78.
Empires of the Dead

This, Riddick found himself reflecting, was more like the girl he’d expected to find.

“To be fair,” Jack said, her expression turning damned pert the moment the doors closed, “this place is scary as shit. You know how many worlds these guys have burned down?”

“I do now,” he told her, reining in a smirk for the moment, “thanks to your memories.”

He wondered how upset she would be about that. He couldn’t think of a more intimate act he’d ever engaged in with anyone. There was a real possibility that she’d feel violated when she realized just how deep into her memories he had gone.

“Which are all back in my head now, too.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Almost all of them.”

She didn’t seem bothered at all. Interesting.

“What’s still missing?” He had some strong suspicions, but if he was right about what, and why, he wasn’t going to clue her in.

“Well, among other things, I still don’t know what ‘Donna Noble has left the library’ means or what it has to do with Kyra.”

There was a soft rustle from the vaulted ceiling above them. “Sounds like your sister thinks you should let it be,” he said, sidestepping the issue of what had happened to Kyra for the moment. The phrase, itself, was opaque to him.

Jack’s sister. There was a crazy, twisted thought. The girl had gone out and adopted herself four siblings… an esper older brother named Todd, an older sister that he still needed to tell her had died… a telepathic crustacean…

…and an eldritch horror.

Excuse me? But he could hear amusement in the creature’s mental voice.

C’mon, he told Her. You know human beings can’t even look right at you without it breaking their brains a little.

But it was, he thought, a perfect example of who the girl in front of him, no longer afraid of him, truly was. Confronted with members of a mind-bending transdimensional species that most people would instinctively want to flee from or kill, she’d done the most purely Jack thing of all…

She’d made friends with them.

He couldn’t entirely fathom how she did that. With them, or with members of humanity. There was a wellspring of trust within her that hadn’t stopped flowing despite every dire situation she’d found herself in and every genuine monster she’d faced. And she’d been confronted by some nasty ones.

She’d also stayed friends with the Apeiros after they had lifted memories from her mind on multiple occasions and even puppeteered her body. Maybe that was why she seemed so nonchalant about what he and the Quasi-Dead had done.

“I’m trying to let it be,” Jack said, pulling him back out of his musings. “But, I mean… could you?”

“I’m not the one who’d probably go off half-cocked if she knew too much,” he told her. “Even you agreed to have those parts of your memory wiped, when you knew what was in them.”

The girl was frowning at him. “Do you know?”

“Yeah.” He wasn’t especially thrilled about it. But he wasn’t going to derail everything. For now, at least.

“So everybody knows but me,” she grumbled, finally looking irked.

Riddick shook his head, starting to remove his armor. He might not need to wear it every time he left his chambers anymore, now that he had a truce with the Moribund in place…

…or he might. The last Lord Marshal had apparently never stepped out of the rooms without his on.

But then again, back then, the Moribund hadn’t cared how much intrigue, debauchery, or backstabbery its—

His, the nameless one interjected.

—his vassals had engaged in, as long as they obeyed his commands.

“Hardly anybody knows, Jack.” he looked over at her as he set pieces of armor on his desk, weighing her reactions. “Most of the people who figure it out die… at least, the ones who are too good to stand by and let it all keep going.”

She frowned at him. “So, what, you can know because you’re not good enough? That’s bullshit, Riddick.”

There you are. She still believed in him. They just might have a fighting chance to get through this. “Maybe ‘altruistic’ would be a better word. You’re the one who tried to throw herself into a swarm of flying piranhas to save Shazza, not me. Maybe none of us want to see you succeed at that kind of suicidal fuckery.”

Jack was, he was glad to see, considering his words. After a moment, she sighed and nodded. “Yeah, you probably don’t have ‘impulse control problems,’ right?”

“Most of the time? No.” Done removing his armor, he sat down in his chair, watching her. “So here’s the thing. You got too many bulls-eyes all over you for me to just cut you loose. Almost as many as me. Toombs. The Federacy. The Quintessa Corporation. They’d all want to use you. Use you up.”

She nodded. Poor kid didn’t look thrilled, but she seemed to accept what he was telling her.

“Might just be that this is the safest place for you to be right now.” Not to mention that he didn’t want to let her go…

“That’s a really disturbing thought,” she said, glancing around his chambers. He hadn’t made a whole lot of changes to them since he’d taken them over; about the biggest “change” he’d made was pulling down a few hangings depicting bizarre acts of torture and wrapping them around a gruesome statue that couldn’t be removed without a jackhammer. The place was grim, someone’s dark, twisted fantasy—

Oh yeah. That’d help her some.

“Tell me about the Tenth Crusade,” he said, hiding a smile when her expression turned quizzical.

“In real life, there’s never been one,” she said. “I mean, there were a lot more than ten crusades in the Middle Ages on old Earth, but the ones that were numbered only officially go up to eight. Some historians call Lord Edward’s Crusade the Ninth Crusade, though. But no Tenth Crusade ever happened… so a lot of stories were written about one happening.”

“The ship, though.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She shrugged and sat down on the foot of the bed. “You need a second chair.”

“Liked to keep everybody I had to let in here standing. But yeah. I’ll get you one. So. The ship.”

“It’s one of the three missing Phase I Star Jumpers from the early days of Federacy colonization. But you probably remember that from my memories if nowhere else.”

So she did know what he’d done. Odd that she was so casual about it, especially given some of what she had to know he’d seen. More than seen, really.

“I saw ’em, and I probably still have ’em in my head, but I have to go digging for ’em in a way I don’t with my own memories. How ’bout you fill in the details from yours?”

He could tell that she still wondered why he was so interested, but she shrugged it off and started talking. “This Allsense-VR game designer from the late twenty-first century got super rich off of a game he’d named Emperoi Thanatou, which he mistranslated into English as ‘Empires of the Dead’ even though it actually meant ‘death dealers.’ Huh…”

She frowned for a second before continuing.

“It was set in early fourteenth century Europe, North Africa, and Asia Minor, and players could take on roles as knights, lords, and pilgrims, or the non-European equivalents. Everybody’s goal in the game was to get control of a city called Jerusalem, which had just been made part of the Mediterranean Interdiction Zone about half a decade before the game came out, and nobody could even visit anymore.”

“So his game was about a fictional Tenth Crusade, to a place people had only just been barred from accessing in reality?”

“I guess. He never called it that, but yeah. The game ran for more than a decade, one of those worldwide bestsellers with almost five billion user accounts, but then it got banned by more than a dozen major nations because it was ‘radicalizing’ players, and there were some incidents in which people who played on opposing sides in-game attacked each other in real life. But he was already a trillionaire from it, and he decided he was going to use his money to build a ship and get a colony charter, and go where no Earth government could tell him what to do ever again.”

Riddick realized, suddenly, that he knew a piece of the story that Jack didn’t, that nobody had let preteen Audrey MacNamera read about when she was composing her report. He’d heard of that game, and it had been popular for a reason that had nothing to do with its medieval setting: registered adult accounts could activate a module, for an additional monthly fee, that allowed their “knights” and “lords” to have lifelike Allsense-VR sex with NPC “ladies” and peasant women. Dozens of watchdog groups had been up in arms within a year of the setting’s introduction, after discovering that the sex didn’t have to be consensual and that many players were sacking villages just so they could rape NPCs. The game still existed, and Riddick had encountered more than one “club” of malcontents that still played “unlocked” editions of it for that sole purpose. But that part wouldn’t have been in any of the history books a grammar school girl had access to, especially somewhere like Deckard’s World.

“What was this trillionaire’s name?”

“Chapman Marshal.”

“Hmm.” That made sense. “So he built a ship?”

“He had to get some other trillionaires involved to get the funds together, but yeah. They got a charter to terraform and colonize Kepler-186-f. The Quintessa Corporation had just announced Isomorph Drives, and they commissioned their ship to have one but realized that, since they’d beat the terraforming equipment to Kepler-186 if it flew out on a sublight drive, they’d need to take it with them. That didn’t leave them with a whole lot of room for people.”

“Especially with how primitive cryo was back then,” Riddick mused. The ship Kyra had taken hadn’t used cryo at all, and her memories of life on it, relayed to Jack, had been cold and claustrophobic. “How’d this Marshal guy handle it?”

“He decided to get a second Star Jumper just for the terraforming equipment, and sent it ahead, but that meant they needed a shit-ton more funds than if they’d sent it out with a traditional sublight drive. He put out a call to players of his game, inviting them to ‘join the crusade’ for a fee. The ship’s captain, Bernard Covu, had already been hired, and a famous scientist, Patricia Oltuvm, was put in charge of life support and cryo. They were the only ones who didn’t have to pay… in the first round, anyway. And they were the only ones outside of Marshal and his trillionaire buddies who would be Royals on their new world.”

This was why he didn’t like people much. All those shits who wanted to turn themselves into kings. And all those dipshits who enthusiastically abetted them.

“The prices were crazy. For a billion Old Euros,” Jack continued, “you could be a ‘Lord of the Fleet,’ stay awake during the journey, have a small stateroom on the ship instead of going into cryo, and have a castle fabricated for you during colonization. For a hundred million, you could be a ‘Knight of the Legion,’ get a spot in the newest and safest kind of cryo, and have a manor fabricated for you. For ten million, you could be a ‘Gentleman of the Realm,’ travel in regular cryo, and have a cottage in one of the villages. And for one million, you could be a ‘Vassal of the Imperium,’ travel in regular cryo, and have a place in one of the Royal palaces or Lords’ castles, or be a peasant in one of the villages, at the end of the journey.”

“He get a lot of takers?” People were insane. The idea of shelling out a million Old Euros to go become a feudal serf to some random medievalist gamer…

“Yeah, but there was a problem. His game’s popularity had dropped off in a huge way with women after some big scandal hit. I couldn’t find any details about that,” Jack admitted.

Good.

“Almost everybody who signed up was male and single. There were only going to be three or four paying women on the voyage, and they were already married to other passengers.” Jack rolled her eyes. “So the demographic balance you need for a successful colony didn’t exist. At all.”

“Sounds like a problem. How’d they fix it?” It just figured that players of that game would have assumed that women would be provided for them as an amenity, rather than planning to buy passage for a female companion they already knew. Assuming they knew any women who wanted them within a hundred meters. Demme had warned him away from the game and the groups that played it, years ago, telling him that it was the kind of thing that would make it harder for him to ever bond with a real woman.

“Things got pretty sketchy,” she told him. “The charter members were asked if they wanted to pay to ‘reserve a space’ for a Lady for their household, so they’d have someone to marry and have kids with, and were told there probably wouldn’t be one if they didn’t. Some of them dropped out but most of them decided to do it. Marshal then offered the reserved spaces for free to ‘mail order brides’ trying to get out of the Second Soviet Union, as long as they agreed to marry one of his paying passengers upon arrival. That was another big scandal when that angle came out, about Marshal buying ‘brood mares’ or ‘breeders—’”

And there it was. Baked in from the beginning. Its meaning had changed over time—there had been plenty of brothels on the Armada’s ships with male “breeders” in them before this day had ended them all—but the exploitative relationship had been there from the start.

“—but they loaded up and took off for their new world just after Christmas 2101.”

“And were never seen again.”

“Yeah. They were supposed to drop beacons after each Star Jump, for future navigational purposes and as a way of verifying the success of their journey,” she continued. It must’ve been a hell of a presentation when she’d given it to her grammar school class. Erudite kid. “They dropped their last known beacon on July 1, 2102, halfway to their destination. The next one should have dropped on July 18, 2102, but it never activated, and none of the remaining beacons did, either. A probe was sent to Delubrum—sorry, that’s what they’d officially named Kepler-186-f on their charter, Delubrum—ten years later, and the terraforming had happened, so that Star Jumper had arrived, but there were no signs of any settlements. The charter was dissolved on January 12, 2203, because the standard rule is that a full century has to pass between the time a colony ship was supposed to arrive and the time that the planet’s charter is made available again.”

She frowned at that. He suspected she was thinking of the New Christy Standoff, and the fact that the New Dartmouth Settlement had stolen a chartered world out from under its rightful owners, gotten away with it, and then gotten away with massacring all but half a dozen of the people they’d robbed. Justice, of a kind, had finally been served… just far too late. If Kyra Wittier-Collins were still alive and in a position to collect, she’d nearly be a billionaire herself, thanks to the fines and settlements the Federacy had mandated three years earlier.

“Anybody ever settle on Delubrum?” he asked, shying away—again—from the subject of Kyra.

“Yeah, about fifty years later. One of the last orbital survivor groups to leave the Solar system after the Great Asian War, a group of Dutch Moluccans and Moluccans from Ambon on old Earth. They even kept the name, and after the whole New Christy Standoff, they announced that they would ‘make sure to keep seats at the table’ for the people on the Tenth Crusade if they ever arrived.”

“Ain’t gonna happen,” he told her. “We’re on the Tenth Crusade right now, so it’d be a bad day for everybody if it ever showed up there.”

The shocked look Jack gave him was priceless. He’d been waiting to see her make that face again for…

Six damned years…

“Holy fuck.” Jack looked around, sliding back off the foot of the bed and walking over to one of the walls to touch it. “That explains… Riddick, this whole ship is straddling ’verses.”

“And your friend the Moribund lives in its basement.” He almost added that it lived in the wreckage of the original engine room, but that was something Jack couldn’t know yet.

Panic crossed her features for a split second before he watched her force herself to relax. Not that he could blame her. The Moribund had tried to murder her, after all. Based on the timing, he suspected it had been in retaliation for him killing the old Lord Marshal, but he wasn’t positive. It—he—had been going on about the Apeiros stealing something from him when he’d attacked Jack, and Riddick wasn’t sure how that figured in.

“Well, I will just stay out of the basement, then,” she said, swallowing. Good. He’d struck a truce to protect her, but if the Moribund bore her any lingering hostility, it’d be better not to provoke him. “What do you think happened to it all?” Her voice had become awed again, as she looked around his chambers and contemplated their origins.

“My theory? Their Level Five Incident opened them up to being used by the Moribund.” Not that he actually could blame the creature, considering… “It—sorry, he,” he glanced up at the shadowed area where Jack’s sister perched, “took control of them, and they spun up a whole religion about him. ‘Lord Marshal’ became a kind of title, but the first one to wear it was some guy named Covu, probably that pilot you mentioned, so I’m thinking the bigwig wannabe-Royals who funded the trip didn’t survive very long. But you already picked up on how much their icons and stories are soaked in that game almost all of ’em played.”

You would be correct, the unnamed creature said. We were aware of what he was doing, but couldn’t do anything about it. It is only in the last five and a half years, by human reckoning, that we have been able to speak to humans, ourselves. For more than a day or two, anyway.

How many times, he wondered, had they tried to start such conversations with sufferers of Threshold Syndrome, only to have those humans die on them? And then two confused teenaged esper girls wandered into their starfield…

“You know,” he said, glancing up at Her for a fraction of a second before She began to overwhelm his visual cortex and he had to look away again, “talking to you would be a whole lot easier if you had a name.”

He was keeping Her and Her separated in his head, but if even one more nameless, powered female took it into her head to show up—

“Her name was stolen from Her,” Jack said.

“A ceremony that never happened, right? What’s it entail?” A mixture of confusion and sadness from above him was the only response. “You never knew what it was, did you? Can you be given a name? The way Jack here named your species?”

Perhaps. Do you have a name in mind?

“I do, yeah. I think it’s one that suits where you come from.” Hopefully it would tell her that he knew exactly what was going on, what was being hidden from Jack, and that he was—against his better judgment—joining the fucking cause. Not just to rein the Moribund and his Necromongers in, but to bring an end to the atrocity that had sent the mock-god on his vengeance quest in the first place.

And when someone like me calls something an atrocity…

“What is it?” Jack asked.

He grinned. Now for a bit of verbal sleight of hand. The girl knew way too many old twentieth-century Earth songs; she’d know this one.

“Picture yourself on a boat, on a river
With tangerine trees and marmalade skies”

Jack looked completely astonished… and delighted. She joined in, harmonizing with him as he continued the first verse.

“Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly
A girl with kaleidoscope eyes…”

Damn, he’d forgotten how much fun it could be to sing with someone else. It was something he hadn’t had a chance to do since he’d been a little kid. Before she could launch into the second verse, however, he switched gears, pointing up at her as-yet-unnamed sister and belting out the chorus.

“Lucy in the sky with diamonds,
Lucy in the sky with diamonds,
Lucy in the sky with diamonds,
Ahhhhhhh!”

Jack had dissolved into delighted laughter. He could feel “Lucy’s” amusement from above him.

Very circumspect of you, Riddick. The name is, indeed, appropriate. He knew only he could hear her words at the moment. She understood the real meaning he intended, and why he’d veiled it the way he had. Good. Jack didn’t need any more holes in her memory.

And, he noticed, she had stopped calling him Lightbringer and was using his name. Was that for his benefit or Jack’s?

“So, what do you think?” Jack asked Lucy, smiling the very smile he’d been hoping to see since he’d found her.

I accept. I will be Lucy.

“That’s settled then,” he told Jack with a grin. “Now, there are a few things I need to do to finish making this armada safe for both of you. You think you can try not to blow anything up while I’m gone?”

“While you’re making everything safe for me, can I get a shower and maybe a change of clothes?” Jack asked.

“Shower’s through there,” he said, pointing to door leading to the over-luxurious ensuite bathroom. “Clothes… I dunno. Explore the drawers and closets. The old Lord Marshal had six Ladies-in-Waiting who slept here with him. Six, for fuck’s sake… maybe one of them left something behind.”

One of them undoubtedly had; they had all accompanied him back to “his” new quarters that first night, and one of them—a woman with a shaved head, and wasn’t that fucking Freudian of him?—had attempted to seduce and assassinate him. It might have even had a chance of working if he’d actually been enjoying the sex instead of struggling with his sudden, incredible disgust and horror, and hadn’t spotted her reaching for a knife. Moments later she was dead—and he’d have let her live if she hadn’t kept trying to kill him, but there was only so long a fight could go on before he no longer gave a fuck who she kind of resembled or what they’d been doing before she’d tried to stab him—and Zhylaw’s other concubines were banished from not merely these rooms, but the Basilica as a whole. While he’d given the five survivors a chance to take their things with them as they left for other ships and other Lords, he’d never gotten around to dealing with, or throwing out, what they’d left behind. The rest of his would-be assassin’s clothes were probably still somewhere in these rooms.

A few of his nightmares, about finding Jack in the worst possible places, had involved gazing down on the corpse of the woman who’d tried to murder him and realizing that the shaved head above the slashed throat wore her face. That was among the things that he would never, ever tell Jack about, along with—

“What if nothing fits?” she asked, rescuing him from his ruminations. She had a point; the Ladies of the court had a penchant for the tight and the form-fitting. He doubted they could loan each other their outfits.

“I’ll ask your friend, Dame Vaako, who makes her dresses,” he told her, “and have them come see you.”

“Shit. Do I have to wear dresses here?”

Of course she’d hate that. She might have worn jalabiyas sometimes while staying with the Meziane family, but she’d mostly lived in pants, in defiance of the conventions of her homeworld and the Holy Man’s attempts to control her. It was, honestly, hard to imagine her in dresses, although he’d seen her wear a few in her memories… including one or two, in the last year, that he wouldn’t have minded helping her out of. The tight numbers Dame Vaako and the other Court Ladies favored were wrong for a trained fighter, anyway, especially one who wanted to kick easily.

He had the sudden intense urge to have a sparring session with her, see for himself how thoroughly Michael had trained her and whether she’d gotten at all rusty during her year of cold storage.

“Nah,” he told her. “But since that’s probably all that’s here, you tell the tailor to make whatever you want.”

Kyra had been wearing leggings, as he recalled—

He wasn’t ready to talk to her about Kyra yet. It was going to break her heart, just as the fate of the al-Walids probably would despite how they’d treated her.

But if Kyra had been wearing leggings, Jack would be able to wear them, too. He thought. There was a lot about Court culture he still hadn’t learned, hadn’t wanted to know or care about, that might be important to someone who wasn’t standing at the very top of the heap. He needed to make sure she was as close to the top as possible, herself.

You know exactly how to make sure of that, he told himself. He just didn’t know if she’d go for it.

Except, of course, that he knew how she’d spent many of her nights on Deckard’s World, once she was legally old enough to, and he knew who she’d been trying to see, trying to evoke, when she looked at almost half of the men she’d spent them with. And he had no idea why the idea of bringing all of that up, including his far too decent proposal, was making him so reticent. Tongue-tied, even.

Except that he was, in all of his past dealings with women, accustomed to playing, running a game… and this situation, this girl—

She’s almost nineteen. Really gotta start thinking of her as a woman if I’m gonna make this offer.

—needed absolute truth. No games, no lies, not even lying with the truth, as she had apparently become adept at doing under General Toal’s tutelage.

Maybe once all the pieces were in place, he’d be ready for that aspect.

Jack was studying his face. “You okay in there?”

It wasn’t time to make things messy. Not yet. He smiled at her instead. “Always. Now, I’m gonna handle some business out in the audience room, so I’m gonna close you in here. You okay with that?”

She rolled her eyes, smiling to take the edge of her reaction off. “I’ll find a way to survive.”

She was already heading for the bathroom when he closed the doors. Fortunately, he did have business to conduct, or he might have been tempted to follow her. He wasn’t sure either one of them was quite ready for that.

I really need to arrange breakfast for us, he reminded himself as he crossed the sitting room. It had been, as near as he could tell, more than a day since either of them had eaten.

“Any of my guests arrive yet?” he asked, opening the outer doors. The guards on either side, probably still feeling cowed about letting Dame Vaako slip past them, nodded and pointed to a woman in full armor standing nearby.

Well, well, well.

“Officer Lola,” he said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “C’mon in.”

77.
Sleeping Beauty, Sleeper Agent

“Tell me about the girl,” Dame Vaako said as she carefully unwound her hair.

Lord Vaako, busy removing his armor, glanced over at her with a frown. “We found her on a ship with a few dozen other passengers and crew. She almost escaped and fought better than any of the others tried to. There’s little else to tell. We converted most of the others on the way back, but she remained untouched in every way for delivery to the Lord Marshal.”

“Untouched in every way?” Dame Vaako raised an eyebrow. She was almost certain her husband never visited the Breeder Pits, but after the way that other girl, Kyra, had hung on him when they’d returned from Crematoria…

Vaako sneered. “Untouched, Chantesa. In every way. My soldiers know discipline. As do I.”

True. Even those marked as “breeders” arrived at the Basilica in decent enough shape if her husband’s ship brought them back.

In the last year, even though many of the Lords and Dames had begun to dream of making an assault on the Melpomene System, and some had even begun devising strategies to propose for such an attack, they had been held in check. Only a few ships had been allowed to launch raids on the Sol Tracks as “practice.” Chantesa had heard that there had been similar lulls in the purification of worlds, after each transition from one Lord Marshal to the next, and that it might take another year or two before their new leader either committed to the Way… or was deposed.

In the meantime, raiding parties were grudgingly allowed to go out so that the fleet could still know battle. Most of the “breeders” brought back by the other Lords after such raids had already seen hard use, some even on the verge of death. Never the ones her husband brought back. When he’d presented the girl to Riddick, she undoubtedly had been untouched.

Of course, everyone remembered what had happened the time one raiding party had brought back another girl, who closely resembled Riddick’s quarry and who had endured some hard use before being turned over to him. It had taken the raiding party more than a week to die. Chantesa still shuddered when she recalled it; they had been placed so no one in the Basilica could avoid hearing their screams, although no one could see what was being done to them. Somehow, the Riddick had found a way to make Necromongers, who were supposed to be above pain, scream… and only he, himself, had seemed immune to the horror of their suffering.

Later, she heard whispers that he had compelled the Quasi-Dead to extract all of the memories of that girl’s tortured days of captivity from her mind… and make the entire raiding party relive them from her perspective, on an infinite loop, until their own minds finally shattered. The girl herself, physically healed, converted, and with no memory of being abused, was now the wife of a Purifier on another of the Armada’s ships, and the Riddick apparently had never seen or spoken to her since.

It had been effective, though; no other raiding party since had dared take even a taste when they found a doppelgänger for the girl he’d sought. He always insisted, she’d noticed, that his “rejects” undergo immediate conversion.

It fascinated her that the actual girl, the one the Riddick had been searching for the whole time, seemed to fear him. She hoped to learn more. If the girl was here against her will and had no love for their Lord Marshal… perhaps they could help each other.

Not long after, as they were preparing to sleep, news came that the Riddick had taken the girl into the chamber of the Quasi-Dead and had compelled all would-be observers to leave. They were still in the chamber when she and her husband rose in the morning. She managed to slip close to the grilles for a moment before one of the Riddick’s guards ushered her away.

The girl lay on the dais, posed much like the “Sleeping Beauty” character that Chantesa remembered from her childhood and surrounded by the Quasi-dead, while the Riddick, legs folded and head bowed as if meditating, sat behind her head, his hands on her temples.

“What do you think he’s doing to her?” she whispered to her husband as she was handed back to him.

“I know not, nor do I care.”

Oh, damn you. Grow a little imagination… Faithful and biddable—and formidable in battle—as Lord Niels Vaako might be, he could also be stultifyingly dull.

It was almost a full Standard day before the Riddick emerged from the chamber, the still-unconscious girl in his arms, and carried her away from the Necropolis. Gossip had run wild in that time, growing increasingly imaginative and ridiculous. The girl was far too old be his daughter, and she seemed far too young to be a wife… of an age with, or slightly younger than, the girl Kyra whom he’d attempted to rescue and then avenge.

Dame Vaako loved a good mystery.

“I think I’ll find out what the witch knows,” she told her husband when they rose the next morning.

Aereon of the Elementals had been given a suite—Irgun’s old suite, in fact—after the Riddick had taken over. Interestingly, he hadn’t released the witch and had insisted that she continue to wear the strange stone chains that the late Lord Marshal Zhylaw had called—for some reason that had seemed to amuse him and him alone—the “cherry bombs.” She spent most of her time in the chambers, only occasionally emerging to walk the battlements and listen in on Court business.

“Please come in,” she said, when her guards announced Dame Vaako’s arrival.

Chantesa was surprised to see that the woman had left Irgun’s rooms almost completely unchanged. Perhaps she was in denial about the length of her stay, and refused to do anything to make the rooms more her own because that would mean accepting her standing as a long-term prisoner of the Armada… fascinating.

