbelievably kind for her. Her
stomach sank.
While looking at Jerry, Cam nodded to one side before
stepping in that same direction, around a corner. She began
programming her D-gun.
Jerry soon appeared at her side, curious. Then he saw her
open a portal.
“It’s your world,” Cam whispered.
With a look of gratitude, Jerry extended a hand to shake.
She pretended he’d wanted a high five.
“Hurry up,” she said.
Jerry leaped and vanished. Cam closed the portal. “Good
luck, man.”

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8
Lenovra.
Back when he’d been trapped in a prison world, Bri hadn’t
often used both bone swords at once. They tended to get in each
other’s way. There was only one situation in which they worked
together well, and that was crossing them to stop a heavier weapon
from coming down on him. He hadn’t been the only prisoner to
improvise what he could from a corpse.
In Elvin fashion, Nulan’s sword was most likely thin and
relatively lightweight, but it was without a doubt vastly superior to
a pair of sharpened bones. Longer. Stronger. Nulan had another
advantage, as well: his sight and his superior hearing.
On the other hand, Bri's height gave him a longer reach, as
well. That might be enough to make him an evasive target. He also
might be able to guess Nulan’s next move by the appearance of his
soul. Just possibly.
Draw blood, Bri told himself. Draw blood but don’t be exposing
yourself.
Spectators lined the walls. The sun had thoroughly warmed
the stones of the palace floor. Bri gripped them with his bare feet.
He could still feel which windows the light radiated from. He paced
around Nulan, trying to get Nulan between himself and the
sunshine. Then he might feel when Nulan’s shadow passed over
him.
“Are you ready to die, Fourthfall?”
Bri paused. No one had ever referred to his fallenness
before. “My name,” he said, “is Brionan, lord of this hall, and I will
not answer to the likes of you.”
Someone called out, “Begin.”
Nulan barely moved. Bri jumped back and heard the
whistle of a blade flit past his throat. He slashed back. One of the
bone swords seemed to connect with Nulan’s arm, the other
grazing an ear.

251
 Bri’s wrist suddenly stung and a bone sword clattered to
the floor. He moved to block with his other sword, and this
thwarted Nulan’s next attack. Bri swung his disabled arm. It barely
connected with Nulan, who briefly skipped back.
He heard his opponent laugh softly.
Already, Bri was down to one sword and bleeding. They
would both need to act quickly now.
Nulan charged. Bri sensed him coming a split second
before he leaned to one side, groping for Nulan’s hand. In disbelief
that he'd found warm flesh and not a cold blade, he guided Nulan's
sword arm upward and stabbed Nulan just under the arm socket.
Something warm squirted out onto his hand.
The voices exclaiming all around told Bri he’d dealt a
serious blow. A wave of relief rushed over him. Nulan tried to twist
free. Bri gripped his hand, held the bone sword steady in his ribs.
Nulan gave a soft cry. His sword clanged sharply on the floor.
Doubt crept into Bri’s mind. He watched the outrage,
humiliation, and terror flicker one after another over Nulan’s spirit.
It was time to finish this. Time to free his weapon and deliver a few
more lethal blows. But Bri did not move. Nobody breathed.
A little cry escaped Nulan’s lips.
He felt his opponent’s grip on the sword weaken.
Releasing his bone sword, Bri took the blade. A burst of rage gave
him the strength to do the rest, but he did it sloppily.
The white specter of Nulan suffered, then vanished like a
stone into a well. His light form crumpled to the floor at Bri's feet,
hardly making any sound.
A desolate ball of guilt knotted in Bri’s stomach. Every
hateful thing Nulan had done and said, every despicable thing he
might have done if he had won, did nothing to balance the
contemptible evil on Bri’s side. He heard another clatter. His hands
were empty now.
Somberly, someone announced, “Lord Brionan is
victorious.”
The people swept toward him, some to remove Nulan’s
body, others to bind Bri’s wound. Someone patted his shoulder
and said, “Well done, my lord.” Finding himself in a chair, he

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focused on breathing and remaining still. He couldn’t let them see
him vomit.
“Shall we bring the witch here, my lord?”
He mumbled, “Yes, and bring her son, too.” Then: “I do
not want to see Obyn.”
“…Who will execute him, my lord?”
Now Bri almost did vomit. He didn’t want to kill anyone
ever again, not even by proxy. “No one,” he said. “Let Nulan’s
blood be the last to spill in these halls.”

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9
Hunter was the first to arrive at Shayla. He took a running
leap at Bri, who clung to him for dear life.
“Too big. Too big!” Hunter yelled, writhing in the bear
hug. “Just a little!”
Bri tried to loosen his grip but found his fingers, hands,
and wrists had gone stiff with anxiety. He had to pry himself free.
Ember arrived not long after. With heartbroken laughter,
she met Hunter halfway across the room and fell to the floor,
kissing him.
“Mommy, you cry!”
Bri had never felt more assured that these two were his
family. As he pushed himself out of his chair, disabled arm
throbbing, and strode toward her, he could almost recall the smell
of Ember’s hair. He gave no thought to who saw or heard. The
thought of her intoxicated him, made his head spin and his blood
run hot.
“I can’t live here anymore,” Ember blurted before he
could reach her. She seemed totally unaware of his passion.
Confused, almost reeling, he waited for her to go on. “I don't feel
safe here. Everyone hates us. I've been talking to Gakhrrud about
other dimensions similar to mine, and … as soon as I know where
we're going, we're leaving. Hunter and me.”
“Grand. I'll go with you.”
“Are you sure? Here you get to be a king. I'm picking a
world that has Chippewa people. We're going to learn their
language and, like, their ways and... warn them if any white people
show up. You won’t belong there any more than I belong here.”
“I'll go with you,” he repeated, gently, earnestly. He was
already thinking about who he would appoint to take his place.
She was clearly excited, but she asked, “What about your
wife?”

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 Lillenna. The inivisible, inaudible phantom who watched
his isolation with utter passivity. He suddenly despised her. He
would leave her behind with the blood undoubtedly running
through the cracks in the floor. What wife? he almost retorted, but
still, the words stuck in his throat.
“I'll think about it,” Ember murmured. "You think about it.
Okay?”
Her hand touched his. It was all he would be thinking of.

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10
Things had slowed down at the Inter-D clinic. Stef and
Joshua had been assigned to sterilizing the hospital beds. As he
laughed at her attempt to acquire Patois, he paused, studying her.
“Stefana, do ya feel this is really your vocation?”
Her smile weakened. “I do not know anymore.”
“I tink my first vocation is to find a good wife and raise
Catholic children.”
“I feel that call, too,” she said with longing. Then she
blushed. “Oh, I mean to find a good husband, of course!”
“Stefana, I think you would make a very good wife.
Provided we get along with each other's families, ya unnastan. And
if prayer and discernment confirm it.”
Her voice was tiny. “...Really?” Suddenly she felt as if
something very big were happening without her fully grasping what
it was. “Wait. I am sorry. What are you saying?”
With a flicker of doubt at the question, Joshua pressed,
“Will ya pray over it?”
Peace flooded through Stef. “Yes,” she said softly.
The clinic doors whooshed open and Dr. Solomon strode
toward them. “There's been an attack on an ally world, plus lots of
refugees from some other one. They're sending the wounded here.
This is not a drill!”
Stef and Joshua hurried to get the cleaning supplies out of
the way and wash their hands. They were able to meet the new
patients as they stumbled into, or were carried through, the doors.
“Yo, Stef!”
Stef suppressed a groan when she saw Cam. “Not now,
Camella...!”
“Oh, it's not about that.” Cam grinned and held up both
her hands. Waved all ten fingers. Stef gaped for a moment. “Take
as long as you need. I'll be out in the hallway.”

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 For a moment, Stef had forgotten that Cam had been
missing. “You are alive.”
“One of me is, at least!”
Stef wasn't sure she understood the humor. “And you have
regrown your fingers.”
“Like I said. Got a lot to tell ya. And I'll be in the hallway.”
“Right... Camella, I am glad you are alive.”
“Me too, toots!”
Stef blinked and went back to work.