“We don’t see much of you,” she commented, running her finger along the edge of Irgun’s desk. Someone, at least, was keeping the place clean.

“I very much doubt most Necromongers wish to see any of me,” Aereon replied. It was difficult to look at her at times. Parts of her seemed to disappear in the air currents. But there were moments when Chantesa could almost swear that she saw something else, in the thinned places… something worse than emptiness.

“And why is that?” she asked. “Your people are neutral in our conflict, yes? Why shouldn’t we be… closer?”

“That,” Aereon said, her words slow and precise as if talking to a child, “is the nature of neutrality.”

“And yet you were on Helion Prime warning them about us.”

“I was not the source of any warnings. I was there for another reason.”

“The Riddick?” Chantesa asked. “Were you there looking for him? Because if you were looking for the prophesied Furyan Warrior who would take down our leader, that hardly seems neutral either.”

“The prophesied Furyan Warrior who would become your leader.”

Good parry. And possibly even a valid point. Except that rumors kept swirling about how the Riddick was seeking to break the Way. Funny how those rumors seemed to always come out of the night he’d killed one of the other Lords in a Breeder Pit…

Sumptuous brothels or not, Chantesa preferred to call them by that name. It better fit the lives that the unbelievers trapped inside them actually lived. There but for the grace of conversion…

“Did the prophecies ever mention a girl?” she asked.

“You mean Kyra? No.” Aereon shook her head. “It seems that the whole purpose of her existence was to bring him here, nothing more.”

“There’s another girl. The one he’s been looking for.”

“He has asked me several times about his Jack, yes.”

Chantesa frowned. “I thought Kyra was his ‘Jack.’”

“Apparently not.” Aereon smiled. “He’s asked again and again for answers about who she really was. But I doubt he can find them. Not if he won’t embrace your faith, and it’s clear that he won’t.”

Fascinating. The witch seemed pleased that the Riddick would be denied answers. She wondered if that was why the chains remained on. There was something duplicitous about Aereon that delighted her. Especially if the witch and the Riddick were not actually friends.

“Maybe the other girl will know.”

Aereon’s breath hitched, almost inaudibly, but she caught it. “This other girl… is here?”

“Captured a week ago and given to the Riddick almost two days ago, yes. You must not have attended that Court session.”

“Tell me about her.” The witch’s voice was mild, only hinting at the slightest bit of curiosity, but Chantesa could feel some deeper avidity behind it.

“Young. Tall. Slender. Pretty in her own way. She matches the description he sent out. And she seems to fear him.”

“How curious. I would have thought his quest after her to be impossible.”

“Who is she?” Chantesa asked.

“No one that I know of. Which is odd. Except… yes, of course. I should have realized sooner.”

Oh, now this was intriguing! “Realized what?”

“When I learned the identity of the Furyan Warrior I was seeking,” Aereon said after a pause, “I hired a mercenary to locate him and bring him back to Helion Prime. In fact, I hired several mercenaries, but this one was a particularly crass and difficult man. He had a story to tell—and he insisted upon telling it—of how Riddick had swooped into a high security psychiatric hospital, under everyone’s noses, had extracted two teenage girls from custody, and had taken them offworld with him.”

Aereon rose from her seat and began to pace as she talked. The air currents she stirred up made parts of her vanish in a disconcerting and almost nauseating way. No wonder, Dame Vaako thought, she had so few visitors and even fewer invitations to come out of her chambers.

“The girls were a Jane Doe who apparently went by ‘Jack’ and had a prior history with Riddick, which he had hoped to use to lay a trap,” Aereon continued, “and Kyra Wittier-Collins, a rare female serial killer known to many as the Black Fox of Canaan Mountain. The mercenary believed that both of these girls were Riddick’s lovers, but the world he believed Riddick had spirited them away to was not the one where he was ultimately found, so I suspect Toombs was wrong. And based on Riddick’s questions to me…”

“The Riddick went to Crematoria seeking this ‘Jack’ but found Kyra there instead,” Dame Vaako breathed, delighted, “but had never met her before?”

“It appears so.” Aereon turned the smile of an approving schoolteacher on her. “And yet it also appears that he came to care about her a great deal in a very short time. Odd, given his reputation for aloof detachment and antisocial tendencies. It would seem that he has, in fact, formed genuine bonds with other people, such as they are, at least twice.”

“And now he has his ‘Jack.’ Why would she be afraid of him?” The possibilities were endless, and rather delicious. Had part of the mercenary’s tale been true? Perhaps he had spirited her away and made her a child-bride, only for her to escape his control. Had she possibly even used the other girl to lay a false trail away from herself? Would she, maybe, wish assistance to escape again, for a reasonable price?

“Perhaps you should ask her,” Aereon suggested, a hint of a smile touching her lips.

Perhaps I should.

---

“She’s adorable.”

Audrey and Kyra stood side by side, watching Elodie splash in the creek behind the house that Audrey’s mother, and Alvin, had bought in the small town where Deckard Tech was located, just outside Wyndham Landing. Audrey turned and smiled at Kyra.

“She is, isn’t she? She was born a little over six months after I took off.”

“Yeah,” Kyra said, nodding and smiling back. “I thought so.”

The backyard melted away and they were in the woods on the slope of Canaan Mountain. This space was Kyra’s rather than Audrey’s, shaped by her visions and memories.

“You did?” Audrey followed Kyra into the forest as they talked.

“Yeah. When you told me and the Mezianes about the brother you never had, that’s when it all made sense.” Kyra grinned apologetically at her. “I didn’t say anything because you’d have been pissed off at yourself if you knew. So, did Alvin turn out to be an asshole when you got back?”

“No, he turned out to be surprisingly not-dickish,” Audrey laughed. “And yeah, I was pretty upset to realize I ran away from the thing I’d always wanted most.”

“Family,” Kyra said, nodding. “Yeah. I miss that, too, sometimes. The way it was when I was little, anyway. Your cosmic family is nice, not as scary as I used to think, but… Tizzy, do you know how much longer I’ll be stuck out here? My memory isn’t good enough to just live in it.”

Kyra’s forests, Audrey had noticed, tended to be a little “blurry,” missing most of the details that would truly make them feel real. Maybe that was why she preferred to spend her time in—

As if on cue, a much more detailed and precise landscape opened to them: the bonefield from the crash planet, beneath its blue sun. The memories that Audrey—as Jack—had once shared with Kyra were almost as vivid as life, not to mention missing almost all of the actual traumatic moments. No wonder Kyra spent so much time replaying them and exploring their confines.

“I’ll ask the Apeiros. They don’t make a whole lot of sense when I ask them about you, but I’ll try again—”

Wake, little sister. Wake…

“Do I have to? I wanna stay with Kyra…” But the vision was shredding and the crash planet, and Kyra, had already vanished. It wasn’t a dream any more than the starfield of the Apeiros was a dream, but she was all too aware of its lack of normal physicality. That had to be especially hard on Kyra.

Not now, Audrey. You must wake. You will see her again soon.

Audrey opened her eyes. The strange carvings and draperies of Riddick’s bedroom greeted her.

Fuck.

Your species makes very little sense. The act of reproduction as a malediction. Why? Her sister was lurking somewhere in the shadows directly above her, mostly hidden by the high, vaulted ceiling. Audrey thought she could make out the glitter of eyes.

“We got five hours to unpack it all?”

We do not. One of the Necromonger court is on its way to speak with you. I still struggle to tell human sexes apart, especially with these creatures, but I believe it is female.

“Fun, fun, fun.” Audrey sat up, noticing that Riddick must have slept beside her on the bed, neither of them beneath its covers. “Where’s Riddick?”

In another part of the ship, making arrangements to ensure your safety. The Moribund no longer threatens you.

“I figured that’s why all my memories are back,” she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “Well, almost all of them… What the hell did he do with my shoes?”

On the other side of the bed.

She put them on and laced them up. They weren’t exactly combat boots, but they were still better than sock feet until she knew the lay of the land. “So how come you have a hard time telling Necromonger sexes apart?”

They have no reproductive capability.

“Huh. Did we know this about them?”

No.

“You let Michael know yet? Could be important.”

I will.

She needed a moment to regroup. “Okay. I’m smack-dab in the center of the Necromonger Armada. Its new leader is my old friend Richard B. Riddick, who apparently killed the old leader and took over right after they turned Helion Prime into a ‘Black Planet.’ Just what the hell was Toombs thinking he was gonna do with me here? You know what, never mind. That guy would use ‘boobs’ for a password if a system would accept it. Long as he’s nowhere near Elodie, fuck him. Do I have marching orders from the General? Is there a plan here?”

In truth, the place was still scary as fuck, but at least her brain was in better order now. She’d flowed with the replay that the Apeiros had allowed to be fed through the “Quasi-Dead,” her memories falling back into place as they spooled past. Everything made sense again. Some things made too much sense.

She wasn’t entirely delighted by the person she’d turned into, with most of her salient memories gone, over the last year. That version of Audrey MacNamera had lost almost all of the good therapy she’d received for her traumas, via Ewan, MilitAIre, First-AId, and Michael, and had simply buried them and refused to look, turning more than a little neurotic again in the process. And she’d developed this weird sheltered, privileged-girl righteous sense that she was personally going to right all the major wrongs on her home planet…

Great, and now instead, I’m back in a situation where a whole bunch of people are expecting me to be instrumental in saving a universe…

More than just one, her sister told her from somewhere on the ceiling.

“So no pressure or anything… does General Toal have a plan for this?”

His plan has been to nurture you until you are ready to hatch into your six-shape. Then we can show you everything.

“And… this current situation is, what? A setback? An opportunity? A major clusterfuck?”

We do not know yet. It appears to be connected, but tangentially, to our goals.

“Then my current directive is… gather intel and wait?”

Essentially.

“Okay, I can do that.”

The one who wishes to speak to you is at the door. The guards will not admit it.

“Should I—” Audrey laughed. “Why the hell not? I’m here to gather intel, right?”

Before she’d regained herself, she thought, she’d been genuinely terrified. She could start with that and see where it took her. As she walked over to the doors, she slipped into the necessary role. And introducing Audrey MacNamera as the Petrified Captive…

She opened one door up a crack. “Who…who’s there?”

“Go back inside, girl,” one of the guards on the doors said. “No one in or out. Lord Marshal’s orders.”

“B…but…” She let her eyes dart between the players in the hallway as she pulled the door open further. Two guards, posted on either side of the ornate doors in overwrought armor, and an elegant, beautiful woman, dressed in a form-fitting gown, hair severely coiffed, heavy makeup and her natural darker skin tone both helping to conceal the deathly pallor of most Necromongers.

Female, she told her sister. Our guest is definitely female. See the kind of ornamentation she’s wearing? It’s culturally coded as feminine. Especially in this kind of culture.

“Surely the Lord Marshal would have no objection to a friendly visit?” the woman cajoled in a sultry voice. One of the guards seemed to be struggling against its pull. “If his young guest were to invite me in?”

The two guards shared nervous glances.

It’ll be fine, Audrey pushed at them. Hopefully they weren’t shielded.

They glanced at each other again, shrugging.

“C-can she come in?” she asked, still stammering. “Please?”

After a moment’s hesitation, the guards let the woman pass.

Audrey twisted her hands together, watching her guest prowl into the suite. There was something in her walk, in the way she looked at everything, that suggested she already owned all of it and was just deciding when to take possession. Arrogance, confidence, absolute belief in herself.

Audrey had just the foil for that.

In comparison, she would be stammering, gauche, frightened, desperately in need of guidance and protection… easily manipulated, easily controlled… or so her guest would believe.

“W…what’s your name?” she asked as the woman continued to survey the room, oblivious to Audrey’s shadowy sister watching her in fascination from the vaulted ceiling.

“You may call me Dame Vaako,” the woman said. Chantesa, her mind volunteered silently.

Pretty name, she thought. “I’m, uh, Audrey.”

“Not ‘Jack?’” Dame Vaako asked.

Audrey flinched, blinked, and gave a jerky shake of her head. “N-not Jack.”

I mean, it was the only name I ever told him… She couldn’t exactly blame Riddick for wanting to use it, and for maybe needing the nostalgia of it. She’d had enough names now, and played enough roles, that she wasn’t sure she could truly reject, or even claim, any of them. And if the semi-amnesiac Audrey MacNamera of the prior year was her actual authentic self, she had a whole lot of work left to do on herself.

Jack wasn’t the name, among all the names she’d worn, that she would pick first… but it would do just fine.

But this Dame Vaako didn’t need to know any of that.

“Pity,” the Dame said, running her finger over a shelf edge and then rubbing off the dust she’d collected on her fingertip with her thumb, “he’s been trying so hard to find a girl named Jack.” The woman’s eyes moved to the bedroom beyond the sitting room, taking in the rumpled bed. Although her expression was deadpan, Audrey could feel the way her mind was awhirl with calculations.

Okay. First choice. Should she play really dumb and ask “who,” or make a logical leap?

She wouldn’t play that dumb. The Dame would figure out Audrey was running a game a whole lot sooner if she got caught in that kind of lie.

“Why?” she asked instead, a tremor in her voice. “I don’t… I don’t…”

“Yes, child? Don’t what?” Dame Vaako walked over to her. She had to be wearing some killer heels; she seemed only an inch or two shorter than Audrey, but the proportions of her body suggested she would be at least half a foot shorter if they were both barefoot. Maybe that was why her dress was so tight around her legs, to keep her from taking too-long steps in her shoes and overbalancing.

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” Audrey whimpered, breaking her voice twice and letting her eyes grow large and fill with unshed tears. This was the moment when a lot of people would become uncomfortable and find an excuse to retreat, and when especially empathetic types would try to comfort her… what would someone like this Dame Vaako do?

The hand that Dame Vaako brought up to her cheek was chilly. It was a good thing that it was in character for Audrey to flinch, because there was no avoiding it.

Dame Vaako was straddling two ’verses. She could feel it.

Not the way Irena and Colin Kirshbaum had been, though. Or at least, she didn’t think so. It was easier to tell when she was observing from another ’verse herself, but…

Almost all of Dame Vaako was in U1… but something else, something not of this ’verse, was piggybacking on her. There was a strange energy exchange happening…

“Don’t be afraid, child, I won’t hurt you,” the Dame said.

“Your hand’s so cold,” she stammered, shifting her vision so that she could see what filled Dame Vaako’s space in her other ’verses.

Empty interstellar space surrounded her in twenty-seven other ’verses. And yet—

Ohhhhhhh, would you look at that. This whole ship’s crossing a threshold…

She wondered if she could tap into its string vibrations and connect to that ’verse. Crossing over and adding it to her five-shape should be safe to do from inside the ship.

Experiment time after I get rid of our guest, she told her sister, and felt Her amusement above her.

“It’s the Necromonger Way,” Dame Vaako was telling her. “We give up the frailties of human life for something far more glorious. The Underverse.”

“W…what’s that?” At least they hadn’t named their alternate reality Elsewhere, too. That Under plucked at memory.

Beneath, below, under… you weren’t talking about the Necromongers’ Underverse, were you? she asked her sister, and instantly felt Her derision.

“Oh child, there is no way to tell you about that. The only way to see it is to be Purified—” The Dame staggered back, wincing. “No… not allowed… what…?”

That was unexpected. “Are you okay?”

Dame Vaako looked like she’d just developed a nasty headache. “I’m fine…” She shook her head as if trying to clear it.

“Do you need to sit down?” She let her voice fill with worry, as if her sudden concern had temporarily overwhelmed her fear.

“I should go.” The Dame was trying to sound imperious, but a note of odd desperation had crept into her tone. She moved unsteadily for the doors, and for a moment Audrey worried that she’d lose the battle with her heels and dress and totter over. “We can talk again soon… I look forward to learning more about you…”

Whatever had just happened, it had completely cut through the woman’s equilibrium.

Dame Vaako slipped out of the doors, trying and failing to look nonchalant as she went.

“Well. That was weird,” Audrey said.

My brother struck at her.

“Your who?”

For all that we have disowned and repudiated him, the Moribund is still my brother.

She hadn’t been sure until now about the relationship, but that did confirm a suspicion of hers. She had to come at so much of this sideways… “He doesn’t have to be my brother, does he?”

Her sister’s silent laughter filled the ether. No, little sister, he doesn’t wish to be tied to you that way, any more than you wish to be related to him. But he no longer wishes you harm.

“That’s something, at least—”

“Who… the fuck… gave you permission to let that bitch into my rooms?” Riddick demanded of the guards outside.

Hooboy.

She couldn’t tell him from here. His mental shields were as impenetrable as Michael’s.

Walking over to the doors, she cracked one open again. Riddick, outside, was glaring at two very cowed-looking guards. “M-me…” she stammered, more for the guards’ benefit than his. “It was me… I asked if she could…”

“For fuck’s sake,” Riddick muttered.

Furyans use reproduction as a malediction too? Audrey’s sister asked, forcing her to stifle a laugh. It was a good thing musical comedy was one of her fortes and she could keep a straight face through almost any skit.

He pushed past his guards and into the room, compelling her to back up. She scrambled back, keeping up the fearful act while the guards closed the doors and Riddick loomed before her.

He leaned close, breathing in through his nose. “You don’t smell even a little scared, Jack.” He drew back and pulled off his goggles, silver eyes locking with hers, a hint of a smile on his lips. “So what are you playing at?”

76.
Wholly Half-Dead

Riddick felt the moment when the creature in the dark tried to go on the attack, the cold pull as it reached for him, and the burn on his chest as Her handprint flared to life in answer. The unseen eldritch presence surrounding him snapped back as if he’d stung it. He could still feel its louring rage around him. This thing knew how to hate.

I do not answer to you, filth.

“You might want to reconsider that,” Riddick said, smiling in the direction where he’d last caught a glimpse of the Moribund. “I know what you are, and I know what it’d take to end you. Don’t think you want to end yet… do you?”

I will not die alone.

“Plannin’ on takin’ the whole ‘Legion Vast’ with you? All that pompous bullshit they spout, that ain’t you. Is it?”

What do I care what they say, as long as they serve my will?

They’d built a whole religion around its dominance of their bodies, minds, and souls, and it didn’t give a fuck. Nice. Almost like an actual god.

“So let’s make a deal so they can go on serving your will,” Riddick said, leaning against a scorched panel. “And you can get what you really want.”

You know nothing about what I really want.

“You want the ‘Demons of the Darkness’ on their knees, begging you for mercy. You want to make ’em suffer. You want to break their power and give ’em your pain. How’m I doing so far?”

I will listen.

It was a creature of few words. He liked that about it.

“Then here’s the deal. I’m the new Lord Marshal, and you stop throwing your replacement candidates at me to try to take me down. I ain’t converting, ain’t getting ‘purified,’ but I’ll lead your armada and drive it right down the throat of your real enemies.”

Acceptable. So far.

“I’m taking back a handful of your converts, too. Un-purifying them. They’ll be mine. You have plenty; you can spare a few.”

If you think they will live parted from my influence.

“Oh, I know they will.”

Then take whichever you wish, with the exception of the “Quasi-Dead.”

“Which brings me to my next condition. Jack. Audrey. The ‘Little Larva’ you like to call ‘filth.’ She’s mine. You don’t touch her, you don’t influence her, you don’t ‘purify’ her, and you absolutely never try to kill her again. Understood?”

Silence.

Riddick knelt down and picked up a long, sharp sliver of stone from the floor, turning it over in his hand. He knew exactly what it really was. What it could do. And so, he knew, did the Moribund. He balanced it, twirled it, gave it a spin. “Understood?”

I will accept this.

“That includes never sending any of your people against her. What any of ‘your’ Necromongers do, that’s you doing it. Ain’t it?”

I will prohibit it. I do not much care what they do with their time when they are not needed to fulfill my will.

“I figured. You don’t pay much attention to what they’re doing, either. Did you know that they’ve been keeping people from you? Not converting everybody they capture?”

He felt the Moribund’s sudden fury.

“Didn’t think you knew. I’m sure you won’t have any objections if I put a stop to that.”

Why do you care?

“Because out of death, conversion, or what they’re doing… either death or conversion would be better.” The breeder bullshit would finally end. “When I make my move, you’re gonna back me.”

You are the Lord Marshal.

He figured that was as close as the Moribund would get to acquiescing. It was enough.

“Last thing. You’ve been collecting apeirochorons lately. I want ’em. All of ’em.”

I care nothing for what happens to them.

Well, maybe I care, Riddick thought, careful to keep his thoughts thoroughly shielded from his “chess partner.” He shrugged and smiled instead.

Do what you will with them.

“This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” he told the shadowy creature in the darkness, setting the sliver of kirshbaumium back down on the floor.

We shall see, Lord Marshal.

He could see the change immediately, the new level of deference that the Necromongers in the hallways displayed as he passed. He’d completed his first step. Soon it would be safe for Jack to wake up, hopefully with her mind and memories intact and in order. Soon, they’d be able to talk again, and maybe she’d know enough—remember enough—to be less afraid of him.

Maybe she’ll try to take me out, he thought with amusement. She was one of General Toal’s trained Operatives, after all, and she’d been trained by a Furyan.

He doubted it, though. That wasn’t Jack. She’d killed, three times, but she wasn’t a killer.

Which was why he needed to do a few more things to ensure that she would be safe on board this flying viper pit.

He walked into the chamber of the Quasi-Dead, drawing them forth.

Yes, Lord Marshal?

That was the first time any of them had called him by the title. Yeah, things were changing.

“I’m gonna visualize a series of people. If they’re converts, I want ’em found and brought to me.” One by one, he conjured faces that he’d seen in Jack’s memories. People she’d known, albeit briefly, while on Helion Prime, and who shone warmly in her thoughts.

He couldn’t give her any of the four she’d known best, though.

It burned at him, even a year later. He should’ve grabbed Lajjun and Ziza and put them on board the ship he’d taken from Toombs. Not just left the Holy Man’s necklace hanging on their doorway while he boarded the Basilica. In the hour that followed, while he searched the ship for signs of Kyra and then moved into position to take the fight to the Lord Marshal himself, he’d had no idea that, moments after the ship’s bulkheads had closed behind him and the Basilica rose from the ground, that undead fucker had detonated something that had wiped out all life on the surface of the planet.

Including Lajjun. Including Ziza. Including thousands of the motherfucker’s own troops who hadn’t made it back on board their ships in time, and who the fuck knew how many thousands, or even millions, of other civilians huddled in the still-smoking ruins.

There wasn’t much about that day that Riddick didn’t regret.

He didn’t mean to call up Kyra’s face—

That one is lost to us. We have only her memories.

“You have what, now?”

The memories of the one called Kyra. We have them.

“Good. I’ll be back later to see them. How many of the others have you found?”

All but the one called Carmouche. His face is unknown to any of the Armada. He may have left Helion Prime before we arrived.

Probably on one of the all-expense-paid travel adventures Jack and her friends had dreamed up, to entice out-system as many people as they could before the invasion. More power to him if he’d gone.

“Have the others sent to me as soon as you get all of them on board this ship.”

Yes, Lord Marshal.

“Now, I don’t wanna be sent either of these next two. I know they’re not converts. I just wanna know what’s happened to ’em.” He conjured up two more faces in his mind.

The first died eight months ago. The second lives in the “Greensleeves Stew.”

“I’ll be back.” He turned and walked out of the room.

Do you need direction to her?

“I know the way.”

It was a corridor he’d never planned on entering again, but now he had enough muscle on his side—the Moribund itself was on board for this—that he could do what he wished he’d been able to do a year ago. Part of it, anyway. The most important part.

He’d tried to get to know the people he’d apparently conquered, especially once he was sure that he couldn’t just step down as their leader; no new leader could rise in his place without vanquishing him first, so unless he wanted to die, he had to find a way to rule these fuckers. Their women were eager to “show him the way,” and a lot of them were damn beautiful. He’d thought that part, at least, would be fun.

He had been so fucking wrong about that.

The whole lot of them really were half-dead. And necrophilia just wasn’t his kink.

Damn near had made him puke his guts out, if he was being honest.

Just try phrasing that in a way that doesn’t give offense to anybody, though…

The Great Lords of the Court had figured it out anyway, and most of them had seemed unsurprised. Lord Vaako had shrugged, telling him that he would find it easier once he converted, himself. Lord Toal, who seemed to have no Lady or Dame by his side—and Riddick was pretty sure he knew why now—had shrugged as well and said that the life of a warrior need not require such distractions. And one of the other Lords had smiled and said that he knew exactly what Riddick needed.

Several of the Lords—Riddick soon noticed that Vaako, Toal, and Scales had all excused themselves from the group—had led him deep into the under-levels of the Basilica, beneath the Necropolis… to a brothel.

At first, it had seemed normal enough. The ladies within, he immediately realized, weren’t converts. No marks on their necks. No sickly pallor to their skin. They lined up, smiling, posing for him in their negligée, all of them beautiful. Most of them didn’t make eye contact, but there was one woman, with flaxen blonde hair and crystal-blue eyes, who kept looking right at him.

“Her,” he’d said, pointing at the woman. “I’ll take her.”

It went wrong almost immediately.

“Riddick,” she’d gasped, putting her arms around him. “I knew you’d come for me!”

He pulled back, staring at her in confusion. For a moment, the way she was acting, he thought somehow he had found another strange fragment of Jack, as if the girl had been shattered and her pieces divided among countless strange women he’d never met before. The woman before him—maybe a little over twenty years old, with eyes that were far too old for the rest of her—smiled at him. There was something off about the smile. Not quite sane.

“It’s me, Riddick! Stacey! It’s me!” And she tried to press her lips to his.

There was something familiar about her, but he couldn’t place her. He unshielded his mind a little, brushing against hers—

—and recoiled, his gorge rising and his mental shields slamming back up against both her and the whole establishment around him.

This ain’t a brothel. It’s a fuckin’ rape room.

And this woman he’d picked was in on it all.

“I know what you’ll like,” she told him, her eyes lit up with strange fervor. “See that girl over there? I’ve known her for years. I can show you what makes her cry…”

“Get the fuck off me,” he managed, pushing her away and retreating toward the door.

“Riddick!” She tried to follow him, but one of the attendants held her back. “Don’t leave me! You’re supposed to rescue me!”

He turned toward one of the Lords, most of whom were still in the process of selecting their own companions—victims—for the evening. “You brought me to a fuckin’ rape room!”

He had felt it all in the moment he’d made the mistake of unshielding: the unrelenting horror that the women endured every day and night, praying that the walking corpses who visited would just want a quick fuck and nothing more from them; the sick delight that the Lords took in the soft, warm, living bodies beneath them; the dark games that Stacey liked to play, and had encouraged the Lords to play with her for the last two weeks since she’d been captured, orchestrating especially perverse hells upon her fellow “breeders” even more for her own gratification than the Lords’…

The man frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’re not of us. They’re just breeders. We can do whatever we wish to mere breeders.”

Seconds later, his head rolled across the floor, stopping at the feet of one of the captive “breeder” women and making her scream in terror.

“Choose carefully, Riddick,” Lord Navok said, rising from the seat he had taken and drawing his blades. Throughout the lounge, the rest of the Lords had drawn theirs. “We know you’re deadly, but there are twenty of us. Can you kill us all before one of us kills you? And how will you fight your way out of the Basilica if you do? This is part of the Necromonger Way. Do you really think you can change us? Will you die trying?”

He had to get the fuck out of there, he realized, and fast, before he got himself killed over something he couldn’t stop, couldn’t change… and it all went on anyway. He wasn’t the self-sacrificing type. As much as he wanted to ghost every man in that room, and one woman in it…

Now ain’t the time.

He turned and walked toward the exit.

“Riddick!” Stacey called after him, her voice pleading and sounding, for an instant, like Jack’s. Jack, begging him not to leave her behind…

Keep walking. Keep walking…

“Riddick!” she called again, and then cried out in pain.

“Be silent, breeder! Know your place!” one of the Lords shouted.

Fuck! Fuck… keep walking… Do not look back…

He’d left the “brothel” and stormed deeper into the bowels of the Basilica, seeking out the engine rooms, possessed of a sudden desire to send them into meltdown and ditch the ship before it exploded. But there had been something down there, dark and eldritch and malicious and waiting for him, that he’d found himself equally unwilling to sacrifice himself to. What he now knew was the Moribund.

That night was the first time he’d awakened, his heart pounding, from a nightmare in which he found not Stacey but Jack, herself, trapped in a Necromonger “brothel.”

He’d found all of them, on each and every ship in the fleet, making their keepers show him every woman they had, but Jack had never been among them. He’d shown her face to the Quasi-Dead and demanded they search their memory stores for any sign that any Necromonger had seen or touched her, any sign that she was among the Armada’s converts. There had been a small handful of women who looked almost like her, but none had been her. The nightmares hadn’t stopped until he’d put out an edict, making the Quasi-Dead share images of Jack’s face with the masses, instructing the entire Armada that any girl or woman who resembled her had to be brought before him immediately upon discovery, before anything else was done to her.

And Alexander Motherfuckin’ Toombs drove her right into the teeth of my raiders…

He had her now. That was what was important. But the rape rooms had gone unchecked for a whole fucking year and the woman, Stacey, had died during that time. That last part wouldn’t have bothered him before, but he now recognized her, although he still couldn’t figure out how she’d known him.

She had been the vicious girl who ran the Killer’s Club from the shadows, when Jack had been locked in the Aceso Psychiatric Hospital. The girl with the violent porn collection, with his picture on her wall—

Not just his picture, he realized. Pictures of other “criminals,” too, or what Jack had believed were criminals. He stopped in the hallway, closing his eyes and visualizing that wall again.

He knew all those faces. He knew all the men Stacey had enshrined on her wall and idolized. Criminals, yes, but something else as well, and he knew exactly where she had to have met them, and him… and when.

“They call us the Suicide Squad, boy, after some bad twenty-first century movies about a bunch of sons-o’-bitches who had to do what we do, only they got to do it with powers…”

He’d been seventeen, and although nobody else in the group had known it about him, he had powers. He’d been pulled off the streets and Quantified at fifteen, chipped, subjected to two agonizing years of conditioning, and this was his test-run, paired up with a group of Service Crims who had been too high up in the clearance chain for a dishonorable discharge and whose skills were too valuable to just let them rot in cells. Most of them were twice his age. They were being sent after a crime kingpin, who was staying at his favorite casino-cum-brothel on Helion Prime and, while he was supposed to be taken out, they had strict instructions that the facility itself was expected to come through undamaged.

In they’d gone, stealthy as could be, quartering the place in the dead of night.

They’d found the cop first, a woman, stripped naked and chained to a bed with her own cuffs. Didn’t look like anybody had touched her yet. None of them did, either. They’d kept moving. It grated at him. Why the fuck wasn’t freeing her part of their mission?

“Stay on task,” one of his companions had muttered when he’d paused, looking back at the room. “Ain’t no room for improvising in this gig if you want your head to stay on your neck.”

They all, he’d realized, had explosive trackers. Apparently another thing they had in common with the sorry fuckers in the old movies.

The kids were next.

There was a whole suite full of them, and the main room almost looked like a daycare except he could see terrible knowledge in their eyes and in the way they posed flirtatiously for the team.

Fuck, he’d thought as they moved on again. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

What good was anything he did if it didn’t involve saving those kids? What good was the Federacy if it didn’t give two shits about ending that kind of monstrosity, and just wanted to take out one in a long line of people who perpetuated it?

He had no problem with taking out their target. The man owned that shithole. He was culpable in everything that was being done in all those rooms. Riddick was fine with completing the hit. But leaving the kids behind… leaving a lady cop chained up, naked, for mauling… letting the place stay standing…

It was almost impossible to use his abilities without specific orders. Excruciatingly painful. But he opened his mind to the other soldiers…

They were thinking the same things. Some of them were fantasizing about fucking the cop, true, but none of them were happy about the kids.

There was something he could do, and he wasn’t even sure how he did it but he knew he could… It was going to hurt like a sonofabitch but it’d be worth it…

When they hit a blind junction, no cameras, he called it up inside him and let it blast out, frying all of the comms. Pain exploded in his head as his conditioning kicked in, but he took a deep breath and pressed forward against the agony and the nausea. There was a beautiful, glowing woman he could catch a glimpse of sometimes, whose hand on his chest felt almost orgasmic, and the thought of her helped push the pain back down.

“What the fuck?!” Corman, their point man, shouted.

Riddick pulled out his knife and went digging. It was hard not to scream, but a moment later he had the explosive tracker out of his neck. His trainers had fucked up by inflicting so many worse torments on him. Still, he very nearly puked. He wiped his blood off with his shirt and put the tracker in his pocket, approaching one of his colleagues. Demme. A guy who’d ended up in the glue for refusing to bomb a refugee camp and turning his missile on his commanders instead. He liked Demme.

“We got about two more minutes until they get a signal lock on us again. Who wants out of this shit?” he asked.

Demme tilted his head, nodding.

“Hold on, man, this ain’t gonna be subtle.” He cut into Demme’s neck, unerringly going for the tracker while his friend groaned and struggled to stay still.

“The fuck are you doing, Riddick?” Corman yelled.

“Gonna rescue those kids and that cop,” he said. “You wanna stay on mission, go ahead. It’ll give us cover. Any of you who want out of this psycho-fuckery, though, this is your one and only chance.”

“Gonna get all our heads blown off,” Nicholson muttered.

In the end, two thirds of the squad had decided to go forward and stay on mission. The rest joined Riddick in strategically placing the explosive parts of their trackers inside the confines of an armory by the junction and carrying the locator parts with them for disposal later. None of the ones who had stayed with him, thankfully, had been imagining fucking the cop. He wouldn’t have to kill one of his crew.

They doubled back to the “daycare.”

“Get the kids dressed in whatever they have that’s closest to street clothes, and get ’em ready to evac,” he told his brothers. “I’ll be back in five.”

Then he went and got the cop.

By the time he had her put together, and ready to lead the kids out of the building, all hell was starting to break loose. He and his comrades had undoubtedly been threatened repeatedly to get back on mission via their fried comms, and then the armory exploded. He’d promptly smashed his tracker, as they’d planned; let HQ think they’d actually died for a little while.

“Kids,” he said, bringing the cop into the ersatz daycare, “this is Officer Lola. She’s gonna take you out of here to someplace safe.”

Until that moment, he was pretty sure the cop had been expecting him to do something nasty to her and was trying to figure out a way to turn the tables on him. She stared at the kids, and then at him, her mouth dropping open when he handed her back both of her confiscated sidearms, fully loaded.

“You get ’em out of here. Take ’em out of this room and turn right, down the long corridor to a T-junction. Turn left, go all the way to the end and out the door. Its security is disabled. Just push it open and go on through. You’ll be in what looks like an impound lot. Get the hell out of there through the hole in the chain link fence and keep going until you hit a main road. You won’t be safe until then. Got that?”

She nodded, all fear of him gone. “What about you?”

“You don’t worry about us. Take care of the kids and we’ll clear you a path. You ain’t never seen none of us. You heard a racket while you were getting loose from your cuffs, found the kids, and got ’em the hell out of here, and you don’t know what else went down. Understood?” He looked around at all of the kids, directing his words at them, too. “You never saw us. That’s for your safety more than ours. Now go.”

The kids went quietly with her, all of them docile and accustomed to obedience. Riddick and his crew shadowed them, efficiently dealing with a small handful of goons who might have tried to stop them. A few of the kids had whispered thankyous to him and the others as they slipped through the fence. One, a little girl, maybe eight years old, with flaxen blonde hair and crystal blue eyes that were way too old and cold for her young face, had turned to look at him and his brothers, her expression adoring…

Stacey. That, he realized, was when and how he’d met Stacey.

His crew had scattered that night, once the kids were gone, and the only one he’d ever seen again was Demme. He’d done a run through the building to see if there were any other innocents who needed freeing, but hadn’t found anyone. Then he’d rejoined the main group, just long enough to make sure the brothers he’d abandoned didn’t get mowed down as a result of the team being cut down in size, and had taken off after it was clear that their mission would be a success. Two days later, his face had jumped to the top of Federacy “Wanted” posters, along with the brothers-in-arms he’d freed, with a dozen completely fabricated crimes attributed to him. It would take less than a year until they began to have real crimes to list in place of their lies.

He’d wondered what Officer Lola had made of that.

Wonder if she’s a convert…

He’d check with the Quasi-Dead when he was done here.

In the meantime, he pounded on the door to the brothel.

“Yes…? Lord Marshal!” The host gave an obsequious smile and bow. “Have you come for…”

“New edict. Courtesy of the Holy Fuckin’ Half-Dead itself. Nobody goes unconverted. You get all those women to the conversion chambers right. The fuck. Now.”

The man began to protest… and then stopped. He could feel the power behind Riddick’s demand. The force that both animated and depleted the Necromongers… was paying attention.

Your god is watching and is it ever pissed…

The women were soon marching out of the room and toward the upper levels. Celia Wyndham was the third out the door.

Funny. Her last name’s the same as the name of that city Jack was livin’ in… Small galaxy…

He’d let her be converted. She’d probably enjoy the experience, if she was still like Jack remembered, and if her masochism had helped her survive the “brothel” for as long as she apparently had. He wouldn’t add her to the coterie he was creating for Jack. They didn’t like each other… but he had a feeling that Jack would still be glad to know that Celia was… comparatively… safe.

The Lords had massed behind the brothel doorway, some confused, some angry, verging on demanding an explanation, none quite ready to draw on him. They could feel it, too… the wrath of their “god” coalescing around them.

“Every one of ’em’s about to become a Lady of the Armada,” he told the men. “This ‘breeder’ bullshit is over. Don’t you fuckin’ ever forget it again.” And be fuckin’ grateful I’m letting you keep your worthless heads.

The edict went out to the entire Armada. No one, outside of the Lord Marshal’s personal entourage, could be unconverted. And anyone who tried to enslave a “breeder” in the future would die “before their due time.”

Not even three hours in, not bad…

Soon “Officer Lola” had been located and was being summoned to him, along with the others. He returned to his quarters…

…in time to see Dame Fuckin’ Vaako slip out of the doors and scurry away.

What the fuck?

75.
Full Circle and Into the Fire

Okay. I’m safe for now. Time to take stock.

Audrey took a deep breath and tried to think as clearly as she could about her situation. As much of it as she actually knew. She could feel far too many holes still impeding her jumbled memory; she just had to hope none of the missing pieces were critical to this puzzle.

Toombs’ plan to coerce her into being his accomplice by threatening her family would no longer work, not now that Michael had been alerted and had moved to protect them. But the longer the merc stayed on Deckard’s World, the higher the chances were of her trail unbreaking in a way that might catch the Quintessa Corporation’s attention and link her to an accident that wasn’t supposed to have any survivors. Might even catch the attention of Federacy Operatives who would want to arrest her, not for anything she’d done as much as for what she was. Either result would be catastrophic. She needed to get offworld, leaving a trail that would make it look, to everybody except Toombs, like she’d never left the planet before. He would give chase, but she might just have enough of a head start to reach one of Toal’s Operatives before he could try to grab her again.

She would just have to make sure that she left enough of an obvious trail that he wouldn’t break off the pursuit before Deckard’s World was far behind them.

Fuck. She had sworn she would never leave again…

…hadn’t she?

Well, maybe I can find my way back to Tangiers Prime…

That would probably be a bad idea. Another place that could draw too much attention back to a trail that needed to stay broken.

Fucking Toombs… She’d really wanted to see Ewan again, too.

She frowned. Had there been plans for her to go there, at one point?

Audrey eased her way through the train’s commuters, over to a small information kiosk. She had twenty minutes until they pulled into Wyndham Landing’s spaceport. Boarding on one of the shuttles up to the space station would close ten minutes after that. She could reserve a seat now—

No. She needed to wait until the very last moment and pay for the seat in person, on camera. If Toombs got an alert before then that she was making the move—and he probably had alerts in place for any financial transactions she engaged in, given how he’d both located her dining hall and then almost caught up to her at her bank—he’d get in place to intercept her.

He still might. It’s the obvious choice…

So she’d throw in a less obvious one.

A trans-continental hopper was taking off five minutes after the shuttle she wanted, flying to Settlement Point. She booked a seat on it under her real name.

If he had an accomplice like Eve Logan waiting to intercept her at the station, they’d stake out the trans-continental concourse instead. That might buy her enough time to get to the shuttle. When she didn’t board the hopper, and the other transaction posted, he’d know where she’d really gone but would have an hour’s wait, minimum, before he or his accomplice could try to follow.

Straightening her clothing and finger-combing her hair, she worked on making herself look as ordinary as possible again. Now it was time to blend in.

He’s probably going to have some legal trouble to deal with, she thought. Chasing me like that means he fled the scene of a probably-fatal accident he had a role in causing. Unless he rented that car under an assumed name, that’s going to come up the moment they book him. If they book him.

She’d be screwed, though, if he had someone staked out up on the station itself, and got a chance to contact them so they could ambush her as she emerged from the shuttle. She couldn’t pull an “isomorph” in orbit; only vacuum waited in all but three of her other ’verses there, and lethal atmospheres prevailed in those three. Even going partway into any of them could kill her. Her only other option would be to isomorph her captor… to commit a murder.

Could she do that?

…Was any of what she’d just contemplated even real?

Just gotta hope that he doesn’t get a chance to arrange an ambush, she told herself.

Twenty minutes felt like twenty years.

Audrey had never been a sloucher. Now, however, she did her best to look three or four inches shorter than her semi-intimidating height of 5’10” as she tried to melt into the center of the debarking crowd. She let the main current carry her from the train toward the entryway to the concourse for high-speed commuter trains, the ones that could reach other towns and resorts in Deckard’s World’s northern hemisphere in the same twenty minutes that her low-speed train had taken to reach the station, before finally separating from the flow near the public restrooms.

Ten minutes to get myself offworld, she told herself. She kept her walk smooth and unhurried as she headed for the shuttle departure deck, blending into another flow of commuters taking the escalator to the top level.

Again, she slouched as much as she could manage. If Toombs had an accomplice, they would be looking for a tall woman with dark blonde hair. She couldn’t do much about the hair yet, but she could make herself as short as possible.

Audrey had one of her bearer cards, and her ID with her real name on it, at the ready by the time she reached the shuttle gates. Two other people behind her were able to buy passage before she heard the ticketing kiosk announce that the shuttle was at capacity. It was packed, a few of her fellow passengers still squabbling over where to put luggage and how to sit together. It took her almost until liftoff to find a free seat.

It was only her second time experiencing escape velocity in a properly padded chair.

The last time she’d left Deckard’s World, she’d been in a baggage compartment and had almost been crushed by someone’s hard-sided luggage set. The takeoff from the crash planet had been very nearly as rough, and she and Kyra had been forced to lie on the utility closet floor, extra hazmat suits their only cushioning, while the Scarlet Matador took off. Swanky chair aside, she hadn’t been in any condition to appreciate how physically comfortable—comparatively speaking—her launch from New Casablanca was. This one was still no picnic—she still felt like an elephant had decided to lie down on top of her—but she knew that at least this time, she wouldn’t be wearing bruises for days, for any reason.

Small mercies. Hang onto the small mercies.

Audrey would reach Plymouth Station A three hours after she had shaken Toombs off her trail, she calculated. Then she would need to start doing some real maneuvers, and making sure he knew—just too late to stop her—what they were.

Gravity was lessening rapidly. After another moment, her hair began to float randomly around her face. She reached out to the data screen in front of her and ran a query for the space station’s current departure schedule. Did anything leaving in the immediate future have space left for one more passenger?

One ship stood out: the Santa Clara. It had more than a dozen berths left—

Berths. No wonder. The Santa Clara was some kind of former cruise ship, originally meant for taking well-heeled passengers through a single system’s prettiest tourist points, that had been refitted for Star Jumping. But it still had bunk rooms instead of aisles of cryo-tubes. Probably there were just enough claustrophobic travelers who couldn’t handle cryo-tubes, and couldn’t afford their own charter Star Jumper with in-seat cryo, to keep it in business.

A ship that wouldn’t force her into cryo. And it was going to New Queensland. How absolutely perfect, if stupid expensive. She’d buy a ticket on it right before it was scheduled to stop admitting passengers.

She noted its gate number and pulled up the space station schematic. There would, she estimated, be just enough time for her to stop in the shopping level—a place where almost anything could be purchased, given how many passengers mislaid their luggage coming and going—and get herself some clothing and toiletries for the month-long journey. Maybe even a replacement tablet.

The next several hours went surprisingly smoothly. No one made a scene; no one attempted to intercept her. Eve Logan apparently wasn’t working with Toombs on this caper. Nor, seemingly, was anyone else. It had surprised her, for a moment, that no one fussed about her meeting all of the requirements for going offworld, but apparently she’d taken care of all that more than a year ago. A vague memory stirred at that point, of plans to actually attend school at Khair Eddine and, hopefully, reunite with Ewan. What had stopped her?

She couldn’t remember. Yet.

Audrey even had a moment to leave a brief, apologetic message on her mother’s answer-comm, knowing Bettie Paige Hawthorne-Baxter, Esq. would be unlikely to pick up a call from an unidentified comm number. She wondered if her mother and Alvin had been alerted by Michael yet, or if they were in for a surprise when they went to pick Elodie up from school and found her under armed guard.

“Mom, it’s Audrey. The things I could never tell you, about the time I was away… one of them came back. I’m okay. I’ll be okay. But I have to go away for a while so nobody gets hurt. I love you. I’ll come back, I swear I will. Keep Elodie safe. You can trust Michael, but don’t trust anybody else you don’t know around her. Don’t leave her unguarded for a second.”

It was only much later, after boarding, after departure, after trying and failing to sleep and while picking out late-night snacks from the Santa Clara’s vending machines, that she realized she’d probably given the accidental impression that, years ago, she might have been abducted by traffickers.

Anything that keeps Elodie safe. Anything that keeps anyone else from figuring out where I went and who I was six years ago.

She was foundering under the weight of memory, struggling to fit it back into the life she thought she knew, the person she’d believed she was for the last year. From moment to moment, she either couldn’t understand how she’d managed to pull off her escape from Toombs… or couldn’t understand how she’d ever not known how to. Some of the memories were shocking in their violence, in her violence, one or two making her worry that she was making a mistake by trying to eat anything. What was she? What had she been?

Few people were up at that hour. When she entered the starboard lounge—which must have once been quite luxurious during the ship’s pleasure cruise days—she noticed that the only people in there all had their backs to the broad picture window. Outside, the stars swirled and danced past the ship as the wormhole from a new ’verse—which she’d aligned herself with, expanding her five-shape to twenty-eight ’verses wide—turned parsecs into miles. She settled onto a couch for the show, nibbling at her snacks.

I’d forgotten all about my five-shape. How could I forget my—

“You always stare at nothing like that?” someone asked to her left. She turned her head.

“Sorry?”

“You looked like you were watching something out the window,” a man in his mid-thirties, self-consciously dressed in the same kinds of clothes most of the first-year guys at Deckard Tech were sporting, told her. He wasn’t bad-looking, but there was something just slightly distasteful about him. A vibe she didn’t like. “Like there’s something there to see. Don’t even know why they have windows in this dive.”

She almost answered him, almost started telling him the history of former luxury ships like the Santa Clara, when the rest of what he’d said snagged her full attention.

Like there’s something there to see…?

“What do you see out the window?” she asked, aware that the man was probably hoping to flirt with her, and that she really ought to shut him down, but suddenly too curious not to ask. Part of her was mentally filing away details about him: five foot nine, 190 pounds, light brown hair, hazel eyes, no scars or tattoos…

What was she?

He frowned, as if it had never occurred to him that anyone would ask such a thing. “What I always see. What everybody always sees. Nothing. You never see anything inside a Star Jump.”

Audrey looked away from him, back out the window. A trio of stars whirled past, red and gold and blue, and for a moment she wondered which ’verse’s version of the crash planet might just have spun by. A wormhole might loop past anything…

“You really don’t see anything out the window?” she asked him after a pause.

“I really don’t.” His tone changed slightly, as he switched from cranky tourist into guy on the make. “But anyway, who needs windows when the view in here is so—”

“But surely,” Audrey cut him off, “you hear the whispers, right?”

Flirtation gave way to uncertainty.

“The what?”

The ones tellin’ me to go for the sweet spot, just to the left of the spine, fourth lumbar down. The abdominal aorta. It’s a metallic taste, human blood…

No, that would be a little too dramatic. She cocked her head instead, as if listening to something, making her expression quizzical. “You really don’t hear them?”

“Sorry, uh… no.” Someone was no longer on the make. “But, uh… you have a good… night…”

She restrained her laughter until after he’d fled the lounge. Fifteen minutes later, she was alone in the place with her cheese chips and peanut butter cups, the only insomniac left up.

Do people really see nothing out of these windows? She could have sworn that she’d seen stars through the front viewscreen of the Nephrite Undine. Was she misremembering somehow? She’d had no idea that the view was supposed to be…

Dull? Nondescript? Boring? Empty?

Wait. She knew the answer to this. She’d figured it out on the Undine. Another jumbled, restored memory slid back into place for her. She, alone, could see into twenty-seven other universes where no wormhole occluded the view of the stars. Only people with Threshold Syndrome could see stars during a Jump.

My five-shape is gonna be forty-one ’verses wide when I get to New Queensland, part of her, still swimming for the surface, thought, but she was not entirely sure what she meant by that. Something was still missing, something that had to do with…

My sister? Not Elodie… not Kyra… not even Sebby—and how could she have forgotten Sebby?—but someone else…

Memories swirled like the stars out the window as they tried to work their way back into place. One, of living statues from the ship that was screaming, made her recoil in horror. She and Imam had been dragged through a room, on their way to a twisted arena, and while no one had explained anything about the statues they were passing, she had felt how alive and tormented each one was…

She didn’t want that memory to be hers. She wanted it to be Jack’s, to belong to Jack-who-was-dead. No. I’m not going to think about that. It happened to someone else, not me. Not me.

Not me.

She was Audrey, not Jack. Jack had done terrible things. Jack had no place in the life she’d been building for herself. A life now several dozen light years behind her as the first Star Jump came to an end.

Never thought I’d pass this way again…

She’d certainly never intended to.

…had she?

She’d sworn she’d never leave Deckard’s World again… hadn’t she?

Her memories were a massive, contradictory jumble. There was so much she needed to puzzle out. So much that still didn’t make sense. She knew, with iron certainty, that she had been hiding from something far more terrible and insidious than Alexander Toombs. But what it might be, she still couldn’t remember yet…

And, she realized, as a flicker of red caught her eye, she might not have any time left to figure it out.

---

Disengaging contact. Subject is unharmed.

Riddick came back to himself slowly. Being so thoroughly immersed in Jack’s memories—Audrey MacNamera’s memories—had left him a little disoriented.

The chamber of the Quasi-Dead was silent around him. His most trusted guards stood outside, unmoving. He wasn’t sure how many hours had passed.

Jack hadn’t been able to talk for long, tell her story for long, before her exhaustion had overcome her. He’d carried her, sleeping, to the chamber of the Quasi-Dead, and had commanded them to “read” the rest of her story to him.

Disappearing into another person’s memories was an experience unlike anything he’d ever had. It was going to take him a while to sort through it all.

Her sleeping face was still and calm, her breathing slow and steady. He gathered her up as the Quasi-Dead tilted back out of sight, carrying her out of their chamber, his guards falling in around them. All would-be observers had been forbidden to attend the “reading,” and the Quasi-Dead themselves had been forbidden to speak while it transpired. They had been ordered to serve only as conduits, channeling the girl’s memories directly into his head.

Maybe it was because she was an esper, he reflected. Or maybe because she was eidetic. Or maybe because he was both of those things, too… and maybe because she’d been unconscious and unable to resist. But everything had flowed into his mind with cinematic clarity and detail, every sense engaged. He felt like he’d experienced her life. Her highs, lows, terrors, joys… everything.

Everything.

He understood why she’d been so frightened, now. As her memories had come flooding back into her head, they’d brought a confused awareness that she was hiding from someone or something much more dangerous than Toombs. Discovering that he had been looking for her, and from here of all possible places…

She thought I was what she was hiding from… being hidden from. Not exactly an unreasonable conclusion.

“Stay outside,” he told the guards as they opened the door to his chambers. He carried the girl back into his bedroom and lowered her onto the bed, wondering how much longer she would remain unconscious.

Until I wake her, a voice behind him whispered.