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11
Carver wheeled a wounded man into the clinic, careful to
stay out of everyone's way. As he was planning his exit, he noticed
Col. Balzac being admitted.
Hot rage overtook him at the sight of the man. It wasn't
just Balzac and what he'd done. It was Todd and what he had done.
Carver stalked toward the colonel. Balzac was rasping. He'd been
stung by a foot soldier, and the venom's effects were reaching his
chest.
Father Marneni rushed by, and Balzac raised one finger,
calling out weakly. “Father! Priest...!”
Marneni reached the bed in the same moment that Carver
did. “Tell him, Balzac. Tell him you beat a woman to rape her.”
Marneni glanced at Carver in alarm, then back at the
patient. Balzac feigned shock and weakly shook his head, looking at
them imploringly.
“Tell him you ruined her career afterward.”
“No,” Balzac wheezed. He began to cry.
“I saw you,” Carver growled. God had seen, too. That
Balzac would play the victim, even now, made him want to throttle
the man and get it over with. He brushed the thought aside. He
waited.
Balzac's lungs were seizing up. Dakarai, who was admitting
him, shouted out: “We got respiratory failure, here! He need
intubation!”
Father Marneni leaned close. “My son, hold yourself
accountable and seek grace.”
Balzac was turning red. Marneni began to pray over him.
Even now, Carver marveled, the colonel cared more about
his image than his soul. Maybe he didn’t think he had one. As
Dakarai rushed to find an intubator that wasn't in use, Carver and
Marneni watched Balzac's eyes bulge, his lips turn blue... his heart
stop.

258
 Carver stepped back. Shook his head. Marneni closed
Balzac's eyes.
As Carver turned around, he realized Kristi had been
standing behind him. He hadn’t felt it because, even now, her eyes
were fixed on Balzac. He took in her wiry frame, her overworked
biceps, her shaved head, and realized she had spent the last year
trying to look stronger. But she looked weaker than he’d ever seen
her. To his surprise, she didn’t shrink from him. She hugged him.
He wrapped her up tightly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Stefana approach
Balzac and reach under his collar. A Lenovra gateway hung there…
the gateway? She held a finger to her lips. She drew the chain over
Balzac’s head, wrapped it in a ball, and tucked it into her pocket.

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12
Lillenna stood outside the clinic's glass doors, her hungry
eyes searching for a glimpse of her children. “Stefana is so
beautiful,” she marveled. “And Carvernon has grown so tall.”
Cam leaned back on the bench behind her. “So I didn't get
my loud voice from you, huh?”
“It skipped a generation.”
Andrew emerged from the clinic, wiping his hands with a
paper towel. Cam jumped to her feet. “Oi! You're alive!”
He did such a good job of hiding his feelings, she almost
couldn't tell how pleased he was. He gave her a long, sideways
glance. “What's it to you?”
“Uhh, I just… didn't know you were that scrappy.”
A grin appeared briefly and then disappeared. “Can I join
you for a minute? Kinda tired.”
“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes, but her animosity was
gone.
They settled down on opposite ends of the bench. He
noticed Lillenna watching him curiously. “Hi. I'm Andrew. I like to
think I'm your daughter's friend.”
“Still?” asked Cam. “Why?” When he only looked down,
she mumbled, “Yeah, he's my friend. And I don't deserve him.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Andrew,” murmured
Lillenna. A slight smile curved her lips. “I apologize for my little
girl. She hasn't been alive long.”
“You ain't kidding,” Cam said through gritted teeth. If
she'd been cloned from the original Cam at age eleven, then she
was only about six years old. This rapidly became a comforting
thought when she remembered all that six-year-olds were allowed
to get away with.
“Excuse me,” said Lillenna. Carver was approaching the
clinic doors now. Before he could reach them, they parted for
Lillenna, and she rushed toward him. As the doors slid back

260
together, Andrew and Cam watched their muted exchange through
the glass. It was mere moments before Carver bent down and
swept her into his arms.
In the ambulatory, Ron Schuster stopped a few paces from
the bench. When Cam saw him, she took a running leap in his
direction. “I lived, bitch!”
Ron laughed. “I'm glad. Hey, Lucado.”
“Hey.” Andrew watched wistfully.
Cam didn't get a chance to show off her new hand. Setting
her back on her feet, Ron told her the news. “Inter-D and the
P.T.M. are forming a permanent alliance. They're just putting
everything behind them.”
“Great.”
“No, not great, Cammy. They still have D-hops
incarcerated for life. You were almost one of them. Everyone I've
been talking to is outraged that Arons is going to sweep the
P.T.M.'s blatant xenophobia under the rug. This is a huge
opportunity to get him out of power. Things are about to get bad
around here.”
“But I can help. It–”
“I'm sorry. I wanted you to hear it from me first. I gotta
go.” He dug an envelope out of a satchel at his side, handing it to
her. “And you gotta go, too.”
He stepped around her as she opened the envelope. She
read the letter for .01 seconds.
“Discharged?” she yelled. “That’s it?! Just… discharged?!”
Ron did not look back as she ripped the paper to shreds. She tried
to throw the pieces at him, but they only danced lazily to the floor.
“You were wrong!” she shouted after him. “Arons wasn't the one
using us and throwing us out like garbage! It's you! It's you!”
Ron didn't answer, didn't look back. He kept his head
down and hurried away. With an angry growl, Cam whirled on
Andrew. Her vision blurred with tears. “I don't want to live with
my family! They have issues, I have issues! Snobby elves
everywhere, they all think I'm an abomination because I don't want
to wear a dress! All I ever do with my dad is constantly fight! I can't
do it! I know I need to go someday, but not now! I'm not ready!”