“I wondered if you were here,” he murmured, not bothering to turn around. There was no point. Human eyes couldn’t see Her, except in tiny fragments. Human brains—even Furyan brains—couldn’t process what She was.

Where else would I be but with my little sister in her time of peril?

“About a million other places, all at once, if I’m right about what you are,” he told Her.

You see clearly, Lightbringer.

“Ain’t no Lightbringer,” he grumbled.

You bear Her mark upon your chest. Her seed flourishes within you. And you are here, with my little sister. Just as we have chosen Audrey, She has chosen you. You are of Her brood. First and foremost among the Children of Light.

“You gonna spout some prophecy nonsense at me now?”

We do not do prophecies. Cause and effect flow in multiple directions. One stream’s future is another’s past, and its future is the first stream’s past. Free will is why there are endless streams. But the Demons of the Darkness have left only one pathway through, for all of us. Will you walk it?

“I got any kind of choice in the matter?”

None of us do now, because of them.

“Then I guess I’m walkin’ it.” He stared down at the sleeping girl on his bed. She looked so fragile, so vulnerable. But he knew what she was capable of, even better than she did maybe. “Gonna need her for it.”

That is why she’s here.

“You ain’t gonna clue me in on what happens next, are you?” He found himself smirking. This shit, he thought, always went the same way. Gods, monsters, or something else altogether, they never could just lay it out. Had to be fuckin’ mysterious.

Would it help if I did?

He remembered what Michael had said to Jack about prophecies, about how knowing what was coming and struggling against it somehow made it more inevitable than if people stopped fighting the future and just let it all play out. Did what came naturally and saw the result…

“Nah. Why take away the mystery?”

We will meet again soon, Lightbringer.

He really wished She wouldn’t call him that. The darkness was his home; why didn’t They get that? “One more thing. In case there’s any doubt. She’s mine now. Jack is mine.”

You might want to see if Audrey agrees with you. There was a hint of amusement in Her voice. In the periphery of his vision, darkness swirled within the gloom and dissipated.

He suspected She hadn’t gone far.

“John MacNamera’s daughter,” he murmured after a moment, stripping out of his armor and boots before joining Jack on the bed, lying down beside her on top of the sheets. “How interesting.”

He’d encountered the name on multiple occasions, usually when he was trying to figure out how to defeat a particularly impregnable security system. How strange to find out that an opponent he’d never actually met, but had enormous respect for, felt much the same way about him.

What might he have done, he wondered, if he’d known six years ago that the man’s little girl was in his grasp?

“No wonder you were so secretive,” he told the sleeping girl beside him. He’d underestimated her tremendously.

Everything she’d done and said, during their brief time together, had more layers of complexity to it than he’d given her credit for. She’d been running a game, playing the roles she needed to play to try to reach her father, even fooling him in the process. If she’d told him what she was trying to do, where she was trying to go and who she was trying to reach… would he have helped her, or started running a game of his own?

Can’t take it personally that she didn’t want to tell me, he thought. It’s not like she told Shazza, either. Or Fry. Or fuckin’ Paris.

Paris was another who’d had them all—well, almost all of them—fooled, his meek, effete professorial mask and his extreme materialism disguising skills that were much more interesting. He’d missed it, but Jack had caught it. Then again, he hadn’t been the esper wandering around unshielded… and actively seeking mentorship in larceny.

If he’d known that she had the backdoor codes to half the impregnable security systems he’d struggled to beat, stored in her head, would he have been able to let her go her way?

Not to mention, this girl can plan out a heist like nobody’s business…

And yet, after he’d left her, making the Holy Man promise to keep her safe, the hoodoo had kept her trapped instead. She hadn’t been able to heist herself out of the al-Walid home until she’d given up and put a razor to her wrists.

If he’d known how close she would come to destroying herself in the Imam’s house, and how little true caring the Holy Man would actually show her, would he have been able to leave her behind?

“Fuck.” He’d expected a lot better out of the man, after seeing him rescue her from strangling to death in the Kublai Khan’s arena.

He’d probably have taken her with him, instead. And that would not have ended well. For either of them. Even if he’d just asked her where she wanted to go and sent her on her way there, she’d have been Quantified and enslaved before she could reach her father. And if he’d kept her with him… she’d have ended up, one way or another, destroyed. By him.

He lifted one of her arms, pushing her sleeve back and tracing the scar on her inner arm. I wonder when she stopped hiding them… That was somewhere in the memory stream he’d imbibed, he was sure.

Why the fuck did this have to be the best path for her? God was still a fucker. But she had survived, and had even managed to thrive. That was something.

One thing he still didn’t understand was why the Holy Man had thought it was Jack in Crematoria and not Kyra. He got, now, why Kyra would know so much about Jack’s run with him, how she was able to get so many details right even as she got key ones wrong and unknowingly gave her game away, why she wouldn’t have had enough wariness of mercs in spite of sharing a piece of Jack’s history with them. He even had a sense, now, of why she’d believed she was Jack, and why her infatuation with him had run even deeper than that of the girl sleeping next to him. But what had she said or done to make the Holy Man believe that she was the girl he’d failed, and not a stranger?

Because the Holy Man had failed Jack, multiple times over, and then had apparently failed Kyra too…

And I let it happen.

“What are you pitching, Riddick?” Kyra had demanded of him. “That you cutting out was a good thing? That you had my ass covered from halfway across the universe?”

What would his answer to Jack have been, if she’d asked that? The mercs on his tail, he admitted to himself, had been an excuse, and as much as he had been willing to admit to someone other than Jack herself. The existential threat he’d posed to the girl’s mind, body, and soul if they stayed together… was that something he could have admitted to her, if she’d been the one standing there?

But Jack, he knew now, had never expected him to stay with her. She’d expected the two of them to part ways, and she’d accepted it. She just hadn’t counted on getting trapped in the al-Walid house the way she had. And she’d needed him to “say goodnight” before he left. While she was awake to hear it and say goodnight back, to know he cared, to know he hadn’t become disgusted with her for taking a life.

Fuck me… That, right there, had been his biggest mistake.

He’d been so focused on the tearful please-don’t-gos that he’d thought he’d face with her, if he did a real good-bye, it had never occurred to him that she might smile, give him a hug and kiss him on the cheek, tell him to “be careful out there,” and then get back to the business of conniving her way onto a ship to Furya.

“Thought I had you pegged, kid,” he told her as she slept. “But fuck, you’re a slippery one.”

She didn’t react. She was deeply asleep. She’d probably stay that way for hours.

Of course she will, he realized, and suddenly knew exactly what She was waiting for him to do before She allowed her little sister to wake up.

He’d have to figure out Kyra’s deal later. First…

First it was time for him to get some sleep; real sleep, not just meditating while he dream-lived her life. Then, when he woke, it would be time to talk to the Holy Fuckin’ Half-Dead itself. Make this ship safe for Jack to wake up on.

“Nobody enters or leaves these rooms while I’m gone,” he told his guards as he left his quarters several hours later, feeling better rested than he had in a year. In, if he was being truthful, years.

There were corridors, deep in the Basilica, that no one walked. No one dared. He’d only been in them once, himself, when his rage had sent him there looking for a way to annihilate the ship. He retraced the route from memory now. The last time, he’d turned away and considered it a smart move to do so. Good survival instincts.

Now, though, he had business to conduct.

Old, worn signs, utilitarian rather than the ornate monstrosities created by later generations of Necromongers, greeted him and pointed the way.

There. That was the sign he was looking for, so much more meaningful now that he’d lived in Jack’s head.

Tenth Crusade
Built at Oslo Shipping Spacedock 1
Authorized . . . . .  May 18, 2099
Keel Laid  . . . . . June 14, 2100
Launched . . . . . August 27, 2101
Commissioned . . December 27, 2101

“Disappeared July 18, 2102,” Riddick murmured, touching the plaque. The girl’s knowledge about this ship’s early days was encyclopedic.

He followed the signs leading to the original engine room. Last time he’d been down here, he’d stopped at the plaque, unwilling to venture further. Now he understood exactly what awaited him.

The room was a shambles, torn to pieces. An explosion had taken down massive parts of its structure centuries earlier. Wreckage, shielding elements, and fractured bits of stone were scattered throughout. And…

“There you are,” he murmured, catching a glimpse—just a glimpse—of his quarry. “We need to talk.”

It didn’t answer him, vanishing into the shadows.

“We’re gonna talk. Now.” He smiled and played his trump card. “Moribund…”

74.
Run, Audrey, Run

The fall of Helion Prime, to something apparently known as the Necromonger Armada, soon became the hot topic of discussion among Deckard Tech’s Sociology majors and stayed that way for the next year. Someone had smuggled video recordings offworld, shot during the worst of the fighting, and everyone at the college spent months dissecting them, arguing about the meaning of the massive structure they came to call the “three-faced tower” and the reason behind the attack at all. Even summer break only postponed the debates; they picked up again in the fall semester.

Audrey, who had been left with profound curiosity about Helion Prime after her short and confined five-month stay on the planet, was able to counter a lot of the myths and prejudices her classmates and other students at the University floated. She still didn’t tell anyone that she’d been to the world, instead citing sources that were even harder for her classmates to refute than personal experience might have been. The northern hemisphere of Deckard’s World wasn’t as xenophobic—its tourism industry depended on offworld visitors—but it still had its bigotries.

“No,” she told a small group that was discussing the subject in one of the student lounges, “Islam was not the ‘official religion’ of the planet. There was a large population of Muslims there, but the original colonization charter was given to the Parliament of the Hellenes in 2103. Have you even taken History of the Federacy? It was a Greek colony. Almost half of the population was Eastern Orthodox, but it had developed one of the most diverse demographics in the Federacy.”

“So why was New Mecca there?” one of the group demanded.

Audrey rolled her eyes. “There are seven other ‘New Meccas’ throughout the Federacy. Twelve pieces of the Black Stone from old Mecca’s Kaaba Shrine left Earth before the Great Asian War started and the rest was lost. Almost all of the oldest colonies have one.”

Four pieces, eerily, had gone to worlds that inexplicably failed and were classified as Black Planets, as every formerly habitable world in the Helion system now was… she’d read all about that somewhere, but couldn’t remember where.

“Still,” one of the other students said after a moment, “It could’ve been the New Taliban, couldn’t it? Attacking Helion Prime to make the rest of the population be Muslim?”

“By killing everybody? Anyway, the three-faced tower is pretty much conclusive proof that it wasn’t the New Taliban,” she told him, trying not to roll her eyes again. “They have super strict rules about graven images.”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“Look,” she said, pulling out her tablet and opening it up to one of the images a lot of people had seen, of a ship with a relief of a man holding a sword like a staff on its top, reminiscent of a carved medieval coffin lid. She turned it so everyone could see. “Does that look Muslim to you? No. It looks like one of the statues or reliefs of a crusade knight. Eleventh to fourteenth century Christians used this kind of iconography. It’s not Muslim.”

“Fiiiine…” The other student, part of what Audrey privately called the Cs Get Degrees Squad, grimaced and shrugged. “They’re not Muslims. Still a bunch of offworld crazies killing each other. What’s it matter?”

Screw it; there was no talking to someone like him. Except one way. “Maybe, if we never want our skies looking like that, it’d be a good idea to know who did it and why?”

Two of his friends chuckled.

“She’s got a point, Bruce,” one of the others, a guy named George who periodically tried to ask her out, said.

Bruce scoffed again. “Never gonna happen here. Dunno why we even need to know that stuff. We’re engineering majors.”

George snickered. “You know what they say. ‘Those who fail to learn from history…’”

“‘Are doomed to repeat it in summer school!’” the group chorused.

Laughing and shaking her head—most of the guys were pretty decent sorts—Audrey kept walking. Most of them were from the northern hemisphere; Bruce, George, and one or two others were from the southern hemisphere and were trying to let go of their ingrained prejudices; they just had more work to do. Fortunately, they weren’t from Settlement Point, let alone Eisenhower High, or they might not have been willing to listen to her at all. There was only one other student on campus who knew anything about her “sordid” back-story, and Emily Hartwell had no interest in gossiping about her. In this environment, her reputation was completely within her control: a hard-working student pulling down straight As, who knew her shit. Crass as they sometimes were, the guys back there respected her and more than one had come to her for help when tests were looming.

The autumn quarter of her sophomore year had just begun, and she was still trying to wheedle her advisor into approving one more class for her course load. He knew she could handle it, but getting all of the requisite signatures involved him talking to a professor in the linguistics department that he particularly disliked, so she was going to have to stop by his office after breakfast to badger him again.

As she walked into the dining hall, the back of her neck prickled and she had the weird feeling that she was being watched. She glanced around, frowning. On several occasions, she had spotted a dark-haired man watching her; when she’d finally gone over to confront him, he’d told her his name was Michael and he was affiliated with campus security, and he had turned out to be quite lovely. She’d been tempted to ask him to join her for tea, but she had strict rules about only dating offworld tourists who couldn’t try to attach strings to their time together.

But Michael wasn’t around. A car was parked nearby, its windows reflecting sunlight back into her eyes and making it impossible to tell if someone was inside.

Whatever. She was probably imagining it, and breakfast wasn’t going to eat itself…

“There she is!” Janice called out a few minutes later, waving her over to a table. “Audrey MacNamera, who eats engineering students before breakfast!”

“Gonna ruin your appetite if you keep doing that,” Amanda, their floor’s R.A., laughed.

Damn, word had traveled fast. She joined the group, setting her tray down and taking a small shaker out of her bag.

“What is that stuff?” one of the newcomers to campus asked as she sprinkled its contents over her eggs.

“Cumin. All fried eggs should have cumin on them,” she said. She’d done her best to assemble a “traditional Moroccan breakfast” from the dining hall’s offerings, but she always had to bring her own cumin and olives. And her own bags of Maghrebi mint tea.

“You are super weird,” Janice chuckled.

“Hey, if I end up transferring to Khair Eddine, I’ll eat like this all the time,” she said, grinning. In truth, she doubted the transfer would ever happen, but the offer they had sent over the summer was tempting, and it was nice to know that big-name offworld schools were still actively trying to court her. Maybe for graduate work…

She’d stayed on Tangiers Prime briefly during her run. A family had taken her in for a while, and she’d had the most desperate crush on their son, Ewan, who had been training to be a military pilot and gave some of the best hugs…

She wished, sometimes, that there had been a way to stay in touch with them, but since she didn’t want anyone knowing she’d been offworld—or that she was, thanks to cryo time, nine months younger than her records claimed she was—she couldn’t risk it.

But she’d never lost her taste for Moroccan food. She’d eat it all the time if she could. And moving to Tangiers Prime was a frequent fantasy of hers, along with some racier fantasies about Ewan Zdan Tomlin Meziane—

Get real. You’re staying right here, on Deckard’s World, and you’re gonna help reform things so women on this planet have access to the same reproductive healthcare and job opportunities as offworld women, and so the socioeconomic segregation of ethnic minorities stops already. It’s good work, important work, a life’s work… and it’ll keep you close to Elodie.

It was an early autumn day, still warm enough to feel almost summery but cool enough in the mornings that she’d put on a sweatshirt. By noon, she thought as she stepped out into the sunlight and fragrant breezes, she’d probably be able to take it off and wear something lighter—

“Well, if it ain’t Little Miss Jack B. Badd herself,” a familiar voice rasped behind her and to her left.

Her steps almost hitched, but she made herself keep walking in an unbroken stride even as she felt her heart plunge. She knew that voice. She knew that name.

“I’m talkin’ to you, blondie. Yeah, you in the Deckard Tech U sweatshirt.”

She looked over to see a face that she’d tried hard to forget, and only ever saw anymore in nightmares she banished from her mind upon waking.

Alexander Toombs.

Well, shit.

She frowned, feigning puzzlement and hoping that he hadn’t caught her moment of recognition. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“Not personally, no. Don’t think we’ve ever met.” His smile was unpleasant, but she was relieved to realize that he still had no idea how close she had come to him on two occasions. “We have a mutual friend in common.”

“Really? Who’s that?” Director Flint was about the only one who had willingly associated with both of them, in his way. Audrey hadn’t thought about him in ages. He’d earned his comeuppance years before, and was now probably among Helion Prime’s dead.

“Richard B. Riddick.” His ugly smile widened. He would be a decent looking man, she thought suddenly, if his smile weren’t so purely evil. At least he took better care of his teeth than some mercs.

She gave him an incredulous laugh. “Riddick? The criminal?”

His grin didn’t waver. He was too assured in his knowledge. “Riddick. The criminal.”

Before she could come up with a way to laugh off his claim, he had moved up beside her and she felt something hard pressed against the small of her back.

“Now, you can walk quietly to my car and we can go for a nice drive, or we can make a scene out of this and then everybody here finds out that Little Miss Goody-Goody Scholarship Girl is really a felon with a price on her head.”

Audrey went cold to her core. “Try it,” she grated out. “I know a lot more about the law than I did back then. You’ve been claiming for six years that Riddick killed Antonia Chillingsworth.”

“So I ‘find’ footage that proves otherwise,” Toombs snickered. “Who knew?”

“Who are you planning on showing it to?” she asked. “My stepfather the District Attorney?”

“You got a point,” Toombs admitted. “Okay, how’s this? You’re gonna help me flush out and capture Riddick… Jack… but if you don’t want to cooperate with me, I guess I could find someone else to use as bait. He likes kids. Elodie’s pretty cute, looks a little like you did with those great big eyes—”

Audrey wheeled around to face him squarely. “You stay away from her!”

The hard object that had been against her back was now against her belly. She glanced down, her breath hitching as she realized it was a gun. Part of her wanted to panic—part of her was panicking—but a calm, almost cold voice spoke up from deep within her.

“If you shoot me here, you’ll end up on the wrong side of the Merc Network’s bounty list.”

“Nah,” Toombs said, putting away the gun. “I ain’t gonna shoot ya. Or arrest ya. But you are gonna come take a nice ride with me in my car. Or one day soon you’ll be broad-waving a message to your old friend begging him to help you find your little sister.”

He’d do it. She could see it in his eyes. She couldn’t let him hurt Elodie. Not for anything.

“Those fucking mutton chops make you look like a macaque,” she said with impotent fury. He just grinned his wicked grin at her as if she’d paid him the ultimate compliment.

He led her over to the car she’d noticed earlier, cuffing her as he made her get into its back seat, hands—mercifully—in front.

For a few minutes, they drove in silence. Audrey tried to recall what she had once learned from Riddick about popping the locks of cuffs like these. She’d never been good enough at it. Sick dread was pooling in her stomach.

“So where are you taking me?” she made herself ask.

“You and me, girl, we’re gonna go meet up with your good buddy. And then you’re gonna help me capture him.” Toombs turned his car onto the highway entrance, heading westward. Toward the city center. Toward the spaceport beyond it.

There was something ugly in his voice on those last words. Resentment and fury, only now emerging because he probably felt safe to drop his guard a little on this drive.

“You really think you can find him?” she asked.

“Won’t be the first time I’ve found him,” he grumbled, maneuvering through the thick morning commuter traffic.

Oh. Oh.

“He fooled you, didn’t he?” Audrey asked. “Made you think you caught him, then turned the trap around on you.”

Toombs didn’t answer, but the way his lips pressed together told her everything. He’d finally met Richard B. Riddick again, and it had gone badly for him.

“So why come after me?” she asked. “You actually think you can use me as bait?”

“Got a feeling he’ll be interested in your fate, yeah.” His eyes, in the rear-view mirror, crinkled; he was smiling at the thought.

“I really doubt it,” she told him. “It’s been six years. I doubt he even remembers me.”

“You’d be surprised what he remembers,” Toombs told her. “Gotta say, finding you was harder than I expected. When’d you leave Shakti Four?”

“You tell me. You’re the mighty hunter of people. Where’s your friend, anyway?”

He frowned. “What friend?”

“That lady merc. The one who was after my roommate.”

The smile had left his eyes. “Ain’t none of your business.” He tapped the horn. “Hey! Asshole! My grandma drives faster’n you an’ she’s been dead twenty years! Fuckin’ car-nostalgic planet… Who the fuck brings back traffic jams? I’m askin’ ya.”

“What’s the big hurry?” She thought she remembered the trick to popping the cuffs, lowering her hands between her knees, hopefully out of his line of sight, as she started to twist them. They were on the highway now, and Toombs would hopefully be too busy dealing with rush hour traffic to notice.

“I’m owed a payday an’ I’m gonna claim it. You could’a earned a cut if you’d been more cooperative.”

“Oh please.”

“Merc’s honor.”

To their right, out of the corner of her eye, Audrey saw a speeder on a motorcycle overtaking them. If only that were someone coming to rescue her. “Merc’s honor? Like your friend Pritchard?”

Toombs’s eyes cut sharply to meet hers in the rear-view mirror “Ain’t no friend of mine, girl, an’ what makes you think I even—”

“Look out!” Audrey shrieked, unable to stop the words from exploding out.

Everything after that felt, to her, as if it played out in extreme slow motion. The motorcycle, cutting to the side as Toombs began inattentively swerving toward it, put on a burst of speed and zoomed ahead of them. Its rider miscalculated as he tried to weave around the car in front of them, which had begun changing lanes without signaling, and plowed into its side. The bike fragmented, the rider flipping over the hood of the car and flying back toward Toombs’ rental.

“Fuck!” he shouted, yanking the wheel hard to the left and slamming his foot down on the brake. The car began to spin out. Something—someone, Audrey realized with sick horror—thumped across its roof.

Thrown to the side, Audrey felt a strange, terrible detachment as she watched herself falling head-first toward the locked passenger door. She was going to hit her head, hard enough to knock her out, hard enough to concuss, possibly hard enough to kill—

—I’m not here I’m there I’m not here I’m there I’m not here I’m there—

She hit soft turf, rolling. She was in a meadow, full of fresh greenery and flowers that, although she somehow knew no one on Deckard’s World besides her had ever seen their like, were inexplicably as familiar to her as her stepfather’s garden. A large insect, almost like a butterfly, bumped into her arm twice and made a weird, soft, chirping sound before fluttering drunkenly past her. Around her, barely visible, phantom shapes of cars spun and crashed into each other. She could only just hear the chain reaction of accidents as if from miles away.

She was in Elsewhere…

Oh… fuck…

Her hands were still cuffed. She rose to her feet, looking around. The shape of the land was very similar to “her” Deckard’s World, but appeared untouched by any human other than her. The air was clean and sweet, entirely scents of nature with none of the odors of a human city. No asphalt. No exhaust. No smell of Toombs’ body odor barely disguised by too much cheap cologne. In the distance, past a hillside that she knew led toward the college in her world, she could see a primordial forest, its leaves just verging from green to gold. And, near its edge, an incongruous comm tower.

She knew this place, knew it intimately… and yet she didn’t.

She reached into her pocket, pulled out her comm, and punched in a code automatically. Confusion and terror filled her. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Not like this…

“Yes, Audrey?” MilitAIre answered before even one ring. How…? She hadn’t heard his voice since the Nephrite Undine had docked at Plymouth Station A.

“I’ve been made,” she said, her voice almost monotone. She didn’t know or understand what she was saying until she said it. “Toombs found me.”

“Why are you in Elsewhere?”

“I was almost in a car accident,” she told him, still in that lifeless debriefing monotone, still with no idea what she was going to say until she heard herself speak. “He had me in his car. He threatened to take Elodie if I didn’t go with him to be bait for Riddick.”

“Audrey. Listen carefully. ‘The mermaid must raise a tsunami.’”

She dropped to her knees, overwhelmed, memories pouring back into her head in a towering, chaotic flood. “Oh fuck…”

“Michael will go to Elodie and keep her safe. You need to run, Audrey. Lead Toombs offworld. Leave a trail he can follow to another system. We’ll arrange for someone to be waiting for you on the other end to help you.”

“Okay…” She hung up, forcing herself to rise to her feet again. In U1, the careening vehicles had all stilled and people were starting to climb out and look around. Several had clustered around a still figure on the pavement. For a moment, she wanted to join them, but—

Too many lives depended on her escaping Toombs. The memories rioting in her head like whitewater rapids insisted that she had to run, not stop for any reason.

She checked herself over. Having cuffed her, Toombs hadn’t bothered to frisk her or remove her wallet, keys, or comm from her pockets. Her bag, with her tablet and textbooks, was still somewhere in his car, but she had everything she needed to make her escape. Her fall had been gentle, too; nothing was sprained or even felt bruised.

Audrey slipped her comm back into her pocket and crossed the opposite lanes of phantom traffic at a run, not stopping until she was on the far side of the highway, three lanes of still-flowing traffic between her and the accident, between her and Toombs. Turning and balancing herself carefully—she should return to level ground, but she wasn’t entirely sure of that—she willed herself back, minus the handcuffs. Those could stay in the field of Elsewhere, part of there, not here.

She felt the cuffs fall away from her, and they were gone as the ’verse of her birth solidified around her once more.

Toombs had climbed out of his car and was looking around it with frantic confusion. He shook a small tracker in his hand and then smacked it.

So the cuffs had a locator in them.

Ha. Good luck ever finding that signal again, jackass.

She waited for him to look her way, staring at him. The shock and rage in his face, when he finally spotted her, would have made her laugh if the stakes weren’t so damned high.

Certain that he’d seen her, even more certain that it would be hard for him to cross the three lanes of fast-moving traffic between them even if half the drivers were rubbernecking the accident, Audrey took off at a run.

First in regional cross-country, second in sprints, asshole. Try and keep up. She wondered if he’d bothered to research her much before coming after her. Maybe he even knew that about her.

No. No way. If he’d done his research, he would have known she was under Federacy protection and wouldn’t have dared move on her. He only seemed to think of her in terms of Riddick, not as an actual person.

She scrambled down the ravine next to the highway and up the other side, instantly recognizing the area she emerged into. Her bank was just another two blocks away.

It was a risk. If he knew where she banked, he could try to nab her there.

He isn’t doing this through official channels. He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s making a move. That means law enforcement isn’t backing him. He doesn’t have a car anymore, or a badge that will mean a damn thing to the bank tellers…

She ran for the bank, aware that she was beating her prior best speed.

I’d have won that damn sprint if I’d had a merc on my tail, she found herself thinking with a mixture of annoyance and inappropriate amusement.

The AIs had cleared a path for her; when she arrived at her bank, the human bank officer on duty already had bearer cards waiting for her. All of her existing accounts, including her funds for the school year, had been transferred to them pending her signature on a dozen forms. He then led her to her safe deposit box, where her Marianne Tepper ID and the remaining bearer cards from her last run awaited her inside the money belt General Toal had given her some five-plus years earlier.