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 “You could stay with my parents.” Andrew looked as
surprised as she felt at the offer.
“Really?” she sniffed.
“Sure. They help people out all the time. They won't care.
They will make you go to church, though.”
“Oh. Church is where... it happened to me. I don't think I
can do that, either.”
“What if I stayed with you the whole time?” Again,
Andrew seemed like he couldn't believe what he was saying.
“So... I... the sexually constipated maybe-lesbian you're in
love with... am moving in with you?”
A half-smile tugged at his lips. “What could go wrong?”
She tried to return the smile. She wiped her nose.

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13
Miscreator.
Miklos was bandaging the gash in his arm. Nearby, the
mangled and tangled body of a mantid slumped next to a pile of
rubble. It moved oddly, yet without life. And then Amadeus threw
it off of himself.
“What now?” asked Miklos.
“If we are in a simulated brain, we ought to find the brain
stem. The enemies of the P.T.M. must not be permitted to persist.”
Miklos nodded wistfully and took a swig from his water
canteen.
Plodding behind the relentless robot, while lugging
weapons and other equipment, was exhausting. Miklos tried to
view it as a challenge. He would come out of this stronger than
ever. And with some good stories, too.
They were making their way back to the ship, or whatever
remained of it, when something clattered behind them. Both
whirled. Miklos gaped, Ami took aim.
“Wait, wait, wait, Captain! I can't believe it...”
Struggling from the wreckage of the cryobank, the wound
in his head still healing, was the creature Lillenna had been begging
so fervently to revive. He looked around in a daze. When he saw
Ami and Miklos, he shied away, but didn't quite seem to recognize
them.
“Hello,” said Miklos, extending a hand. “We are friends.”
The creature looked at Miklos' hand suspiciously, then at
him. “Have you been here before?”
“You do not remember us?” Miklos couldn't believe their
good luck. He glanced back at Ami. “He does not remember us!”
“There is no reason for him to remember us. Therefore
there is also no reason for him to distrust us, but for some reason,
he does.”

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 Again, Miklos extended a friendly hand to the creature.
“This is Captain Amadeus. I am Miklos.”
D’jii gingerly clasped Miklos’ wrist, but he looked skittish
as a deer. “I am D’jii. Why do I feel you are dangerous, if we have
never met?”
“I don’t know,” Miklos lied. “We are friends of Lillenna.”
“Lillenna…” D’jii’s expression was blank, but he seemed
more at ease. “Who is that? The name makes me feel…”
“What do you remember?” wondered Miklos.
D’jii shook his head, slowly at first, then more fervently.
“Nothing. Nothing! Why don’t I remember?”
“You don’t remember anything, but you have feelings
about us and our friend Lillenna?” Miklos laughed and turned to
the robot. “This is amazing!”
Ami spoke over Miklos. “We have come to destroy the
Miscreator.”
D’jii’s eyes widened. “Yes. I don’t quite understand, but
that sounds… good. I am at your service in this mission... but... we
will never reach the core. There are too many drones.”
Amadeus took a step forward. “You will lead the way. We
will ensure your success.”
Still, D'jii looked on them with suspicion. Miklos almost
thought the thing did remember them after all. His brain most
assuredly did not. He'd had to regrow all of it. But the way he
stood, the way he flinched when Amadeus moved, said that part of
him knew these were the men who had killed him.
Finally, D'jii repeated, “You know Lillenna?”
“I served with her daughter!” boasted Miklos. “She loves
me. It is foolish but very sweet.”
“Where is Lillenna now?”
“With her daughter. We will reunite you!”
D'jii must have concluded that he didn't have many
options. “I will... show you the way.”
They took D'jii back to Chrysostom. Amadeus threw off
fallen beams and broke off damaged pieces as they climbed into
the cockpit through the broken windshield. Miklos glanced
nervously at Ami as the engines revived. But though the ship
shuddered, she began to rise.