Adding the new bearer cards and the contents of her wallet to the money belt, she slipped it on under her sweatshirt and locked it in place. It was slightly lumpy beneath her shirt with everything inside it, but it would have to do. She had it positioned in a way that no pickpocket could make a play for it.

Her fingers twitched at the memory of picking pockets, herself, knowledge and sense memories washing back in a froth.

Damn it, that part of her life was supposed to be over.

Audrey stopped at the bank’s cash machine on the way out, engaging the terminal and then punching in one of the Ghost Codes from years earlier, before walking off as nonchalantly as possible. Behind her, she knew, the instructions associated with the code were taking effect. Any surveillance cameras that had picked up her time in the bank were now dumping the footage, under the impression that they had been served with a warrant to do so.

She was only a block further down the road, almost to the subway station with her rail pass in hand, when she heard Toombs behind her. “Jack! Jack! Fuckin’-A, Audrey! Stop right there!”

Shit, that was closer than she liked. She bolted for the station’s entrance.

She raced down the steps at top speed, mussing her hair even more and pulling her shirt askew as she went.

“Officer! Help!” she shouted as she reached the bottom and cleared the turnstile.

The security guard leapt up, moving her way. She hurried to meet him.

“What’s the trou—” he began.

“There’s a man!” she sobbed at him, thanking the stars that all of her method acting training was back in her head. “He tried to mug me! Tried to pull me behind a building, oh my god, I think he was going to—”

“Easy, Miss, slow down,” the guard told her, his voice reflecting both concern and a professional attempt to soothe. “This man, who—”

“Stop right there, you little bitch!” Toombs roared behind her, playing right into her hand.

“That’s him!” she yelled and broke away from the guard, simulating a headlong panic flight into the thick of the commuter crowd.

From the commotion behind her, she could tell that the guard had intercepted Toombs as he tried to jump the turnstiles, and that at least one bystander had joined the fray. A train waited on the platform ahead of her and to the right. She dodged past people, many of whom were now watching the altercation behind her, joining the crowd lined up at the train’s doors.

“Orange Line Westbound is now departing. Destination: Wyndham Landing Spaceport. Departure in one minute.”

She couldn’t have timed it better if she’d had a chance to plan.

The flow of bodies carried her into one of the train cars. She stayed away from the windows, concealing herself as much as she could from Toombs’ direct line of sight. The congestion cleared a little and she caught a glimpse of him, held back by two security guards, yelling incoherently and pointing at the train. For a moment, their eyes met and locked.

Fuck you, asshole. This is what you deserve for threatening my little sister.

The train began to move. Toombs howled with rage and broke free from the guards. He managed to run three paces toward her before he was tackled to the ground.

That’ll keep him tied up for a few minutes, at least, she thought.

He still hadn’t tried to handle his pursuit of her through official channels. Whatever he was up to, it was off-book, not something that he could—or, anyway, would—take to authorities. That meant that he had no intention of producing the evidence that she had shot and killed Chillingsworth. He didn’t want her taken into actual law enforcement custody; just his. And even if he didn’t know she was in WitSec, he had to know that there was no way he could get law enforcement to turn her over to him if they got involved. Not with the city’s District Attorney married to her mother, fergodsake.

If he didn’t have the law on his side—and he couldn’t, could he?—she could make this work. As long as she got him far away from her family.

Her comm buzzed. She glanced down at it and felt the tightness in her chest loosen.

Michael has Elodie. He’ll take your family to safety. Run.
M.

“And an awful lot of running to do,” she muttered, wondering just who the hell had said that and how much she still couldn’t remember.

73.
Hiding the Mermaid

Tizzy?

The voice was distant, hard to hear, but so familiar…

Tizzy!

She frowned in her sleep.

Jack! Help me!

Audrey bolted up in bed, gasping. “Kyra?”

“Mmmmm?” In the darkness, her roommate turned over and pulled her covers over her head.

That had been Kyra. Kyra… screaming… in her mind.

She closed her eyes and focused on the sound of that voice.

Kyra?

Nothing.

Kyra, it’s me… where are you?

Silence.

She willed herself into the starfield.

“I think Kyra’s in trouble!” she called out to the Apeiros. “Can any of you hear her?”

We hear nothing, they said after a moment. She has gone silent. There is… something… blocking her.

“Please find her.”

We do not have permission to speak with her.

“I rescind that! You have permission! Please, please find her. She’s in trouble! She needs help!”

We will search. We will tell you when we find her. Rest now, Audrey.

She couldn’t rest. She was too frightened for her sister.

Little one, sweet one, you need to sleep.

“I can’t… I can’t… I’m afraid I’ll miss her call again.”

We are listening. Come, we will help you sleep… One…

A glowing line formed in front of her, stretching forward and back into infinity. A singular path…

Two…

The line spread outward, forming a plane. Infinite lines, infinite paths, the possibility of intersection, reversal, veering through complex geometries, a bounded set of infinities…

Three…

The plane expanded, forming a boundless-yet-bounded cube of light. Infinite lines, infinite planes, even more possibilities of intersection and motion, shapes within the cube, delimited by their edges and yet, within, infinite paths from point to point, edge to edge…

Four…

And the cube came alive, able to travel forward and back upon its own tumbling motion, infinite lines, infinite planes, infinite cubes, motion and intention on an entirely new level, time moving forward and back like waves in a tub, cause becoming effect, a vase unshattering and rising into a little girl’s hand…

Five…

The octachoron split and danced in new directions that hadn’t existed before, time moving sideways, the myriad could-have-beens transforming into realities of their own, streams of causality moving in directions that hadn’t been possible before, effects rippling front to back, side to side… diagonal… loops…

Six…

Causality reared upward in a wave and the decateron splashed its way into new and almost inconceivable places, the could-have-beens joined by could-not-have-beens and new intersections forming, shapes that were both tiny and gargantuan populating spaces too small to hold singularities and yet too vast to navigate without eternities…

Seven…

The dodecapeton opened into something unfathomable, verging on madness, yet so beautiful that she couldn’t look away… she never looked away now. In time she would begin to understand how to navigate the tetradecaexon as well, but she could feel its peace… infinite peace…

Eyes bloomed in the darkness, an impossible being appearing before her, her nameless sister in Her full, glorious n-shape.

Come, little sister, sleep now and dream of your hatching. We will find your sister for you. The deeper ’verses will wait until you are ready…

The sun had risen when she woke again, minutes before her alarm was set to go off.

It was a Thursday, not a Sunday, but she decided to skip breakfast and her morning class to head for the safe house, which was only two blocks from the edge of campus. She had to cross almost the entire campus to get to it; her dorm was on the far side away from its location. Still, by the time deep winter came and that could become a problem, she would be on her way to Tangiers Prime.

“Kyra called me,” she said as the door closed and locked behind her, before any of the AIs could ask her what she was doing there. “She’s in trouble. I need your help to find her.”

“Called you how?” MilitAIre asked. “I show no comms activity.”

“Telepathically, I’m guessing,” Michael said, emerging from a back room. “What did she say?”

“She was calling my names. Tizzy, and then Jack, and then she said, ‘help me.’”

Michael sat down at one of the consoles in the Security Room, inputting search parameters.

“Nothing new yet from the beacons… no traceable activity on either the Kyra Wittier-Collins front or the Kali Montgomery front…” He frowned. “I wish we knew what identity she might have created in the wake of Meisner’s fuckup. Did she seem close by?”

“Pretty far away, I think. The Apeiros said something was blocking her from calling out again. I gave them permission to talk to her if they get a chance to.”

“Good.” Michael glanced at the calendar, frowning. “We’re into the red zone for Helion Prime. Not enough people have bugged out for my liking. I’d hate to think she’d gone back there.”

Audrey had helped him and the others, as the months marched closer, to create as many enticing offers as they could to lure people into taking out-system vacations during the danger period, trying to get them out of harm’s way by any subtle means they could. Rumors about the Necromongers had been planted and circulated, too, with as much information as they could verify and get away with revealing. She had even considered contacting Imam to warn him, but had been ordered not to. Too much effort had gone into breaking the connection between Jack B. Badd and Audrey MacNamera for her to draw attention to it; General Toal told her that it appeared he already knew about the threat, anyway, and took it seriously.

She hoped he was taking his wife and daughter offworld. Just to be sure, she had another set of highly discounted trip offers—Last-minute bookings! Save 90%!—sent to Lajjun, featuring excursions to places she knew would be alluring to her erstwhile foster mother.

C’mon, take the offer and run…

October, the dead of winter back in Settlement Point, was the height of summer in Wyndham Landing. The Summer Quarter was nearing its close. Audrey had signed up for her Autumn Quarter classes and had a booking reserved on the Chrysolite Undine, sister ship to the one whose track she’d pioneered, for its February 19 departure to Tangiers Prime. Michael and the AIs would accompany her, but she hadn’t yet told her family. She was struggling to figure out how to tell them, how to make it painless… or, anyway, not excruciating. At least, she thought, they wouldn’t be unhappy about having followed her to a new hemisphere only to be left behind…

They loved the northern hemisphere. It had, they’d discovered, considerably more to offer than Settlement Point, despite being more rustic and less populated. Geared toward catering to visitors from other worlds, it provided amenities that no one in the southern hemisphere seemed to know or care about, including more advanced reproductive care and childcare services that had resulted in her mother being able to begin practicing law again even before Elodie could start Kindergarten. Alvin, meanwhile, had been delighted to discover that he could go hunting and fishing with his colleagues much more easily, at any of a variety of lodges in easy driving distance. And Elodie had turned into a little wood sprite, with a whole neighborhood of children her own age to play with. While the three of them might miss her, they wouldn’t resent being stranded in a new city when she departed it, and the last several months had also accustomed them to seeing very little of her.

That much, at least, was a relief. She’d managed to do a bit of lasting good for them, no matter what else. It might help them be more okay with her need to return to Tangiers Prime, although they couldn’t know it was a return. From Alvin’s and her mother’s perspective, it was a headlong flight into the unknown that neither of them could fathom wishing to take.

She wished she could explain it to them, in a way that wouldn’t overturn everything. She was a lot less lonely in the northern hemisphere, too. She had friends, confidants even, who neither knew nor cared that there were parts of her life that stayed off-limits. They also didn’t decide she was too debauched to talk to if she couldn’t resist the allure of an offworld man who reminded her of Riddick or Ewan. While she had decided that all men except short-term visitors from offworld were off-limits, where sex was concerned, and so far it had kept the drama to a minimum, she nonetheless felt more and more strongly that she belonged on another world. She’d left too much of her heart on Tangiers Prime. And while she still couldn’t bring herself to ask her handlers whether Ewan had married during her time away, she also couldn’t bring herself to look for a romantic entanglement that might actually get in the way of returning to him.

Her feelings about Michael had, meanwhile, become completely familial. Whether she thought of him as a father, brother, or uncle, she wasn’t entirely sure, but she no longer fantasized about him… which was probably good, given that while she couldn’t read his mind at all, he could apparently read hers easily. If she’d made him at all uncomfortable with her crush and fantasies, though, he’d shown no sign.

“Since you’re here for breakfast, Audrey,” CommissAIry said, “I’ve made your favorite.” One of his robotic trays rolled up, presenting her with a collection of her favorite New Marrakesh breakfast foods. Had he somehow read her mind and known she had been thinking about Tangiers Prime?

“Thank you!” She’d just started to get hungry, her stress levels finally lowering, but was aware that her dining hall had just closed and her class had begun. It was the first class she’d skipped since she’d started at Deckard Tech, but her mind was still too unsettled to try to focus on calculus. Later. Hopefully once she had heard something from the Apeiros about Kyra.

She did attend her Intro to Sociology class later in the day, as well as Principles of Linguistics, mostly because Michael had threatened to make her watch Tommy Wiseau movies if she didn’t stop fretting loudly while he worked. But by evening, her worry for Kyra had made her antsy and a little fractious, and she returned to the safe house for a no-holds-barred sparring session with him that left her sore and exhausted, but much calmer. Afterward, they checked the beacons one last time before she would need to leave to make curfew on campus—

“Fuck,” Michael groaned as new images appeared on the screens. “It’s starting.”

“What?” Audrey had been about to gather her things and go back to the dorm. “What is?”

He moved the image he was looking at onto the main screen. In the sky above Helion Prime, easily recognized by the distinctive light pillars rising up from the bottom of the screen, a comet floated, showing telltale signs of already splintering into multiple pieces. In another day, two at most, those pieces would fall like spears.

“How old is this image?” she asked.

“A week old,” he murmured. “By now, the attack has begun. Maybe even ended.”

“A week? Why’d it take so long to reach us?”

Michael frowned, calling up a dozen reports and sifting through them at lightning speed. In moments like this, when he didn’t bother concealing his abilities, he reminded her a great deal of Riddick. “It looks like three of the beacons that messages would normally pass through, on their way into and out of the Helion system, have been disabled. That’s new.”

“Yeah, it only took us three days to find out about the Aquilan system, not seven.” They had managed, however, to get almost a third of the human population to go traveling to other parts of the galaxy before disaster could strike. Audrey tried not to think about all the pets, livestock, and wildlife that had been left behind to die along with the rest of the human population.

No matter what, though, she always felt like she should have found a way to do more. Found a way to save them all.

“I can hear you,” Michael said. “Stop tearing yourself up over there.”

She sat down next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. “It just… hurts to think about…”

“Try not to, then. These deaths aren’t at your feet.”

“Feels like they are, sometimes.”

“Seeing the future and being able to control it are completely different things,” he said. “You ever notice how most of the stories about prophecies are about how people’s attempts to prevent them are what make them happen at all?”

“Oedipus?” she asked. It was the first one that came to mind.

“Not even the most famous example,” Michael said, shutting down the feeds. “But look. Four years ago, we had no idea any of this was even happening, or that there was any kind of predictable pattern behind most of the ‘Black Planet Incidents’ until a year ago. Until you brought us the intel. You found the pattern, put all the pieces together… and every life we’ve managed to save since then is because of that. So stop beating yourself up…”

He smirked, reaching over and ruffling her hair.

“…or at least do it a little more quietly.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Are you ever gonna teach me how to shield the way you do?”

“I’ve tried. What do you think your ‘quiet mode’ is? You can hold it for maybe an hour before you start freaking out. You, girl, can’t handle being disconnected from other minds, not for long, and you avoid practicing it enough to separate your shielding for incoming and outgoing thoughts.”

“Wait, so when MilitAIre was coaching me after we landed…?”

“He was relaying my instructions, yeah. General Toal still wasn’t sure of how good you were at keeping secrets back then. You had some impulse control issues, remember?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. Nobody had ever let her live down her attempt to grab the apeirochoron. Obviously someone had swiped some since then, though. “What changed that? I mean, when you unmasked and all that.”

“Todd. That was when we put together the final pieces about you and knew it’d be safe to give you higher clearance. You’d sacrifice yourself for others in a heartbeat—and it’s part of my job, by the way, to keep you from doing that—but you won’t sacrifice others to save yourself.”

“I have, though…” she sighed.

“Fuck, Audrey, you did not sacrifice Paris Ogilvie. Are you dragging out all of your regrets tonight?”

“Sorry.”

“C’mon…” he groaned. “Let’s go get some of that mint tea you love so much from CommissAIry. The doctor is in.”

They talked until after midnight, until she was finally tired enough, and her demons had been put to rest enough, that she could get to sleep… which she did, in the bedroom they kept for her for occasions just like that one. More than half the time, when her roommate believed she was off with some hot guy, that guy was Michael… who was sleeping across the hall and who, she knew, would view ever touching her in that way as incestuous, as she had slowly come to view it herself. But only most of the time…

Her roommate was sometimes right. Especially if new offworlders happened to be passing through town. But, thankfully, Janice never judged her. Wanted all the juicy details, but never judged.

Soon after she drifted off, she found herself floating in the spangled darkness of the Apeiros starfield.

Kyra is safe, Audrey. We have her. She dreams of a world with three suns. We will keep her safe until she can wake again.

There was something odd about what they told her, she thought. It made her think of something else that she’d once heard, but she couldn’t remember where. “Donna Noble has left the library…?”

What did that even mean?

“Where was she? What happened to her?”

She was in a place of darkness and pain. But now she is safe with us.

“Can I talk to her?”

In time. Right now, she dreams—

Thieving wretches! You have taken what is mine!

Audrey found herself shrinking back from the rage of the Moribund. It filled the ether around her, making the stars themselves quake.

Nothing here is yours, the Apeiros replied, and Audrey felt them massing around her as if to shield her.

You would rob me? Deprive me of what’s mine? I fight this battle for your sakes and this is my reward? Return what you have taken!

There is nothing of yours here to return.

I will not ask again!

There is nothing for you to ask.

Something dark and terrible suddenly loomed above her, surrounded her…

…and hideous cold poured into her, filling her every vein, every cell, choking her…

I do not ask. Deny me and I will take what I wish!

She could hear the Apeiros screaming. She thought she could hear herself screaming, but she was strangling on her last breath.

Release her! She is ours, not yours! You may not have her!

I can have whatever I will! I will have her!

Long, black arms tipped with claws flashed out, raking at the stygian darkness surrounding her and then grasping her in their embrace. Audrey is mine! Release her! Release my little sister!

How dare you call this filth your sister?

How dare you touch her? You are nothing to me! Nothing to us! We disown you! You are not of us!

You are not of us, infinite voices echoed. You are dead to us.

Then fall. All of you. And watch her fall, too.

She could feel her body dying, every cell corroding away…

“Audrey! Audrey!”

Through the darkness she could see him above her, Michael, shirtless, his hair tousled from sleep.

“Give me your hand, Audrey!” He looked to the side of her. “Will this hurt you?”

I am out of range. Help her, Lightbearer. Help her! We consent even if she cannot!

Michael grabbed her hand and pressed it to his chest, to the handprint suddenly glowing on his bare skin. It seared her frozen palm even as white light blazed from Michael’s eyes and she realized that they weren’t really grey, those were contacts he wore by day hiding his real—

A blast of energy crashed through her, lighting up every nerve. It flowed through every cell and synapse, scouring away the Moribund’s darkness. She screamed against the hand covering her mouth, not with pain, but with the release from pain, the return of breath, the return of life, the return of sanity.

You will regret this! I will destroy all that you love… all that he loves…

“Oh shit, oh fuck, he’s going to come after me…” she whimpered against Michael’s hand.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her close. Her cheek was pressed to the still-glowing handprint on his chest, its touch on her skin a balm. “We won’t let him find you. I swear it.”

“He threatened to destroy everything I love… Oh fuck…” Elodie… what if he found Elodie?

We will not permit it. He will never know where to look. It was the voice of her sister, the one without a name, the one veiled from her…

“He’ll find me in my dreams. He’ll find me and track me back…”

No. He won’t.

The darkness in the corner of her bedroom moved, the shape that wasn’t a shape coming almost into her vision but staying at the periphery. Hints of cohesion—eyes? A leg?—appeared and then vanished into shadow. Her sister’s skin contained the shine of galaxies, but it was impossible to look right at Her with three-dimensional eyes.

“What do we do?” Michael asked, not looking directly at her sister either.

She must not remember. For a time. Until his attention has shifted away again. He will forget this madness. She is not the true target of his vengeance, and once he remembers that, he will cease to care about how we thwarted him this day. But in the meantime, she must not remember.

“More holes in my memory?” Audrey gasped. “Why? How much more are you going to take?”

You will not know about us. You will not know about your five-shape. You will believe yourself ordinary, a normal human. You will present to the world as one, and you will live within a shield. Michael will help you put it on. And when we are done, you will wear it with no pain and no awareness that anything is missing.

How did She know Michael’s name?

“You told me you couldn’t hear them,” she wailed, looking up at Michael in confusion.

“I lied,” he told her. “They’ve been talking to me since the hypnosis session you don’t remember. It’s my responsibility to know the things that they can’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“You have no idea how crucial your part in all of this is going to be,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “But if you knew what it was all for, you wouldn’t be able to wait for the right moment. You’d sacrifice yourself to save who and what you can now. Instead of becoming as strong as we need you to be, to help us save everything.”

“Please…” She didn’t know what she was asking for, even. Please make this stop, please don’t let me do all of this alone… please let me be just a girl…

“You’re not gonna do any of this alone,” Michael whispered. “You will never be alone. But, for the next year or so, you are gonna be ‘just a girl.’ Don’t be afraid. We’ll be protecting you the whole time. You won’t see us, and you won’t know or remember what we’re protecting you from, but you will be safe.”

“My flight to Tangiers Prime…”

“It’s going to have to wait. Not forever, though, I swear.”

“Oh no… please, please, please…”

Don’t be afraid, little sister. I will give back everything I take from you now. You will be safe. You will be happy.

“I’ll be a lie…”

“You’ll be Audrey MacNamera,” Michael told her, holding her still as her sister crawled closer. “College girl, sociology major, older sister to Elodie. Happy and normal. And protected. Always protected.” He bent his head and kissed her forehead, his eyeshine catching the light from the hall as he drew back. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“I can’t be alone again, please…”

“You never will be.”

We are always with you.

One delicate tarsus touched her forehead.

---

In the darkness of her bedroom in the al-Walid house, while she drowsed, still not completely free of the cryo drugs that were working their way out of her system, neither awake nor asleep, the door opened and a familiar silhouette slipped through. For a moment, he stood over her, his eyes catching faint glints of light like a pair of tarnished coins…

He bent down, his lips brushing against her forehead. “Sorry, kid…”

He was gone before she could wake up enough to respond…

---

When her alarm went off, Audrey rolled over and slapped the snooze button, groaning. Usually she woke up before it, but last night…

“You must’ve gotten in really late,” her roommate, Janice, said. “I’m amazed you beat curfew. Hot night with a guy?”

She groaned again and sat up. “Hot night with a pile of books. I was in the library until closing.”

Audrey MacNamera has left the library… She shook her head, frowning, and the weird fragment of thought vanished.

“You know, ‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’”

Audrey almost flinched, until Janice said boy instead of girl. Nobody knew she’d once masqueraded as a boy named Jack, not here. And anyway, those days were long behind her.

“How come you missed calc yesterday?” Janice asked as she dressed.

“Something I ate disagreed with me,” she grumbled, climbing out of bed.

“That’s what you get for eating all those weird spicy foods you like.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Audrey switched on her tablet and opened up her news feed. “You got any fun plans for the weekend?”

“There’s a music festival,” Janice told her. “One of those types modeled after Woodstock back on old Earth. I’m thinking I’ll go, get high, get laid by some patchouli-smelling dude who hasn’t showered in six weeks—”

“You will not!” Audrey laughed.

“Fine, fine, ruin my dreams…”

“That sounds more like a total nightmare,” she told Janice. “But if you want, we can go to the Winston Lodge tonight. Listen to bad country music, get tipsy, and get laid by some guy who takes showers regularly and has enough sense to wash his ass-crack?”

Her roommate had encountered a guy who didn’t, a guy who’d believed properly washing his ass would make him gay, and neither one of them had yet gotten over the grossness of it all.

“That almost sounds like fun. Switch ‘tipsy’ for ‘sloshed’ and you’re on.”

“Okay, you’ll get sloshed and I’ll be your bodyguard.”

“Just don’t guard my body too closely, m’kay?”

“Okay…” Audrey frowned down at the tablet. The feed had moved to interplanetary news, and—

Helion System Under Attack?

Thousands of Distress Calls Received by Federacy Beacons

That didn’t sound good. She wondered if the al-Walids still lived there. They’d sucked as foster parents, but still. She hoped they were okay.

Not that anybody knew she’d ever been offworld. That was her little secret.

“Whatcha staring at?” Janice asked, and she switched off the tablet.

“Nothing, just the usual bad news out in the big bad ’verse. You hungry?”

“Starved. Let’s go pillage the dining hall.”

They walked out into the bright summer day a few moments later.

It was, Audrey thought, a beautiful day. The kind of day when nobody could possibly have a worry or care in the world.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Janice asked.

“Gonna visit with my little sister,” she said, grinning. “Maybe take her to the lake for a swim.”

“And then do your Sunday thing?”

“Always,” Audrey laughed. “My ‘Sunday thing’ makes my whole week.”

And if she had no idea what it was that she did on Sundays, it didn’t occur to her to find that odd.

72.
The Planet-Killer’s Hit List

“We understand that you have a report for us, Audrey.”

She nodded, studying the faces—the few she could see—on the screen. General Toal, Todd, and Dennis were visible; most of the other participants had their faces hidden and their names reduced to first letters. Apparently, she wasn’t cleared to know who they were. Most of the others couldn’t see her face, either, though.

She also, apparently, wasn’t cleared to know how they’d stolen Quintessa’s proprietary tech for making instantaneous calls across the light years… but she had her suspicions about that. She’d already been warned not to ask.

“I’ve identified the pattern in almost all of the planetary destruction cases on record,” she told them. “And, based on that pattern, we can predict which planets are next, for roughly the next fourteen years.”

“When will Helion Prime fall?” Toal asked before she could continue.

“Sometime in October 2521, so probably less than eleven Standard months from now.” Merry Christmas, she didn’t add, although she was tempted. That was four days away and it felt like it was going to be her worst since the one on Helion Prime itself. “In between now and then, around May, we should expect to see the Aquilan system fall. I’m guessing the Quintessa people didn’t talk about it in their call because it’s not a shipping or travel hub. It’s almost as much of a backwater as the planet I’m on.”

“Audrey,” Michael murmured behind her.

She made herself let it go. For now. She was going to try to plead her case to General Toal again at the end of the call.

“What is the driver behind the pattern?” one of the concealed speakers asked, their voice digitally altered.

Yeah, let’s just cut to the chase, why don’t we? “Level Five Incidents.”

“Officially, such incidents don’t exist. How have you managed to track them?”

Because I have nothing else to do with my time… “I started with a database of all incidents in which a Star Jumper was reported damaged or destroyed. I then excluded any case where the Jumper was later put back into service. That doesn’t happen with real Level Fives. Next, I excluded cases where any of the passengers and crew survived and their whereabouts could be traced and confirmed. Real Level Fives have no known survivors. Something inevitably ‘happens’ to everybody who was on board.”

With one exception, that she couldn’t help feeling a little proud of. Officially, all of them were dead, too.

“What did this give you?”

“A list of forty-seven incidents in which a Star Jumper was irreparably damaged, or was destroyed, or vanished in transit,” she told them, “from the three earliest missing ships, the Isli, the Nick Fury, and the Tenth Crusade, to the ‘implosions’ of the Scarlet Matador and the Lucy Ricardo in May of 2517. I built a timeline of the incidents, along with their locations where known. Next, I built a database of what the Federacy calls ‘Black Planet Incidents.’ Every time a colony planet failed, for any reason, and the planet was declared uninhabitable in the aftermath. Narrowing those down took longer.”

“But you did narrow them down,” General Toal prompted.

“Yeah. Thirty-two cases, one of which is still questionable. And thirteen future targets, based on the pattern that emerged. The first attack occurred in the Ilanga system, one hundred thirty years ago. Fifty million settlers vanished in under a week. The Ibhubesi, one of the early colony ships in the second generation of Star Jumpers, experienced a catastrophic failure when it arrived in 2144. It disintegrated during its descent through Ilanga Prime’s atmosphere. I know that doesn’t necessarily sound like a Level Five Incident, but it’s all about what might exist on the other side of the threshold it was straddling. If, for example, the atmosphere of the other ’verse’s Ilanga Prime was highly corrosive, that would explain the recordings we have of its destruction.”

“So the fourth hypothetical Level Five Incident, which took place 376 years ago, led to an attack 246 years later?”

“Yeah.” Audrey activated her chart on the main screen so that all of the viewers could see it. “In each case that followed since then, the attacks on colony worlds that reduced them to ‘black planets,’ or ‘black rocks,’ have happened in order, corresponding to probable Level Five Incidents that occurred in-system. The only exception is the attack on Furya twenty-nine years ago. I can’t find a corresponding Level Five Incident.”

“Why are you including it in your timeline, then? If it isn’t part of the attack pattern—”

“It is,” Michael said from behind her. “I was there. It’s absolutely part of the attack pattern.”

Audrey switched the main screen over to a collage of video images, many of them similar to the one that she and Michael had watched a little over two months earlier. “This is surviving footage of the attacks from a dozen of the identified worlds. The top right footage comes from Furya.”

“Furya is also the only world in the pattern that hasn’t been reduced to ‘black rock’ status, and is still marginally habitable, even recovering,” one of the hidden speakers commented. “It’s a break in the pattern, yes, in more ways than one. Perhaps there’s a different kind of incident that triggered its inclusion, and somewhat different treatment.”

“The exception that proves the rule, maybe?” another hidden speaker suggested.

“Could be,” General Toal agreed. “As for the rest of the pattern… the data is quite telling. And the attacks, as our intel previously indicated, have been slowly accelerating. There was a decade between the attack on the Ilanga system and the next, on the Sorj system, then nine years until the attack on the Tjindu system. Six Indigenous Australian populations were rendered ‘extinct’ by that probable genocide. The quiet period between attacks has been steadily shrinking, and now the timeline is indicating the likelihood of three strikes in slightly over a year.”

“And yet you predict that the remaining eleven attacks, after the Aquilan and Helion systems, will take place over a thirteen-year period,” another hidden speaker noted. “Why?”

“The Coalsack nebula, the Aquilan system, and the Helion system are near neighbors,” Audrey explained. “They used to share a trade route, but it was discontinued after three Star Jumpers experienced Level Five Incidents along it within a year of each other. One ‘died’ in the Coalsack nebula. It ruptured shortly after transitioning back into U1 within the nebula itself. Officially, it was holed by a massive asteroid, but there wasn’t one recorded as passing through that space in U1 itself, and some of the other surviving readings from the ship are really weird. The next seemed fine when it docked at the space station above Aquila Prime, but all of the cargo and passengers that got shuttled down to the surface burned up during entry. The shuttles carrying them were unharmed, aside from fire damage on their insides.”

Tomlin, she suspected, had been thinking of that very incident when he had ordered the Scarlet Matador to bypass Tangiers Station B and land on the planet’s surface instead.

“And the incident in the Helion system?”

“You know how an unidentified group of terrorists supposedly blew up the Mary Prince during its entry above New Mecca, sixty years ago?”

“Bloody hell,” one of Toal’s unseen colleagues muttered.

“A week after that explosion,” Audrey added, “the Quintessa Corporation announced four new routes to replace the route that the ships in those three Incidents had all used. I know, there’s a lot of supposition and inference getting drawn into all of this, but all of you know just how spotty and heavily redacted the records we’re working with are.”

“So you believe that the shorter timing of the next attacks is due to the close proximity of the three systems, and that we should expect intervals of roughly a year after that,” Toal prompted.

“Yeah. And there are possibilities of unforeseen pauses.” She highlighted five different spots on the chart. “I don’t have any guess why, but there are five times in the last hundred-twenty years when the attack pattern got pushed back by a few years each time. Maybe we’ll get lucky and there’ll be another pause soon, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

“So you are predicting the fall of the Aquilan, Helion, Melpomene, Tulsa, Trafalgar, Clovis, Oahu, Maneki Neko, Catalan, Cascadian, Dubai, Nineveh, and Tangiers systems over the next fourteen years?” another unseen participant asked.

“If the current patterns hold, yeah.”

“That’s a lot to accept,” yet another participant said.

“Even if you don’t want to believe Audrey’s analysis,” Michael said from behind her, “which I think is solid, you only have to look at the intel coming from our spies in the Quintessa Corporation. The Corporation is predicting the same thing and has already begun moving its assets off the worlds in question. A week ago, the resupply route to Furya got shifted back to Tangiers Prime, and two other minor routes that relied on a stop in the Helion system got moved away a month ago. They can’t shut down the major routes yet without revealing more than they seem to want to, but there are six new test routes in the Sirius Shipping dockets that bypass the Helion and Melpomene systems. Oslo Shipping has eight upcoming test routes, one of which also bypasses the Tulsa system. And no new ships are under construction in any of those systems’ shipyards. Their schedules have shifted over to repairs only.”

As he spoke, Audrey called up the data he was referring to on the main screen.

“Rats deserting a sinking ship,” one of the unseen participants muttered. “They won’t even try to warn the populations?”

“If Level Five Incidents are, indeed, the trigger for these attacks,” General Toal observed, “a warning would require them to admit that those Incidents are real and that the Corporation bears culpability for them and their consequences. How long they have known the connection between the two is uncertain, but even if the Coalsack planets were the first they were sure of, they have demonstrated a willingness to let millions die rather than admit their involvement.”

“So what do we do? Is there a warning we can get out to these worlds? Without exposing ourselves?”

That, Audrey reflected, was the crux of the matter. Although technically almost everyone on the call was a Federacy officer or asset of some kind, they were all involved in subverting Federacy policy. That policy included at least one form of government-sanctioned slavery and a whole lot of subservience to a corporation that held a monopoly over Faster-Than-Light travel, as well as some other forms of human rights and alien rights abuses. She and Todd were far from the first espers that General Toal had hidden away from the Federacy, she’d learned. If his actions were ever uncovered, he would probably be executed for treason. And most of them, if caught, would meet fates worse than death.

Which made it nearly impossible for them to openly blow the whistle on the abuses they uncovered.

“We’ve learned some things about the armada behind the attacks, in the last few years,” General Toal said. “Including its name. Necromongers.”

“‘Death-Dealers?’” One person snorted. “How imaginative.”

“Oh… fuck.” Audrey muttered before she could stop herself.

“What is it, Audrey?” General Toal asked.

“I… I don’t know for sure, but…”

“Go on.”

“The Moribund. What he said to me. ‘Death to the things that killed us. Death to the makers of the cages. Death to the ’verse that trapped us. A trillion deaths for every one you took from us. We come. We come to take it all back. All the worlds your filth has stolen from us will burn.’”

“‘Moribund’ means ‘Deathbound,’” the person who had snorted added. “Who is this ‘Moribund?’”

“Not human,” General Toal told the group. “But that may explain the rumors that these ‘Necromongers’ are ‘part human and part something else.’ And it would explain several other puzzles we have been working on… when was the last time you spoke to him, Audrey?”

“Not in years. After New Casablanca, he hasn’t tried to communicate with me.”

“Did he ever say anything else that might be connected to the attacks on these systems?”

She thought for a moment. “Something about not needing outside help to rise… ‘we will break the ’verse itself.’ The last time I heard him say anything, he wasn’t even talking to me directly, but I think he was talking about me. He said, ‘let it tear down all of the cages and break the darkness, and we will agree it is not filth,’ and then he said, ‘you know what will appease us. In due time, we will make it happen.’ He says ‘we’ but I don’t think he has any allies among the other Apeiros themselves. Maybe he means this armada?”

“Audrey is the child who is in communication with the alien species?” One of the others asked.

Fucking hell. Seventeen and still “the child…”

“Yes,” Toal replied. “The ‘Moribund’ seems to be set apart from the rest of the species we call the ‘Apeiros.’ He evidently has his own agenda, one they neither agree with nor approve of, but are unable to prevent. If there is a connection between him and the Necromongers, they will not stop attacking worlds once they have wiped out all the systems where Level Five Incidents occurred. Those attacks might potentially be practice runs for all-out genocide.”

The meeting continued for a while, as others on the call discussed potential strategies for leaking information about the “Necromongers” into public awareness, particularly on the Aquilan and Helion systems, and what might be done to bolster planetary defenses on target worlds without signaling just how much they knew to those Federacy agents influenced or controlled by the Quintessa Corporation. Audrey listened quietly, not really able to come up with suggestions of her own about any of that. Her whole focus, for the last two months—aside from keeping up in school and dealing with the fallout from the college acceptance letters she had begun receiving—had been assembling the timelines and connections between Level Five Incidents and Black Planet Incidents. Thinking about what to do next about these “Necromongers” was something she could barely fathom. The scale of it all was overwhelming.

If there’s ever a Level Five Incident in this system, she thought with a shudder, I’m gonna spend every waking second convincing Mom and Alvin to take Elodie and go anywhere else…

Or, she reflected, she could shift them to Elsewhere, to play pioneers in its redwood forest—

That was an idea she needed to discuss with General Toal. A possible escape portal already existed on Tangiers Prime, and now on Deckard’s World. Could similar ones be created on all of the other target worlds?

The meeting was concluding. As everyone said their goodbyes, she asked General Toal if she could speak to him privately for a few minutes. Once everyone else was gone, she took a deep breath.

“I know what you’re going to ask, Audrey, and I’m sorry. The answer is still ‘no.’”

“But—”

“I am aware of the value of the full scholarship and mentorship offer of the caliber you received. It can be postponed for up to two years to accommodate interplanetary travel issues, and I am happy to help you make the arrangements to do so. But you may not return to Tangiers Prime and begin attending Khair Eddine until you are biologically eighteen years old. That’s still almost a full Standard year away. You will have to spend a minimum of five months in cryo to travel to Tangiers Prime, which I will only permit once you are eighteen. You need to plan accordingly.”

“But… what do I do in the meantime?”

“We can keep you busy, I’m sure.”

It was a struggle not to burst into tears. Busy wasn’t the problem.

“That’s not going to help her, Sir,” Michael said. “She needs more social contact with peers. And she especially needs a peer group that isn’t constantly prying into her past.”

She felt his hand on her shoulder and leaned back, resting the back of her head against his chest. In the last two months, it had grown easier and easier to think of Michael as a kind of father figure, although her crush on him still periodically reared up. Her way of dealing with that—finding someone who reminded her of one of her other crushes and having a fling with him—had only worsened her disconnect from the rest of Eisenhower High’s Class of ’21. While most of them accepted that she had been a virgin at the time of the “Junior Prom Incident,” her flings in the aftermath had, in their minds, moved her firmly into “slut” territory. They seemed particularly vindictive about it because none of their own number had gotten a taste, and especially judgmental about it because almost none of the guys who had were what they considered “white.”

Stuck on a fucking racist, sexist planet…

Graduation was less than two months away, and a relief, but the question of what she was going to do afterward was getting messier and messier.

Eight of the ten schools she had applied to had accepted her. Five were disallowed completely thanks to her own research; General Toal had vetoed going to any schools that were on the Necromongers’ “hit list,” except the Tangiers System itself. He would have vetoed that system as well if it wouldn’t have led to her all-out mutiny. But he wouldn’t allow her to start traveling to either Khair Eddine or New Casablanca University until after December 4, 2521. That meant that enrollment in the Class of ’25 was impossible. Enrollment in the Class of ’26 might be feasible, but figuring out what to do in the meantime, to keep from getting crushed by her growing isolation…

“I do have a suggestion about that,” Michael said after a moment, when neither she nor General Toal spoke. “I want to relocate the safe house to Wyndham Landing at the end of the southern hemisphere summer.”

“Huh?” Audrey glanced up at him in confusion. On the screen, General Toal looked baffled as well.

“Deckard Tech is on a quarterly arrangement rather than a semesterly one. They’ve accepted Audrey and have offered her a full scholarship, too. She can attend there until she’s able to transfer to Khair Eddine. The spring quarter up north starts in May, the summer quarter in August, and the autumn quarter in November. Then, instead of starting the winter quarter in February, she can board a Star Jumper going to Tangiers Prime and get there between five and ten months later, with a full academic year of credits under her belt to help catch up with the year she missed.” Michael outlined it the way he might have outlined a military campaign. She wondered if that was how he thought of it.

As she’d slowly gotten to know him better, she’d realized that he didn’t have much of a civilian mindset to draw on. And, of course, that the reason she couldn’t read him was that he was an esper, like her, with the tightest mental shield she’d ever encountered.

He had been twelve years old, he’d told her, when Furya burned, and his parents bundled him and his little sister onto an escape ship. He’d been fourteen, a year of cryo and two years of foster homes later, when the Federacy had begun to figure out that Furyan refugees were paranormal goldmines and he’d taken his sister with him to hide in the woods of Catalonia Prime. He’d been sixteen when General Toal—then a Colonel—had found them and helped them escape offworld. Of the ensuing twenty-four years, he’d spent roughly a third of the time in cryo, traveling from world to world, training to be the best soldier he could become, and helping Toal locate and hide other refugees from Furya and, in the last few years, fathom and manage the “Quintessa Problem.” His focus on his mission was needle-sharp and there was room for little else in his life.

And yet he understood that she needed more than that… and was starting to starve.

Then again, given that she seemed to be at the dead-center of his current mission, it made sense that he would understand her better than she could understand herself. And that, where she had become stuck and thwarted, he would have found a path through.

“This could work,” General Toal said. “As it happens, one of the Undine class ships is scheduled to depart Plymouth Station A in mid-February 2522. I had already investigated that angle. That would get her to her destination in time for all of the customary orientation activities scheduled for the start of the next school year on Tangiers Prime… and she can visit with the Meziane family while she waits for the dorms to open, since her mentorship offer is from Dr. Meziane. Who, by the way, absolutely cannot know who you really are until you arrive there, Audrey. We will come up with a plausible reason for the delay. Is that acceptable, child?”

“I… yeah, I think that could work.” She understood what Michael’s real goal with it was: to get her connected to a group of students her own age, ones who hopefully hadn’t heard wild rumors about her and wouldn’t try to delve into her past… to give her access to the companionship she craved and was currently deprived of. “General Toal? One more thing?”

“Yes, Audrey?”

“What if there’s another way to evacuate some of these worlds? What if we could find another ’verse we have access to, like Elsewhere, to pull people into if an attack is inevitable?”

“It’s a possibility,” he said after a long, thoughtful moment. “You are currently the only human being we know of who has access to more than two other universes…”

With his permission, after all, she’d “infected” Todd, Dennis, and Michael with Threshold Syndrome, giving them access to Elsewhere and Wonderland, but those were the only ones of her ’verses she could pull someone into without killing them. The Apeiros had promptly congratulated her on producing a “new brood,” but had said they were unable to speak with them directly, even though all three men were espers. Dennis had apparently been amused when she’d campaigned to get him admitted to the safe house’s “inner circle,” given that he and Michael had been its two human managers—in charge of everything AIs were legally prohibited to control—the whole time, and it was Michael who had green-lit Todd’s rescue. She’d only been cleared to find that out after the fall of the Coalsack planets.

“…and there’s no way to get you, or any of the ones with access to ‘Elsewhere’ or ‘Wonderland,’ onsite in the Aquilan system in time,” Toal continued, “even assuming one of those ’verses is habitable there. Dennis and Todd have, unfortunately, already confirmed that neither ‘Elsewhere’ nor ‘Wonderland’ are habitable on Helion Prime, and the time it would take to get you here, to see if any of your other universes would be viable, would cut things far too close. It is a possibility to explore for the future, though.”

He’d already thought of it. She’d wasted her time, and his, bringing it up.

“It is a good idea, Audrey,” he told her, his voice gentling, “and one we will continue to pursue.”

Michael drove her home not long after. Spring was fully upon Settlement Point, and she could hear the distant rumbles of a thunderstorm. The air was warm, soft, and carried the scents of blossoms and rain. Life was burgeoning all around… and yet the cold, terrible touch of that call had left a sense that, just beneath the surface, something eldritch and implacable waited to devour it all. Even the twinkling Christmas lights on every house couldn’t drive that feeling back.

Her mother, definitely not eldritch, was waiting for her when she walked through the door. “So, did you talk to your handlers about college?”

Of course that was what was on her mind.

She’d spent the last two weeks, since the acceptance letters began arriving, trying to talk Audrey into turning down all of the offworld offers and going somewhere local, with increasing desperation, even though she knew that none of the truly local schools had the programs her daughter wanted. She’d even tried to sweeten the pot by saying that she could probably get Audrey a “legacy” scholarship to her own alma mater, where she could study law.

Audrey did not want to be a lawyer.

“Yeah, they’re going to be making arrangements to transfer the safe house to Wyndham Landing, so I can attend Deckard Tech,” she said, wondering how upset her mother was going to get about that. It was the only school she’d applied to that wasn’t offworld, but it was still a hemisphere away.

“Really?” her mother asked. “That’s wonderful!”

Now Audrey was confused.

“Alvin? Audrey’s going to Deckard Tech! Now tell her your news!”

Alvin, carrying Elodie, entered the room smiling. “It’s brand-new news, too, and we were waiting to hear what your plans were before we made a decision about it. I’ve been offered the position of District Attorney. In Wyndham Landing. I’ll start in June if I take it.”

“Take it!” her mother said, laughing. “It’s perfect timing. Elodie won’t miss any school. She’ll start Kindergarten a few months after the move! And we can stay close to you.”

Audrey felt completely off-kilter. The one thing she’d been dreading about the new arrangement, the separation she’d thought was inevitable no matter where she went, had just fallen away. At least, for another year, she would have her family and her little sister close…

Her comm chimed. She glanced down at the screen.

It wasn’t easy, but we’ll always have your back.
Merry Christmas, Kid.
M,M,F,E,C&S

They hadn’t given a thing away. She loved her handlers.

For one brief moment, at least, Audrey’s frustration and dread of the future fell away.

71.
Just So Fuckin’ High School

“You have a message from Todd,” MilitAIre told Audrey as soon as she walked into the Security Room. The news lit up her day.

“Finally!” she crowed, sitting down at the best screen so she could call it up. “It’s gonna be nice to see his face on something other than a ‘Wanted’ poster.”

Todd had lost the ducktail and his close-cropped hair had been dyed from light brown to black. He sported a recently acquired mustache and goatee, both works in progress, making him look very different from the “Wanted” posters… as long as someone didn’t prank-draw on them, anyway. He appeared to be wearing brown contacts. But she would’ve recognized him no matter what.

“Hey there, little sis! Dennis and I have reached our destination, which I’m not allowed to tell you, but please. You know where I am.” He winked.

“Helion Prime!” Audrey whooped. “I knew it!”

“You’re not supposed to know any such thing,” MilitAIre said, but he let her hear the amusement in his voice. Nobody was really trying to keep it a secret. It had been General Toal’s base of operations for nearly three years.

“Dennis, come say hi to Audrey.” Todd’s grin brightened as Dennis entered the frame and draped his arm over her “brother’s” shoulder. “We’ve missed you.”

“For the three days that we’ve been awake, anyway,” Dennis laughed. “We’ve had a great time watching your messages.”

“Look at them, not even trying to hide it now…” It had been her idea to bring Dennis into the “inner circle,” a weird intuition she’d had, and the crazy chemistry that those two had shared almost immediately had made the risk worth it. By the time arrangements were in place to smuggle Todd offworld, there had been no question that Dennis would go with him, officially as his protector…

…and unofficially, as much more than that.

“Anyway, I’ve met my new boss, and you’re right. He’s a cool dude. And I told him you said so. He also got to watch your Peter Pan performance because we brought a copy with us. He wants us to tell you ‘bravo’ and ‘absolutely no encore.’”

Audrey snorted. She could hear it in General Toal’s voice, too. “No promises…”

“We’ve been instructed to lock you in EntertAIn’s theater and make you watch Ed Wood and Coleman Francis movies on repeat if you try again,” MilitAIre told her, his voice light and teasing.

“I’m pretty sure that’s a war crime,” she retorted.

“We’ll all be moving on to another world I can’t talk to you about in a few weeks—”

“Oh please, you’re totally going to Tangiers Prime.” Todd, of course, couldn’t hear her responses, or the sudden envy in her voice; the message had been recorded a few days before and sent via special courier drone. He was far too high up on the Wanted list to allow messages from him to pass through any of the civilian beacons, which were slower to deliver anyway.

“—so let me know if there are any messages you want me to pass on to people when I get there. The AI clones are settling into their temporary quarters nicely, and the boss says they’ll have a top-rate facility waiting for them when we get where we’re going.”

“That’ll be nice,” she sighed, hitting pause for a moment. A good AI-run safe house on Tangiers Prime… would she see it one day?

She still wasn’t sure.

She was halfway through her senior year, and she had sent out applications to several schools with good Sociology and Linguistics programs, including the Khair Eddine University in New Marrakesh—where both Takama and Safiyya taught—and the Fatema Mernissi School of Social Sciences at the New Casablanca University. There was only one school on Deckard’s World that had good programs in those fields: Deckard Tech, located just outside of Wyndham Landing in the northern hemisphere. She’d made it her “safety school,” but she was worried that even with a 4.0 GPA, her education wouldn’t be considered rigorous enough, or comprehensive enough, for most offworld universities, despite the supplemental instruction that the AIs were providing.

She’d sworn, almost three years ago, that she’d never leave Deckard’s World again, that she’d stay and watch over Elodie. But the nearest school that had decent programs in the areas she wanted to study was a hemisphere away, far enough from Elodie that she might as well not rule out offworld schools. They’d have to go months without seeing each other no matter what. And she found herself missing Tangiers Prime more and more.

Assuming she would be allowed to go back there before she was biologically eighteen, of course…

Legally, she was seventeen already, and would turn eighteen a little over a month after graduating. But biologically, she was still sixteen for another two months. General Toal had been clear that he didn’t want her to make contact with Ewan, or any of the Mezianes, until she was biologically eighteen. Even assuming they still wanted her to, even assuming she got accepted into one of the schools there—tuition itself wouldn’t be a problem; the funds she’d earned as “acting Captain” of the Nephrite Undine would be able to cover those costs—would General Toal allow her to go? Or would the school allow her to begin a year later?

And what would she tell her mother, and Alvin, and Elodie?

Fuck… I hate thinking about that… She unpaused Todd’s message.

“Anyway,” he was saying, “we’re safe and sound and we both miss you tons. Stay out of trouble, and stop dating guys Michael has to beat up. Yeah, we heard all about that.”

Audrey groaned, covering her face with her hands.

“And I thought Todd’s taste in men was tragic…” she muttered.

“Love you, little sis! Talk to you again soon!”

The message ended. Audrey leaned back in her chair, sighing and trying to ignore the sudden constriction in her throat.

Currently occupying the #6 spot on the Federacy’s Most Wanted list in spite of having committed no crimes, Todd had stayed in the safe house for slightly over two months before MilitAIre and General Toal worked out arrangements to smuggle him offworld. For him, it had been a painful time as he came to grips with the probability that he would never see his family or friends again, and that he’d never get to act or direct on New Broadway. He never once blamed Audrey for any of it, aware that it would have been his fate no matter what. He’d already been Quantified when she’d reached him, after all, and was struggling against the sedative he’d been given, before an explosive tracker could be inserted, when she’d pulled him from U1 into Wonderland, making him vanish in front of the Quantifiers’ eyes. He knew what she’d prevented and had been grateful for it… but he’d still grieved everything he’d lost.

Nonetheless, she’d loved every minute of his company and had found excuses to visit the safe house almost every day just to spend time with him. Having a fellow human being that she could talk to about anything—everything—related to her own strange, bisected life had, for a time, lifted the desperate loneliness she hadn’t even known had become a fundamental part of who she was. For two wonderful months, she’d had an actual human civilian who could see behind the mask that was Audrey MacNamera.

It wasn’t that nobody else wanted to, or anything. Damn near everybody knew she was hiding something, given that she wouldn’t say a word about where she’d been for nearly two years, and they all wanted a peek. But there was nobody she could tell. Even Todd had known that there were parts of her story that she wasn’t telling him, but like Ewan and Kyra, he had accepted that with grace. Most people took her silence as a personal insult.

The thing she had really begun to dread was the day when Elodie figured out her big sister had a secret she wouldn’t—couldn’t—tell, and it came between the two of them the same way it came between Audrey and everybody else.

It was the same damned thing, every time. She would make a friend. They would bond over fun shared interests. They would realize they had even more things in common and grow closer. They would start sharing confidences. For a while, the imbalance in who shared what wouldn’t be a problem because she was a good listener and people liked that. But the day always came. The day when the other person decided that they were finally close enough that she ought to be able to confide in them about where she’d been and what she’d done during her time as a missing person.

And when she wouldn’t—couldn’t—that was when the friendship collapsed.

It had happened enough times that she kept most people at arm’s length, enjoying “casual” friendships, “surface” friendships, there’s-an-extra-space-at-the-table-so-why-not-join-us friendships. And she had confidants in the AIs and the Apeiros, and three cats who thought most human concerns were strange and unimportant but were happy to listen anyway. But no other human being… except one whom she didn’t dare try to bond more closely with.

And if the collapse of a friendship wasn’t bad enough, it was an order of magnitude worse with a boyfriend.