264
 “Amadeus to Chrysostom. Play Mozart, 'Ave verum corpus,
S. 44.'” A perfect blend of awed choral voices filled the air. A steel
cord snaked from the console, connecting to Ami's chest. He let go
of the cockpit controls. Prepared a rifle in each hand. “Galanis,
reload your weapon. D'jii, I await your directions.”
D'jii pointed a clawed finger. A cool breeze, muffling the
music somewhat, whipped in their faces as they accelerated. Miklos
lowered his goggles.
There did not seem to be many mantids still living in the
Miscreator's neurons. They must have all been lured out to the
ziggurat and killed. Drones hovered up to them, trying to reach
through the smashed windshield. Miklos and Ami didn't let them
get that close.
“Like shooting skeet!” Miklos laughed a booming laugh.
“D'jii. Do you still know where we are going?”
“You will see the trees begin to narrow,” said D'jii, “for a
darkness that closes in upon them. At this crux is the power
source. I do not know what will become of us when it is
destroyed.”
“Captain,” asked Miklos, beginning to feel uneasy, “do we
know how to use the portal turret?”
“Possibly.”
Possibly.
Miklos shot down a drone. “Maybe we should test it.”
“Focus on your orders, Galanis.”
D'jii thrust his claw at the horizon again. “Do you see it?”
Two black skies converged at a point ahead. Ami adjusted
their course slightly. As they veered toward their destination,
something massive whipped out at them. The ship dropped six
feet, tilting.
“A basilisk has the starboard wing,” said Ami. The
console's distressed blinking and beeping somewhat lessened the
calming effects of the choral music.
Another violent jerk.
“We are in descent.”
Miklos closed his eyes. Forced himself to open his eyes.
Impact sent a strobe of tree-like shapes bursting through the

265
darkness, but he saw no monsters, nothing to shoot. Then the
liquid starting pouring into the cockpit.
Amadeus unhooked himself from the console. “Wait
here,” he said.
“The water is not safe,” warned D'jii, even as the snake
creatures burst out at them. Ami shot one, rammed another with
the butt of a gun, and strode down the submerged bow of the ship.
There were more basilisks than Miklos could shoot. D'jii
lunged forward, stinging them with his long tendril, even tearing at
them with his bare hands. The two fought side-by-side in silence
fraught with tension.
“I am reloading,” Miklos announced.
D'jii leaped over him like a frantic mother bear, but though
he did his best, it was not enough. Before Miklos could finish
reloading, his newfound ally was snapped in a frightful pair of jaws.
There was no way he could survive. But Miklos wasn't thinking
about that.
“Hang on, D'jii!”
Miklos swung his rifle around just in time to see it, and
one of his arms, disappear down a basilisk throat.

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14
Resistance from the water grew as Amadeus descended
into it. Tails writhed all around him, but he would not be deterred.
He took this sudden and violent resistance as confirmation that
D'jii had led them to the right place. A small snake curled around
his arm. He punched it through the throat of a large one. Stepping
through the cloud of blood, Amadeus approached the final,
flickering tree stump at the very tip of the Miscreator.
An auxiliary cord stretched out to meet him.
It perfectly matched the plug in Ami's heart.
Note to Berkeley: Your mistrust in me was justified. Now correcting
for errors.
As he fired on the gargantuan basilisk streaking toward
him, he and the Miscreator connected, and time seemed to slow to
a halt. Amadeus suddenly comprehended a flood of data. The
Miscreator's very simple objectives and how it had achieved them.
The decades of work it had done. The gap in its programming
perfectly complemented that in Ami's. The Miscreator was
suddenly aware of what guiding principles it had lacked. Their
digital signatures matched. They united into one machine.
The Miscreator now understood, thanks to Amadeus its
conscience, that it had only been intended to project possibilities,
not create them, and that its long-abandoned and powerful
technologies could not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. It
understood that it had to destroy itself.
The neuron trees burst to life in a ripple that spanned the
world. Amadeus arched backward. As the light went out all around
him, so did the light in his red eyes fade, and the dimension
returned to its original state: inky black.