“Dave” had been the biggest mistake, and he wasn’t even the one Michael had “beaten up.”

Navid Ghasemi, whose family had moved from Tabrisi-e Jadid on Khorshid Prime, had started school at Eisenhower High a few months into their sophomore year, after most of the gossip about her had died down. She was one of the few people who hadn’t snubbed him—Deckard’s World was a “racist planet” and she regularly had to struggle with her disappointment when someone she otherwise admired suddenly displayed their own bigotry—and they had become friends. Toward the end of that year, he’d asked teachers to call him “David,” anglicizing his name, and told the handful of friends he’d made to call him “Dave.”

That had, of course, made it pretty obvious to Audrey that his family wouldn’t be staying much longer, that within the next year or two his father would find a way to transfer back offworld to somewhere less poisonous to their sense of identity. Still, she’d been drawn to him.

Maybe because, since the rumors about her had mostly quieted down before he’d arrived, he was one of the few kids in her school who didn’t view her as a mystery or a puzzle that ought to be solved. Maybe because he was a polyglot with a scholarly streak that reminded her of the Mezianes. Or maybe just because sometimes he seemed even lonelier than her… and that was definitely saying something.

They had begun to go out, sometimes, when they were juniors. Audrey had been careful to keep the dates light and casual, mindful that although everybody believed she was already sixteen—the age of consent on Deckard’s World—she wouldn’t really be until early December, mid-spring in Settlement Point, and the spirit of the law needed observing.

Junior Prom—a huge deal for most of the kids in her classes—was scheduled for the weekend after Todd disappeared and was declared a fugitive from the law, something that had left the entire school in an uproar. She’d already had a ticket, planning on “going stag” and people-watching, at the very least. When Dave asked her to go as his date, almost last-minute but—according to a mutual friend—after three weeks of trying to nerve himself up to it, it had felt like the most normal thing that had happened in days, and she’d said yes. Other girls from the theater program had invited her to their “after-prom” party, one of several being held in the same fancy hotel that the dance itself was taking place in. Dave’s friends had invited him to one, too.

It had been a fun night. She’d overheard some of her theater friends calling it “magical,” and she supposed it was, in its way. Her mother had gotten misty about it all and had taken her dress shopping. First-AId, ever the prosaic skeptic, had injected her with a 72-hour dose of Nano-Nalo, just in case someone spiked one of her drinks with anything, especially something stronger than hooch. Half an hour into the after-parties, she was probably the only sober person in the place. And then she and Dave had “somehow” ended up in a bedroom in one of the suites reserved for the night…

Sixteen at that point, she’d suspected it was going to happen, and she’d planned for it, maybe a little too well. She was attracted to him, after all, and knew the attraction was mutual. It wasn’t anything like the mind-cracking feelings she’d had for Riddick, Tomlin, or Ewan… but maybe that was a good thing. She’d already decided that if Dave had plans in that direction, she was in. Several girls she knew were planning on losing their virginity that weekend; she wasn’t so much planning as improvising, and trying to be prepared for anything.

Dave had asked her if he was her first, and she’d truthfully told him that he was, even as a little warning flutter moved through her and, for a moment, she’d suspected she was making a mistake.

Before he even woke the next morning, she’d dressed and slipped down to the hotel lobby, where Dennis—who always knew exactly where she was, within a meter, on a Sunday morning—was waiting to drive her to the safe house. She’d warned Dave that she would have to leave at six a.m. if they stayed over with the others, and she’d left him a little note on hotel stationery, trying not to be awkward about it.

Had to leave early, like I said.
I had a wonderful time. Thank you!
See you Monday!
xoxo
Audrey

Todd, at the safe house, had been waiting for a play-by-play of the dance and the parties, but never asked what had happened between her and Dave. He’d advised against her “plans” for the night, so she didn’t try to bring up their results. That had been the day that Dennis had been brought into the “inner circle,” learning not only the true nature of the girl he’d been driving and bodyguarding for two years, but that the safe house was now also sheltering Todd McKinney and why. It had been a busy, full day and if Dave never tried calling, it never occurred to her to expect him to.

She’d only discovered on Monday that he was furious with her and wouldn’t speak to her… and neither would any of their mutual friends.

Because, she’d found out—after three days of navigating everyone’s assumptions that she had to know what it was she’d done—there hadn’t been any blood on the sheets.

By that time, it had crested among the hot post-prom gossip topics. Emily Hartwell had gotten high and been arrested for dancing naked in the hotel courtyard fountain while belting out “Edge of Seventeen” at three in the morning… Annabelle Richards had caught her boyfriend in bed with Missy Barnstable and had had to be restrained by her friends from throwing herself off their room’s balcony… and Audrey MacNamera had lied to Dave Ghasemi about being a virgin.

When Dave had finally calmed down and graciously unbent enough to try to speak with her, Audrey didn’t have a shred of patience left for his shit. Not after having to listen to the rampant speculation of where, when, and how she’d lost her virginity several different times in the girls’ bathrooms. She walked off whenever she saw him trying to approach, and cut school that Friday afternoon rather than sit in the same room with him.

A part of her had even felt an echo of the impulse that had driven her offworld four years earlier, the night skies now beckoning her toward other planets where nobody knew her or felt compelled to make up stories about her…

She’d talked it out, as best she could, with the AIs… with the Apeiros… with Todd, who’d told her he’d been afraid something like that might happen… and even with her mom…

“Why’d he think you weren’t a virgin?” her mother had asked her, setting a cup of hot cocoa in front of her.

“Because I took care of it back in December,” Audrey grumbled.

“‘Took care’ of it?” Her mother had raised an eyebrow at her and waited for her to elaborate.

“Yeah. I didn’t want my first time with a guy to be a bloody, painful mess. I wanted to actually be able to enjoy it. So I went to a store in the mall that has dildoes in its ‘gag gifts’ section, bought one, and took care of it.”

It had hurt like a motherfucker, too, not just the first time but each time thereafter for almost a week, and she knew she’d have hated every moment of her first time with Dave if she’d saved the pain for then.

Her mother had stared at her for a moment, eyes widening, before she began to shake with suppressed laughter.

“Seriously, Mom?”

“Oh, Audrey…” She could barely keep the laughter out of her voice. “You can be very ingenious sometimes. I wish to hell I’d thought of that when I was sixteen.”

She hadn’t been sure what she’d expected her mother to say or do, but that had been kind of a relief.

“Where are you in your cycle?” her mom had asked a few sips of cocoa later.

“The Federacy medic already took care of that,” Audrey said, careful to lie with the truth. “She’s from offworld. You know that there are vaccines against every STD on Deckard’s World, on the other planets? And implants you can get to keep from having to worry about where you are in your cycle? How come we don’t have that stuff here?”

Her mother frowned, considering that. “I’ve never even heard of those. Your ‘medic’ really told you that?”

More than told her; Audrey had the shots and implants. She didn’t elaborate, though; just nodded.

Rachel, however, had been the one who came up with the solution that Saturday. Even though there was still some distrust between them, the fact that Audrey had opened up to her about the mess, and asked for advice, went a long way toward healing much of it.

When Audrey went over the plan with the AIs, Todd, and Dennis, they had embraced it, and Todd had spent the rest of that Sunday coaching and rehearsing her.

The following Monday morning, several girls, all eager gossips but none of them spiteful types, had heard someone trying to conceal the sound of her sniffles in the first-floor girls’ bathroom before classes. When cornered, a tearful Audrey MacNamera had told them the “real truth…” Dave had passed out drunk before they could even have sex, she said, and she had thought she was doing him a kindness by leaving him a note, when she had to go off to church the next morning while he was still passed out, thanking him for a wonderful night… but his way of thanking her had been to destroy her reputation…

None of them had realized it was pure theater. Several of them were in the theater program with Audrey and didn’t believe she could ever be that good.

As fresh gossip went, it was fire, overtaking even the fistfight between the Seniors’ Prom Queen and Prom Princess from that weekend.

Audrey continued to play her role all day, the part of a cowed and humiliated girl who had tried to save her ex-boyfriend’s face until the weight of her own destroyed reputation became too much to bear. Her breathless bathroom audience had even heard which of the ensuing rumors about her had supposedly cut most deeply—selected by her, EntertAIn, and Todd both to throw as harsh a light as possible on their inherent misogyny and to shame some of the school’s most vicious gossips—and how this was why it was so hard to trust anyone with “what had really happened” while she was gone, if people she’d believed were her friends could turn on her and spread lies about her so readily.

By the end of the day, people she barely knew were approaching her to apologize. She kept the act going, looking hesitant as each person approached, as if she expected all of them to call her a slut to her face instead of apologizing. Most of them found ways to end the conversations and beat hasty retreats when her eyes would begin to fill; only a few pulled her into hugs that required her to generate tears and sobs for them that Todd later called “Tony-worthy.”

Dave, meanwhile, had not been faring so well.

The blow to his reputation was lethal; if he’d fucked as many people as the rumor-mongers had claimed Audrey must have while on the run, it would only have improved his standing, but the suggestion that he’d failed to perform had annihilated it. His hurt and anger were reinterpreted as cruelty; the whirlwind of gossip he’d unleashed on her was no longer righteous but vicious. It was a good thing, Audrey had reflected, that there was only one more week of school left.

Unfortunately for him, that week was full of Final Exams.

When word had reached Audrey that Dave had failed two exams, she didn’t have to pretend to be sad for him. She missed her friend, and as much as his behavior had infuriated and disgusted her, and had wounded her deeply, she hadn’t wanted to do him any lasting harm as much as show him how easily gossip could turn against someone. If not for Rachel’s suggestion, she might have confronted him instead, genuinely tearful, to ask him why he couldn’t have talked to her before talking about her. Or she might have held the tears in and tried to cut him to pieces with her words—“I’ve still never had sex with a man” had come to mind—instead. Whether or not either of those approaches would have yielded better results was a moot point.

But she’d wished she’d never tried to get so close to him. She wished neither of them had been hurt by the results.

That Sunday was when she had “met” Michael.

He’d been behind the driver’s seat, where Dennis normally sat, when she got into the car for the ride to the safe house. While Dennis had looked like a Secret Service agent, this new man looked like the old Hollywood leading role version of one. Medium brown hair, arresting grey eyes, sculpted features… Audrey had had to pretend, hard, at nonchalance.

He was in his thirties. Probably married with kids. The last thing he needed, she scolded herself, was a teenage WitSec ward crushing on him.

“Where’s Dennis?” she’d asked as they began driving.

“He’s being reassigned to ‘Hook’s’ permanent detail,” the man told her. There was something strangely familiar about the way he spoke, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Do you have a number, or a name?” she asked him. A lot of the Federacy agents she’d encountered in the last two-plus years just came with numbers.

“Michael,” he’d said, a tiny hint of a smile ghosting the corners of his lips.

He’d dropped her off at the safe house and driven off. She’d gone inside, spilled her guts about her feelings of guilt and regret to Todd, Dennis, and the AIs, and then retreated to SensAI’s dojo to stretch and change for her combat instruction.

One hour of each Sunday was spent in intensive instruction with a man whose face she’d still never once seen. While she’d no longer had to mask herself against most visitors to the building—Todd had to, of course, because most Federacy agents in Settlement Point were actively searching for him—her instructor had never taken his mask off. She’d never heard his actual voice, either; it was digitally altered, the way her mask had altered hers. She knew nothing about him except that he was six inches taller than her, probably a hundred pounds heavier, and insisted that she never hold back in their sparring even though she knew that he always did.

Holding back hadn’t stopped him from teaching her hard lessons if she let him slip her guards, though; his touch when he “struck” was no more than a caress, but their suits were designed to set every pain nerve it made contact with on fire for a full minute. He could switch that off, and frequently did in the aftermath of combat contact when he had to hold her until the agony he’d just inflicted abated. Theirs was a strange relationship. She wasn’t afraid of him no matter how frequently he hurt her, trusting him not to actually harm her, and to help her through the worst when it was too much to keep fighting through.

His mind was, curiously, opaque to her, enough that sometimes she’d wondered if he was an AI-controlled ’bot even though she could see him breathing.

“You’re letting me through your guard,” he’d said three minutes into their match, stepping back and waiting while her twitching arm dangled uselessly at her side.

“I’m not,” she told him, suddenly aware that he was right.

“You are. Why?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She forced her arm back up into combat position and stepped after him. Fight through, keep fighting through…

“Your balance is off. And your breathing. You came into this match upset about something.”

“So?” she asked, her fist almost managing to make contact with him. His blocks never inflicted pain; only his successful strikes. “We can’t always choose when we end up in ‘battle,’ right?”

“True. But it’s affecting your fighting.”

“Are you saying I’m doing a shit job today?” Feeling a little insulted, she’d buckled down and tried out a combination she’d been working on with SensAI for weeks.

“No,” he told her as he blocked her new moves and then struck, his palm gently touching her abdomen. “I’m saying you’re letting me through your guard.”

Fire ignited in her belly and she collapsed to the ground. “Fuck!”

He knelt beside her, his now-safe hands on her side and back as she curled up around the pain. “Breathe, Audrey. Deep breaths. That’s it…”

“You know my name?” He’d never called her Audrey before.

“Of course. Should we talk about why you’re letting me hurt you today?”

“I’m not,” she told him again, this time aware that she was lying even before she said it.

“Are you lying to me, or to yourself?”

“What are you, a fucking interrogator?”

“If I have to be. What’s going on?”

It had all come out again. Everything. The decision to escalate her relationship with Dave if he was interested… the preparations she’d made so that her “first time” wouldn’t be painful… Dave’s perverse anger that she hadn’t bled—and hadn’t been in too much pain to enjoy the experience—when he’d realized… how his reason for shunning her had spread across her school’s campus in a matter of days and turned her back into the butt of everyone’s gossip and judgment after almost two years of relative peace… the retaliation her cousin had suggested, and which she and Todd had elaborated upon… how much destruction it had wreaked upon Dave’s reputation and equilibrium in return…

“He thought he was telling the truth,” her instructor said, “and you knew you were telling a lie, and that’s why you believe you deserve pain now, to match what you think you inflicted on him.”

She’d shrugged. “He’s been humiliated.”

“Weren’t you?”

The rumors she’d heard—Missy claiming that a cousin of hers had seen Audrey working the streets of New Lubbock; Joanie, who worked as a nurse’s office aide, claiming that her nonexistent school medical records showed she’d had several STDs—had been put to bed by her actions, but not before a lot of people had entertained themselves at her expense.

“Doesn’t matter what shit they make up about what I did while I was gone,” she’d sighed. “They’ll never come up with anything worse than the truth.”

“You still hold yourself responsible for the people Makarov killed?” he’d asked.

“You know about that?” How much did her instructor know about her, exactly?

“I’ve been briefed, in considerable detail.”

She’d stared at him in astonishment. “Michael?”

He’d reached up and drawn off the mask and head covering that he’d always worn, revealing the face of her new driver. “Very good. How did you know?”

“You’re the only person I’ve ever heard pronounce it ‘detail’ on Deckard’s world. Everybody else says ‘detail.’”

He’d smiled. “Impressive. You’re astute at spotting other people’s patterns.”

“Just other people’s?” she asked, feeling a little miffed.

“Audrey, you just tried to use our sparring session to get me to torture you, so you could do penance for hurting a boy who tried to destroy you for not bleeding on cue. Do you see a pattern there?”

When he’d put it that way, it had been a disturbing pattern indeed.

That summer, especially once Todd and Dennis had left the safe house, Michael had been ubiquitous. He’d become the only agent who drove her places, whether between the safe house and home or to and from her infrequent “assignments” from General Toal, and the only one with an office in the building. The decision to shelter Todd, it seemed, had resulted in all the agents who weren’t trusted with knowledge of his presence being cut loose for other programs.

And, as a result, it had been Michael who had dealt with the fallout from her disastrous summer fling with a guy—Lars—who’d reminded her a little of Riddick until his violently possessive jealous streak had emerged… and Michael who had thrown Lars through a storefront picture window for trying to backhand her during their breakup. Half a dozen classmates out clubbing had witnessed the fight, and she’d known that she’d start her senior year with a lot of gossip swirling around her. Again.

She still felt far guiltier about Dave, though.

He was no longer a student at Eisenhower High when their senior year had begun. The few of their mutual friends she could still stand told her that his family had moved offworld over the summer. And Audrey had settled into keeping everyone at arm’s length again. Even Michael. Especially Michael.

She still couldn’t read him, at all, and had no idea why or if she dared ask… but her crush on him had only intensified to almost painful levels. He was more than twice her age, though, and either a colleague or possibly her boss—she still wasn’t entirely sure where he ranked in the hierarchy, but it seemed to be higher up than driving her around and bodyguarding her might imply—and somehow all of that had made her more aware than ever of just how lonely and disconnected she was.

There was no one she dared talk to about her feelings where he was concerned. No one she could safely ask whether there was something twisted about having sexual fantasies featuring a man who inflicted pain upon her on a regular basis, even if he never once hurt her in the fantasies. No one who could commiserate with her confusion or help her find her way through it. Even her customary confidants were unsafe for that conversation, making her desperately wish she knew where Kyra was. Kyra would have understood her confusion and worry. Kyra would have known what to tell her.

Instead, she felt more profoundly alone than ever, even when she was surrounded by people… even ones who liked her… even ones who loved her. Which, she reflected, was why she’d sent out ten University applications, but only one of them to a school on Deckard’s World.

Audrey had sworn to never leave the world of her birth again, but sometimes she felt like it was slowly killing her.

She heard the front door open and close, and Michael’s distinctive footsteps. Speak of the handsome devil…

He entered the Security Room frowning.

Uh oh.

“What’d I do now?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Took the blame for something you didn’t do,” he quipped, but his smile was perfunctory and there was an uneasy undertone in his voice. He switched on one of the screens, setting it to a news feed.

“…still not sure what we’re looking at…” an announcer said.

Almost complete darkness filled the screen, aside from a time code at the bottom that read 2520.09.26 22:14:36.07 FST and counted upward. Bright lights were rising up into the darkness, arcing toward something that looked like a meteor falling downward. As Audrey watched, the meteor struck the ground like a massive dagger, blinding light filling the screen and illuminating tall buildings as they shattered, and then static followed.

“It appears that something impacted on the surface…” the announcer continued.

“What is that?” Audrey asked. “Where is that?”

“Nova São Paulo. The capital city of Carvão,” Michael said, his voice hushed and tense. “A week ago, by the time code.”

“Carvão? Isn’t that—?”

“In the Coalsack nebula, yes,” he murmured. “Almost three years since you heard Irena and Colin Kirshbaum talking about how something was three years away from happening there…”

“Oh fuck…” Audrey’s hands went over her mouth.

“It’s gone. Completely gone.” He turned to look at her, his expression deadly serious. “Carvão, Charbon, Uhlia, Waro, and Seogtan… all of the Coalsack planets. Gone. And it would appear that the Helion System is a year away from sharing its fate.”

70.
Straight On ’Til Morning

“I really have to recommend against it, Audrey.”

“What’s the alternative?” Audrey whispered into her comm. She was alone in the sound booth—the tech crew wasn’t due back for a few hours—as she spoke to MilitAIre. “If the ‘show doesn’t go on,’ all the tickets will have to be refunded and everybody’ll be wondering why I didn’t step in. That’s more likely to get noticed than me being in the spotlight of a high school play for a single night.”

MilitAIre took long enough to reply that Audrey knew he was discussing the matter with the other AIs. “You’re correct. It’s not a good situation, though. A lead role is risky. This lead role is especially risky.”

“I get it,” she told him. “I really do. But… I can’t let everybody down. They’re not expecting anything grand out of me, but I’m the only one left who knows the lines and blocking.”

“I understand, Audrey. Break a leg. We will be watching.”

“Seriously?” She laughed. “You’re gonna piggyback on the school’s security cameras to watch?”

“We wouldn’t miss it.”

“Make a recording for my mom, then, okay? And let her know for me.”

Half a dozen people, their expressions ranging from worried to hopeful, were waiting for her when she emerged from the sound booth.

“I have permission,” she told them. The whoops of delight and relief were almost deafening.

Mrs. Morgan began punching numbers into her comm. “I need to get Judy in here early to make sure the costume will work. You’re six inches taller than Cheryl.”

Todd, a grinning Senior a few inches taller than her, with a “ducktail” haircut and an earring in one ear, walked over and put his arm around her. “You are saving so many lives! Now, let’s do a run-through with the rest of the cast.”

He marched her out onto the stage, which was currently clear of set pieces. The whole cast, looking nervous, was sitting nearby, awaiting news of their fate.

“Second star to the right,” he shouted, “and straight on ’til morning! We have our Peter!”

“Thank God,” Julia, hair in the ringlets of Wendy Darling, groaned. “My whole family is coming tonight. You didn’t eat any of Cheryl’s chicken, did you, Audrey? Please tell me you didn’t.”

“I never went near it,” Audrey promised. “Okay, I think Todd wants all of us ‘understudies’ to practice our lines and blocking at least once? An undressed dress rehearsal?”

A few people laughed.

Almost a quarter of the cast had been felled by food poisoning earlier in the day. Cheryl Ocasek, the shining star of Eisenhower High’s theater program, had brought in lunch for the whole cast an hour before the matinee curtain rose. While most of the food had been excellent, everyone who had eaten the fried chicken had begun feeling ill by the middle of the performance. Peter’s final duel with Hook would have been unintentionally comical if both Cheryl and Jim hadn’t looked pale, sweaty, and thoroughly miserable. Neither came out for the final bows, and one of the Lost Children nearly vomited in front of the audience before the curtain finally dropped.

Pandemonium had followed while Mrs. Morgan tried to work out who was sick and who was well, and whether parts could be juggled to make it possible for the show’s closing night performance to go forward. In the end, only one role was left that had lost both its main player and its understudy: Peter Pan himself.

Which was when Todd, the theater program’s other big star who was capping his high school career by directing the production, had suggested that they dragoon their stage manager into the role.

It was Audrey’s first time as a stage manager; now a junior, she had spent almost two whole school years building up a reputation as a serviceable actor who lacked the nuance needed for a lead role but who could sing, dance, and nail the lines in virtually any supporting part. She was best known to her compatriots, however, as a facile prompter who kept entire scripts in her head and never missed a step in her blocking. Although she was considerably taller than Peter was supposed to be, she really was the only option left. Todd—6’2” with a swimmer’s physique—looked far too “grown up” to portray a boy who refused to ever become an adult, and he was the only other member of the troupe who knew all of Peter’s lines. Besides which, he already had to step in to play Captain Hook.

“We have, like, no fairies left,” Maeve, the production’s Tiger Lily, grumbled.

“What if we added some lights dancing around you?” Audrey asked. “Like you’re the only one who’s corporeal and the rest are staying small like Tink?”

Her comm buzzed. She glanced down at its screen.

E. is working on it right now.

“I have a friend who can whip something up for us,” she continued. “The ‘Friends’ song will just have to be the two of us. At least we’re doing the ‘fairies’ version instead of the ‘Indians’ one.”

Back at the start of the semester, she’d managed to argue Todd and Mrs. Morgan into using the revised twenty-first century script, as opposed to the original 1954 Broadway script, by comparing the portrayal of “Indians” in the original script—and no Native American tribes had been invited to settle on Deckard’s World—to the way “the gays” were characterized by most of their school peers, something that Todd was especially sensitive to. Aside from a few lines changing slightly and the replacement of the “Ugh a Wug” song with another tune about friendship, it was almost exactly the same play.

And it would be a whole lot easier to replace corporeal fairies with dancing lights than to explain away an entire missing tribe.

“Okay,” Todd said. “Let’s do a run-through of lines and blocking and see what we need to spend the rest of the day working on.”

They worked until it was time to admit the audience. Audrey nailed her lines and blocking, and listened carefully to Todd’s criticisms of her actual performance. Fortunately, this wasn’t a play that required enormous amounts of nuance, so he wasn’t super critical. She and Maeve then practiced the “Friends” song together, working out the best division of lines normally sung by backup actors and the best ways to harmonize them. The arrival of the “fairy lights” holo system that EntertAIn had cooked up helped; the AI had also whipped up a backing track of “fairy voices” that could be played alongside, adding almost-unearthly harmonies to their lines.

Her handlers, she realized, had decided to treat this like a mission.

While Todd worked with the rest of the cast on weak spots, Audrey met with the stage crew to adjust Cheryl’s flight harness and wires to accommodate her size and weight, and then did a few practice flights to make sure she could control her movements while singing and showboating. The Stage Crew Advisor, Mr. Andrews, agreed to handle the stage management for the evening, and they went over the issues to watch out for from prior performances.

The whole thing kept her too damned busy to feel any stage fright until the show had started and it was almost time to hit her first mark.

Oh fuck, what am I doing? I’m not supposed to expose myself like this…

Her hair—which she’d finally convinced her mother to let her cut to only halfway down her back—was braided back and hidden away, and she was wearing a wig of short, brown, shaggy hair under a green cap. Judy had adjusted the costume to accommodate her longer torso and hide her curves. Now she just had to…

…be a boy for an hour and a half? When had she ever done that before?

Easy peasy…

She took a deep breath and jumped off of her “perch,” soaring through the “open window” of the bedroom and just managing to stick the landing. Murmurs erupted through the audience as people realized that Cheryl wasn’t playing the role. There was supposed to be a sign up about the cast changes, but she bet most people had walked past it without reading.

“Tinker Bell!” she stage-whispered. “Tink! …Tink!”

“Nana” barked over a nearby speaker and she ducked down behind a chair, peeking out.

“Tinker Bell! Where are you?”

She was halfway through the scene, singing “Never Never Land,” when she realized that she had adopted her “Riddick walk” and her “Jack B. Badd” voice for the role.

There were a few flubs along the way from some of her costars, but not nearly as many as they had all dreaded there would be. Todd made a brilliant Hook, she thought, and she had a great time hamming things up with him. Their duels were hilarious, and made her wish they could extend them. But by the time she whisked “Jane” off to Neverland, she was as exhausted as if she had spent the whole time actively isomorphing.

During the curtain call, however, she had one more thing to do. Todd handed her a microphone.