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15
Lenovra.
Stef blew out a deep breath. After finishing one of the
longest work shifts of her life, she had taken the last hour to cry,
but the tears she wiped from her sore cheeks were happy ones. She
padded across the cool stones to her father's chambers where she
knew he would already be waiting for her.
Her joy must have been contagious. There was a hopeful
smile on his face when she burst into her father’s chamber.
“What's happened?” asked Bri, who had surely seen her
coming.
“Hello, Ember,” Stef said distantly, hardly glancing at her.
Stef threw her arms around her father's shoulders and kissed his
cheek. “I have so much to tell you and I want to tell it well! I will
begin with the dullest news first. The P.T.M. will stop imprisoning
people like us. They say the Miscreator may be totally defeated.
Camella is alive, although I have already lost track of her again, I
am afraid. And I think I am getting marr—”
“But,” Bri interrupted, “did they... did they learn
anything... about what happened to your mother?”
Stef beamed. She did her best to prepare him.

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16
Hunter awoke with a shiver. Reaching out in the darkness,
he felt the wiry fur of Cash and pulled the pup close. Cash
stretched and nuzzled against him, grateful for the body heat.
Despite this, Hunter could not drift back to sleep. He knew what
the sudden cold meant.
“Mommy?” he called out.
No answer. There never was when this happened.
He glanced over to the space where his mother usually
slept. Her dream catcher still hung on the wall, but she was gone.
Perhaps she was just outside, but she wouldn't hear him. Even
Cash would not wake. Daddy always saw to that.
Finian Byrne loomed over Hunter. A sliver of moonlight
from the window illuminated him. Though the rotten meat dripped
from his bones, his druidic battle robes were still mostly intact.
Hunter could see the stain from the gunshot wound. All around
Byrne, the shadows of past druids loomed, their features obscured,
but the bright points of their eyes most assuredly fixed on Hunter.
“You did an excellent job killing the bird and the pony for
me,” said Byrne. Unlike Hunter's foggy breath, his did not appear
as an icy cloud in the air. “I'm almost ready to forgive you, my
boy.”
Hunter squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't like to think
about the animals he'd killed. He didn't like to look at Byrne, either.
Both made his stomach feel strange. “Stop it, Daddy.”
“That boy you played with today. He was cruel to you,
wasn't he?”
“Yes...”
“An awful boy. No one would miss him.”
“Please, Daddy, I so sleepy.”
“Do it.”
“No!”
“Do it, or Cash will be next!”

269
 Tears stung Hunter's eyes and he squeezed Cash's ribcage.
The dog whimpered in his sleep.
The dripping was close now. Byrne's fetid flesh was in his
face, repulsive, and something pink and slimy dripped out of his
nose cavity onto the pillow. “You shot me, Hunter! Your own
father! Do you love that cruel child more than me? You're a bad
boy!”
“I don't wanna do it!”
Byrne kept shouting. Screaming. The elves were going to
take him from his mother. They were going to kill his mother. The
other druids were screaming, too. Their Gaelic was strange and
mostly incomprehensible, but their hatred filled the room with a
powerful, awful vibration. Hunter released Cash and pressed his
hands to his ears. “Go away, Daddy! Go away, everyone! Go away!
Go away!”
The room was suddenly silent. Sighing with relief, Hunter
knew by the sudden warmth in the air that Byrne was gone. So was
the pink goop that had dripped onto the pillow, though a damp
mark remained.
Cash sat up, as if startled by something. Whatever kept
him asleep had ceased, too. He stretched again and curled against
Hunter in a tight little ball.
Though they always came back, Hunter was sure he could
sleep for now. And he did, quite peacefully. Daddy did things like
that sometimes.

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17
Lillenna stepped through the portal. Her entire body
trembled imperceptibly. Not from lack of energy. There was
entirely too much energy buzzing in her head, calling to mind the
childhood memory of sprawling under the tree where she would
read about crude human experiments in the electro-stimulation of
the dead. How her life had come to mirror the etchings in those
pages. For years innumerable, she had been worse than dead. Now,
as she walked through the Shee palace with Carver, she was alive
with wildly aimless hope.
Gaiskosk faces appeared in the open archways. She did not
know them, but she knew their features. They were her clansmen.
They must have guessed who she was, but no one spoke a word.
They stared and glared as she passed by.
Carver nodded at the chamber ahead. “This is it.”
Lillenna’s heart was drumming as she padded closer. She
couldn’t see inside yet. But she could hear a woman’s voice:
“What’s wrong? What do you see, Bri?”
Bri. Who said you could call him that? That is my name for him!
She stepped into the threshold and froze.
Her husband, gaunt and ragged, bent forward in a wooden
chair. His shirt was partially opened, exposing a chest like a marble
statue’s save for its rising and falling. He wore a blindfold. Why?
To one side knelt Stef, who beamed at her mother with tears in her
eyes. To the other side was a human Lillenna didn't recognize, but
when they looked at each other, Lillenna knew this girl felt the
same jealousy she felt. Indignant, she wondered what gave this
human the right. What had they done together?
The human girl practically fled from the room. Stef and
Carver left, too. They might as well have vanished into oblivion;
the cosmos seemed to narrow to a point. There was only her
husband.

271
 He was motionless. Then he suddenly drew a sharp gasp,
pushing himself up. His voice was small. “Is it really you?”
She lunged at him. He lunged out of the chair, so tall and
lumbering and clumsy. For a moment, she saw a bloodied bandage
around his torso, and felt a pang as if the wound were her own.
Whatever had happened, the wound did not stop him from
throwing his arms around her. When he dropped to his knees, he
pulled her down with him. His taste, his scent filled her head with
thoughts of before. The feeling of youth. Their lips fumbled
against each other. They were crying. Sobbing. His hands ran over
her face. Her neck. Her arms. Her waist. Her legs. It was as if he
were making sure she was whole. Real. She lifted the blindfold
from his eyes. They were less silvery than she remembered, dull
white statue’s eyes. They searched but never found her.
“What has happened to you?” she implored.
“Time enough for that later.” He kissed her again. A
proper kiss this time. It sent an icy thrill through her veins,
followed by a rush of heat. “Lillenna.” He was whispering her
name into her ear. They were young again, with nothing but
future—
She recoiled suddenly. “I should have waited for you to
return,” she said. But then she buried her face in his neck. It was
harder to be miserable now that she could breathe his scent. Had
he always smelled this good? “I might have known that you were
trapped, not dead, but I will make this right…”
“You didn't find another husband, did you?!”
“No! Nothing like that!”
“Then I don't care!” He laughed angrily. “Don’t frighten
me like that!”
“I can fix your eyes.”
“Never!” She realized he knew why she was offering. Not
out of love for him, but in writhing, ingratiating penance. “Never
try to earn my love, creena. You already have it!” Rising, he lifted her
in one arm. “I will be blind forever before I make you a debtor.”
Still holding her, he reached out, grasping at nothing,
breaking her heart as he searched the room he could not see. He
was looking for the couch, she assumed. She fought the stream of
tears. Gulping hard, she stretched her feet down to the cold stone

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floor, taking him by the hand and leading him over to the downy
cushions. She had not been there when he'd escaped the prison,
but she was here now. Here to care for him. They settled down
together, each the slave of the other.
“I was wrong to join Inter-D,” he admitted. “If I’d listened
to you, you would never have had to seek out the Miscreator. Our
children… I will need your forgiveness, too,” he said cryptically.
She thought of the young woman who’d been kneeling
beside him. It made her sick. “I do not want to know.”
His face contorted. “You will have to know. It’s about
Tullian.”
“Camella told me,” she choked.
For a long time they lay together. The depth of their grief
was too profound for words. But they were not alone in it. Not
anymore. Lillenna rested her cheek on Bri’s shoulder and watched
the sunlight creep across the room. She wondered what Bri
watched during these long hours.
“I cannot care for anyone properly,” he whispered.
“You can do no wrong in my eyes,” she whispered.
“Nor you in mine.”
She kissed him again. As his hands slid over her body, she
suddenly felt perfect, a godlike beauty. He removed her coat. She
helped him with his clothes. They were home. They folded into
one another.

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“Since, therefore, we have now been justified by His blood, much more shall we
be saved by Him from the wrath of God. For if, while we were enemies, we were
reconciled to God by the death of His Son, much more, now that we are
reconciled, shall we be saved by His life. More than that, we also rejoice in God
through our Lord Jesus Christ, through Whom we have now received
reconciliation.”
— Romans 5:9-11 (ESV)

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