“Tonight was supposed to be a very special night,” she told the audience. “Cheryl Ocasek has been an amazing talent in our theater program for four years now. This would have been her final performance before graduating, and I know a lot of you came tonight especially to see her. Unfortunately, she fell ill earlier today. Although she’s not here to receive it, we wanted all of you to get to see the award and thank-you gift that we had planned to give her tonight…”

She turned the microphone over to Maeve, who did a slight variation on the speech she’d originally intended to give, extolling Cheryl’s performances over the last four years since she’d first wowed audiences in The Fantasticks. Then the actor who had played Smee took over the mic to give a similar award to Todd.

The wrap party was a bit of a blur. She remembered Todd telling her that he wished he had another year to work with her, and several other cast members telling her they were looking forward to having that year, but her brain felt like it was turning into mush.

Mission accomplished, she mused as she managed to make her good-byes and left to meet her mother in the parking lot. Time to head back to base…

“I almost didn’t get to see your debut performance,” her mother said when they were nearly home. “But ‘M’ called and told me you were taking over the role. Why didn’t you let me know?”

Audrey groaned. “Sorry… I spent the whole afternoon working with Todd and the cast to make sure I wouldn’t turn the production into a total disaster. I asked him to give you a heads-up for me.”

“Well, you were very good. Alvin’s sorry he missed it, but we couldn’t find a sitter. I didn’t understand why you were keeping at the whole acting thing when you never got starring roles, but maybe now you’ll start getting some more.”

Shit. Had she been too good? MilitAIre might have some choice things to say about that.

“You don’t have to want to be a star to want to perform, Mom.” It wasn’t their first time going over that.

A mermaid doesn’t need to be a queen to raise a tsunami…

Her mother was just too much of a competitive spirit to understand that. Her drive to win, to come out on top, showed up in almost everything. For Audrey, she only felt like that when she was on the track and didn’t want to have to see anyone between her and the “horizon.”

Her morning ride to the safe house was a little surprising; Dennis teasingly asked her for her autograph.

“Gonna tell people ‘I knew her when…’ even if I can never tell them I knew you where,” he joked. “You got good reviews last night. Wish I’d been there to see.”

Reviews? Oh. Shit…

“So,” she said as she walked into the Security Room and sat down, “how badly did I fuck things up?”

“Not badly,” MilitAIre told her. “None of the reviewers who had come to see Cheryl Ocasek’s final high school performance claimed you outperformed her. Or accused you of nuance.”

“Fuck… I should’ve realized that show was gonna be reviewed. What did they say?”

“See for yourself.” The screen in front of her lit up with an article from the Settlement Point Monitor.

Food Poisoning Outbreak Forces Last-Minute Cast Change in Peter Pan Production

Junior Audrey MacNamera and Senior Todd McKinney Shine in Impromptu Roles

Below the headline, there was an image someone had captured of the performance, as she and Todd had dueled. Todd looked menacing and wicked as Captain Hook, while she…

Well, shit.

With a fierce smile on her face as she battled Captain Hook back, and her unruly mop of a wig under Peter Pan’s green cap…

Jack B. Badd was onstage for the whole fuckin’ universe to see.

She’d done the walk, done the voice, slipped into the boy persona she’d developed on the run without even a thought…

“Oh fuck. I’m right out there in Jack form…”

“And your portrayal of a boy is, according to the reviewer, one of the highlights of your performance,” EntertAIn said. “While you didn’t do a job that would raise red flags about your ability to run a long game, you did reveal that you can impersonate a boy very well indeed.”

Groaning, Audrey looked for that part of the review.

MacNamera, a junior at Eisenhower High, is better known for Lettering in Track and Field as a sophomore and bringing home the bronze medal this year in the DWSAA Half-Marathon. Within the theater program, she has appeared in several chorus lines and taken on smaller roles, and was this production’s stage manager up until the food poisoning incident. Sixteen years old, she’s probably best known for having been a missing person for almost two years. While no information has ever been released about where she was during that time, the authentic veneer of ‘street tough’ that she imbues her Peter Pan with might furnish a tantalizing clue…

“Ohhhh, shit.”

“On a positive note,” MilitAIre said, “the ‘street tough’ interpretation points back to the dominant theories almost everyone has about you at this point… and not toward a run through space.”

“As long as nobody realizes the ‘street tough’ I’m channeling there is Richard B. Riddick,” Audrey muttered.

“It’s hard to imagine why they would,” EntertAIn laughed. “I don’t think this did much damage to the persona you’re portraying, but you are going to have to figure out a way to avoid starring roles, now that you’ve demonstrated how ably you can handle one.”

“Are you sure? I feel… naked. Exposed as fuck.” She felt like she’d screwed up, even if the article was praising her and even her mother had seemed happy.

“It was a risk. You knew it and so did we. But it’s also a good opportunity to practice some damage control tactics,” MilitAIre said. “Sooner or later, something will happen that will require them. It’s our job to teach you to deal with risk, not hide from it.”

An “unleashed Operative,” she reflected, shouldn’t be afraid to take risks, as long as they were calculated ones. She’d been given that message several times. Leashed Operatives had no choice about the risks they did and didn’t take; Toal was hoping she’d develop a judicious streak that could drive home the importance of giving all Operatives similar latitude. And, more urgently, not violating and brutalizing their minds.

“And,” First-AId added, “I can hear you falling into your ‘it’s all my fault’ mode of thinking. Fight it. We’ve discussed this.”

Audrey nodded, sighing. The realization that her cousins had been using her as the “fall guy” for their pranks and capers, and had only finally been caught out when she was unavailable to play that role, had been a tough discovery. Almost four years after she’d originally gone missing, their parents were still grappling with the knowledge that “Trouble” hadn’t, after all, been her middle name, and that the blame they’d habitually thrown her way for dozens of incidents had rightfully fallen much closer to home. Although her mother felt vindicated by the admissions, Audrey herself was still struggling with their impact.

Practically from the moment she could walk, she’d been unknowingly conditioned into believing that the chaos she and her cousins had frequently ended up embroiled in was her fault, especially since they—and their parents—always insisted that nothing like that happened except when she was around. But after her disappearance, Rob, Rachel, and Joey had only lasted a little over a month before they’d begun getting into trouble without her handy to blame it on. The adults had all wised up; several had even apologized to her for the scoldings they’d given her and the opinions they’d held about her, sheepishly explaining that it was in part her father’s childhood reputation—he was, after all, the original Jack B. Badd—that had prejudiced them against her actual innocence. And First-AId had spent the last two years drawing her attention to the way that, whenever anything went wrong, her first assumption was that it was somehow her fault… thanks to them.

Sometimes she wasn’t sure what was doing more damage to her relationship with her cousins now: her inability to trust them after all that, or their resentment that she still wouldn’t tell them where she’d been. The latter issue kept impeding friendships at school, too.

There were other reviews to read, all of them complimentary but not lavish in their praise, most reviewers impressed by Audrey’s ability to make the audience believe she really was a boy until the moment she had spoken in her “natural voice” during the curtain call. She still felt like she’d given too much of her game away, even if nobody had figured out how constantly she was “onstage” and acting during her daily life.

Over lunch—a “new cajun” jambalaya that originated from the Bayou Nebula and required several glasses of water to get through—she checked her “lifeline” to Kyra. Nothing. None of her messages had been read in the last two and a half years; no new messages had come from her sister since she’d “gone dark.” Sometimes, not often, the Apeiros told her that Kyra was dreaming of a world with three suns, but she had apparently learned how to avoid their detection in her sleep as well as when she was awake.

Audrey left another message anyway. It hadn’t varied much in the last year, but under the assumption that Kyra might read the most recent one first if she logged in, she always included the same important news.

It’s me, hoping you’re okay. So you know, “Kyra Wittier-Collins” is now a safe identity to use if you want. All of the warrants were voided a year ago now. New Dartmouth has to pay out a ginormous settlement to you and the other survivors. We’re talking millions of dollars in settlement money per survivor, from the sound of it. You can walk in and claim it any time if you want. I hope you do. They deserve to bleed some serious green for what they did to you. I miss you. Love you tons.

Always your sister,
Tizzy

P.S. I played Peter Pan in a local show and killed it. I wish you could have seen it.

People in the school hallways seemed friendlier than usual the next day. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. The first thing she did, though, was go looking for Cheryl.

Pale and drawn-looking, Cheryl was sitting in the courtyard, surrounded by girls—a mixture of Seniors and Juniors—who were clearly in Supportive Friend Mode.

“Oh great, here she is now,” Missy Barnstable said as Audrey walked up. But the look on Cheryl’s face wasn’t hostile.

“How are you feeling?” Audrey asked.

Cheryl gave her a rueful smile. “Like I never want to eat again. I can keep down soda crackers and that’s about it. How about you? You okay after taking one for the team like that?”

Missy huffed, rolled her eyes, and walked away. For a moment, Audrey was profoundly reminded of Celia. Weird… usually Missy intimidated the hell out of her.

She sat down in the seat Missy had vacated. “Tired. That was like… having ten minutes’ warning before taking the SAT or something.”

Cheryl chuckled. “Speaking of tests, did you hear the crazy news?”

“I don’t think I have. What’s the crazy news?”

“Someone got a bug up their butt about the Ouija boards everybody’s been playing with and now there are Quantifiers on campus.”

Cold jetted through Audrey’s veins. Fuck. Fuck. None of it showed on her face, though. She was, after all, every damn bit as good at acting as Cheryl, and she was always on. “Quantifiers? What are those?”

“They test for psychic powers,” Mary-Jo Breem said. She was one of Cheryl’s closest friends.

Audrey laughed. “Oh c’mon, none of that stuff is real.”

“You should come over next time we do a séance,” Maeve told her. “You’ll see.”

Several of the girls nodded. Interesting; were there actual overtures of friendship there?

“Color me intrigued,” she said. She wondered if any of them could actually tap into anything with a Ouija board, or if it was, as MilitAIre believed, the power of the subconscious, on a sub-esper level, that governed those games.

Would any of these girls light up a Quantification test? Was there anyone on campus, aside from her, who would be in danger of being identified and “recruited” today?

“So I’m not saying you’re right or anything,” she began, shrugging, “but who do you think could test positive for psychic powers?”

“There’s that chick, Emily, from your grade, who says she’s a witch and the reincarnation of Stevie Nicks,” Julia said. Her hair was straight again, Wendy’s curls long gone.

It was hard to restrain a sputter of laughter. That explained the flowy dresses… and the top hat… Emily had been wearing all year. “She’s, uh, had quite a few stories about stuff like that. Not so much with the proof, though.”

Cheryl snorted. “Two years ago, right before you came back, she was claiming that she could talk to spirits, and that she’d even talked to yours because you’d been murdered and buried in a nearby construction site.”

Audrey let her eyes go wide and allowed her laughter to escape. “Well, that must have been awkward for her!”

Maeve snickered. “So she’s obviously not gonna test out for psychic powers.”

The girls turned to speculating about which of the school “weirdos” might test positive until the bell rang and everyone headed inside.

The announcement about Quantification testing was the first thing on the agenda. Classes were to continue as normal during the process, but all teachers were to be aware that students could be summoned for testing at any time, and must be excused immediately when they were called.

Just… stay… calm, Audrey told herself. She’d done these tests hundreds of times and knew exactly how to game them so that she’d read as the most unpsychic person in history.

Three students were called away during her first period English class. All three returned looking unimpressed. Another two were summoned from her second period History of the Federacy class, returning well before the class ended looking equally nonchalant. During third period Gymnastics, Emily Hartwell was called away. She left looking smug and confident and returned looking profoundly disgruntled.

Audrey was finally summoned during her fifth period French class.

The testing station had been set up in the nurse’s office. Audrey had only been in there once for a minor scrape during a track meet.

The first problem was, of course, when she put her hand on the biometrics pad, and an alert came up informing the nurse and the Quantifiers that they were not authorized to conduct diagnostics on her or provide non-emergency care. One of the Quantifiers frowned, tapped in some codes, and then glanced at her in confusion.

“You have a Federacy lock on your biometrics. Why?”

She shrugged. “You already know as much as your clearance level allows you, and that’s probably more than I know.”

His frown deepened, but he shrugged. “Please come this way. Federacy lock or not, you still have to take this test.”

“Sure, why not?” She followed him, slipping into what she had come to think of as Quiet Mode.

It was not unlike being blind and deaf. She couldn’t feel the Apeiros, had no awareness of the other ’verses in her five-shape, couldn’t even feel the people near her anymore. No connection, no balance, no direction. If most of humanity had to feel this way all the time, she wondered how it had managed to survive so long. She and MilitAIre had worked on building up her stamina for dealing with the sensation of being cocooned away from everything, and she could maintain Quiet Mode for almost an hour before she started struggling not to scream. She could survive this. She would survive this.

The Quantifier had her sit down in a chair and then slipped an electrode cap over her head. She tilted her head for him before he could ask, knowing exactly how the cap should sit.

“You’ve worn one of these before?” he asked.

“Yeah. Had a head injury a few years back, everybody was worried I was concussed. They did a bunch of different scans, including the one where you have to stick your head in a huge white donut-looking machine.”

“A CT scan,” he told her, nodding, as he tapped various controls. “Were you concussed?”

“Thankfully not. I’d hit my head pretty hard, though, so I guess they just wanted to make extra sure.”

He came back over and removed the cap. “Well, your brain looks just fine. Thank you for your cooperation, Miss MacNamera. You can return to your class now.”

“Sure, no problem.” She waited until she was outside of the nurse’s office before letting her connections to the ’verses flow back. It felt as if she’d been holding in a breath the whole time, depriving herself of oxygen.

Todd was approaching. She started to smile at him—

And then stopped. He his eyes were fixed on the nurse’s office… and he looked terrified.

She’d never actually tried touching his mind before. She reached out—

Oh God, oh God, they’re gonna figure me out, they’re gonna take me like they took my cousin Sylvia, oh fuck, what do I do…?

He passed her, barely aware that she was standing there.

She pulled her comm out as she walked back to her classroom, resisting the impulse to run.

“Yes, Audrey?” MilitAIre answered.

“I need you to make up a good reason, a home emergency or something, and get me called out of class in the next five minutes with permission to leave campus. We have an emergency situation. I’ll explain everything as soon as I can.”

“Understood. I’ll take care of it.”

The call, releasing her from class, came right as she was sitting back down. She picked up her backpack and headed out of the building, keeping her pace calm and steady and not giving in to the urge to take the stairs two at a time and crash through the exit doors. Don’t make any sign… don’t leave any clues…

She knew exactly where all of the school’s security cameras were positioned, and exactly when she could no longer be seen by them. Ducking out of everyone’s line of sight, behind a grouping of bushes the school’s “burn-outs” frequently hid behind to light up, she transitioned into Wonderland and pulled her comm back out. Fortunately, hardware to let her make comm calls from both of her habitable alternate ’verses had been in place for almost two years.

“Yes, Audrey? What is happening?”

“The Quantifiers have found an esper. A genuine, bona fide esper. You have to help me save him from them.”

“Who?”

“Todd McKinney. They took his cousin Sylvia a few years ago.”

“Audrey, I don’t think—”

“If General Toal wants another unleashed esper, this is his chance.”

“While that’s true, the circumstances aren’t the best for—”

“Fuck, MilitAIre, do you know what they’re going to do to him?”

“Yes.” The AI’s voice had gone soft.

“Look,” she tried again, her heart pounding. “I’m betting your databanks have copies of Duke Pritchard’s ‘bad kitty’ files, right? They have to. Half a dozen of his and Makarov’s victims still haven’t been identified. Those files won’t have been purged yet.”

“Yes, Audrey. I have access to those files. Why?”

“Because the Quantifiers’ bosses are gonna do to Todd’s mind what Pritchard and Makarov did to those girls’ bodies. Unless you help me stop them.”

“I see.”

“Todd’s an amazing person, MilitAIre. He’s smart, he’s funny, he’s creative. He can ad-lib like nobody’s business. You hand him a random prop and he can come up with a brilliant scene about it off the top of his head.”

“Audrey—”

“He wants to direct on New Broadway, and God knows that’s not gonna happen now but maybe he could still direct operations for General Toal and get to use that creativity instead of having it burned out of his head.”

“Audrey—”

“He’s sweet and he’s kind and he has tragic taste in men but it’s not like they’re gonna help him with that. For God’s sake, MilitAIre, I’ll do this without you if I have to—”

“Audrey.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re in. You have the green light. Now. What’s your plan?”

She turned and sprinted for the nurse’s office. Now she just needed a plan.

69.
Black Fox, Gone to Ground

“Please have a seat,” Principal Godwin said, gesturing at the chairs in front of his desk.

Audrey and her mother both sat down, Elodie napping in a carrier beside her mother’s chair.

“I have the test results back, and the news is very good,” Godwin said.

Audrey had already seen the results; MilitAIre had forwarded them to her. Her scores hadn’t been perfect; that would have been difficult for people to accept, so she’d deliberately missed a question or two on each test. But she knew that the scores had been well beyond the necessary levels for passing.

The holidays were behind them, and the end of the school year was approaching. Given the timing of her return, the school administration had agreed that it would be disruptive to have Audrey join her class—assuming she even tested into it—at the very end of the year. Instead, they had administered three days’ worth of tests covering all the material that she would be expected to know in order to advance to tenth grade. Their intention, she knew, had been to determine which summer school classes she would need to take, or whether she would simply be knocked back a grade—or even two—instead; the results proved that neither option was necessary.

“Audrey’s officially approved to join her class for tenth grade when school resumes in May,” Godwin told them. “We received the special transcript from the… facility… she stayed in, so she won’t be missing any of the credits she needs to graduate, either. Fall Semester registration opens in a week, and she can sign up for classes then. I’ve forwarded you a list of the ones that need instructor permission or auditions—band, choir, those kinds of things—if she’s interested in any of them, and a list of extracurricular activity groups and their deadlines for signing up.”

Audrey had caught the quizzical look her mother had shot her at the mention of the “facility.” That was going to be a fun conversation.

She was holding Elodie for her mother as they returned to the car, when she became aware of people staring at her, both from classroom windows and from the nearby softball field. Well, there’s another delightful rumor that’s gonna start going around…

MilitAIre was already monitoring the gossip, and which students subscribed to which wild theories about her whereabouts while she was missing. Some of the scenarios were pretty outrageous. A few people had floated the suggestion that she’d never been missing at all, but had gotten pregnant and had gone away somewhere to have a baby. She wondered which of them would latch onto the idea that Elodie was “really” her daughter rather than her sister.

“What did the principal mean about a facility you stayed in?” Her mother waited until they were in the car, and it was in motion, before asking.

“‘M’ sent in transcripts,” Audrey told her. “It was the only way to keep them from demanding at least some summer school to give me the minimum number of credits I’ll need to graduate in three more years. The transcripts claim I was in a Wyndham Landing juvie facility under a fake name, and they sent me back here when they finally realized who I really was, but I already completed a ninth-grade equivalency during their school year.”

The facility really existed, too; in the northern hemisphere of Deckard’s World, the school year ranged from the start of November to the end of July, compared to May through January in Settlement Point. Records related to her supposed stay there had been inserted into the facility’s security system, courtesy of a Ghost Code she had provided MilitAIre, and some programs he controlled were monitoring all communications for any sign of attempts to access the files. Anyone trying to get more details about her stay there would unknowingly find themselves speaking to him.

Her mom kept her eyes on the road, but Audrey could feel her wanting to turn and lock eyes with her. “Were you in Wyndham Landing?”

“Mom, you know I can’t tell you where I was.”

Her mother huffed, pressing her lips together for a moment. “I know. I’m trying to live with it, Audrey, I really am. It’s just…”

“I get it.” She kept her voice gentle and sympathetic. Time to try to change the subject. “I, uh, was hoping to sign up for some extracurriculars next year, by the way. If you’re okay with that.”

“Which ones did you have in mind?”

“Track and musical theater. I’ll have to try out for both of them.” While she did like musical theater, MilitAIre wanted her to pursue it for protective coloration purposes; she would portray herself as reasonably adept at the broader theatricality of the stage, suitable for musicals and vaudeville, but with little ability for subtler and more nuanced performances. That would hopefully “prove,” to most observers, that she lacked the talent or skill to run a long game on anyone. Track… was something she’d insisted on.

“I can keep up,” she’d told Riddick, trying to hide her fear that he would leave her behind.

“Maybe someday,” he’d replied…

She wanted to be able to run for miles, for hours, to be the one setting the pace rather than struggling to follow. She had raced through the corridors of the Nephrite Undine, SensAI timing her as she went, and had taken to jogging across the flat plains of Wonderland since her return, once the weather was good enough. And she wanted to get even faster.

She would never see Riddick again, but she had decided she wanted to run as fast as, or faster than, him.

“…and an awful lot of running to do…”

Where had she heard that? She frowned, concentrating on the memory, but it slipped away from her. It felt like something she’d heard on the Nephrite Undine—somehow the memory conjured the scent of EntertAIn’s rooms on the ship, hints of popcorn and strawberry licorice whips—but none of the “female” AIs on the ship had had a voice quite like that.

It bothered her that she had so many holes in her memory.

The most recent one, from the end of her first recon mission, was especially vexing. Neither the AIs nor the Apeiros would tell her what had happened, although both groups had given her stern lectures about not trying to mess with any more apeirochorons. Not until you hatch, the Apeiros had added; MilitAIre, meanwhile, had given her hell about trying to disobey a direct order.

She’d had to let go of most of it, but one thing had stuck out for her and had been a startling revelation: after touching their hands, the envoy had apparently believed that she and Kyra were Furyan, and that—not a potential connection to the Scarlet Matador—was what had motivated all of her questions at the memorial.

No wonder she was so interested in us, if she’s looking for un-Quantified Furyan refugees, she’d thought, but hadn’t felt ready to discuss it with the AIs. They’d probably figured out exactly the same thing, anyway. But if touching someone with Threshold Syndrome reminded the envoy of touching a Furyan… what were Furyans? And what, exactly, was it about them—or maybe their planet—that was communicable enough that her father had brought it back and left traces of it in her, even before the Level Five Incident?

She’d decided that she needed to think about the whole thing for a while longer before she tried to discuss it.

The drive home had grown quiet. Although Audrey’s thoughts had distracted her for a few moments, she suspected her mother was brooding over something.

“No band?” They were turning into their driveway when her mother finally asked that.

Oh. Yeah.

“It’s been close to two years since I touched my flute. I’m pretty rusty… and anyway, the marching band plays at Sunday games.”

In truth, Audrey could probably have picked up the flute and played it just fine—her mother, who had pegged her as eidetic when she was much younger, seemed to have forgotten all about it once she’d started pretending her memory was as flawed as anyone else’s—but having the Sunday games be the only issue would have led her mother into another bout of railing against WitSec and its restrictions. As it was, she sighed gustily and shook her head.

“And the other two don’t play on Sundays?”

Audrey shrugged. “I checked. Friday nights and Saturday matinees and nights, only, for the musical theater performances. Track meets are right after school. About the only things that happen on Sunday are the ‘big’ sports games, so all the stuff connected to them is out.”

Sundays on Deckard’s World, like so much else, were modeled after the Mid-Century period of the twentieth-century America, when only a few stores were open for limited hours, and most activities were either church or sports related. She hadn’t realized how atypical that was until she’d ventured offworld.

“Hmm.”

Damn it, she’d riled her mom up again. Bettie Paige Hawthorne had been a cheerleading captain and had hoped to encourage Audrey to follow that lead. It might have even worked—Audrey had enjoyed the gymnastics and dance parts—if Missy Barnstable hadn’t been enrolled in the classes, too, and hadn’t had it in for her. Her avoidance of practice sessions, and the reason behind it, had been one of the things her parents had fought about…

…and, she suddenly realized, a large part of why she’d been convinced it was her fault that they’d split up.

Huh.

“It’s a shame you’ll miss out on that part of high school life,” her mother said as she finished parking the car in the garage. “Well, go through the course catalogue and pick out what you want to take. I don’t guess you’ll ever tell me how you managed to keep up with your grade…”

“‘M’ and ‘E’ helped me stay caught up,” Audrey said. That was among the things she was permitted to volunteer. She climbed out of the car and reached back in for Elodie, who was still napping in her carrier. “Studying helped the time pass.”

Her mother released another frustrated sigh as Audrey carefully drew Elodie’s carrier out; her baby sister remained fast asleep the whole time. “It would be nice to meet them sometime.”

Not actually possible. Deckard’s World, for all its xenophobia toward other human cultures, had some pretty enlightened-sounding stances about AI, but that didn’t mean Audrey could just take her mother to the safe house and introduce her handlers. Maybe a video call sometime…?

They’d have to settle on appearances first, she thought, and suppressed a grin. Even SensAI would have to; over the Spring Break, her mother had invited her cousins and their parents over, and they had ended up watching a centuries-old film called The Karate Kid. Audrey had had great fun, the day after the New Year, teasing SensAI about “wax on, wax off” during her debriefing session, but he couldn’t possibly try to wear Pat Morita’s face in front of her mother in the wake of that.

She really wanted to meet the person who had developed the AI’s personas someday. Whoever it was, they had a wicked sense of humor.

“I’ll tell them,” she told her mother. “I don’t know how feasible it is yet, but hopefully they can manage something in the future.”

“I suppose that’ll have to do, won’t it?” her mother said, releasing yet another gusty sigh as she unlocked the door.

Audrey pretended to be too busy carrying Elodie to answer. Normal was still a long way off.

The weird thing was that she was getting along really well with Alvin now. Her mother, she’d discovered, had a type, and both Alvin and her father were examples of it. He generally abetted her in dodging conversations about her missing time with both her mother and the rest of her family, understanding that the less said about all of it, the better. Her mom, however, was still struggling to let go of the issue, to accept that it was something that just had to be, and that it would be easier to deal with if she didn’t try to tackle it head-on.

But looking away wasn’t what Bettie Paige Hawthorne-Baxter knew how to do… and with a few more years’ hiatus from her law practice ahead of her until Elodie was old enough for school, she was itching for a fight. That was something Audrey needed to talk to MilitAIre about. It was bad enough that her mother had already lost the “fights” about Audrey dressing like a teenager instead of a little girl, and packing away all of the toys she’d outgrown… even if most of her cast-offs were being saved for Elodie to grow into.

And, Audrey suddenly realized with a chill, it was about to get worse. A familiar car was pulling up in front of the house… mid-afternoon on a Thursday.

Well, shit. This was going to give her mother something new to want to fight about.

Her comm buzzed in her pocket at that moment. MilitAIre was calling. She answered, aware that she only had a minute until the doorbell rang.

“What the hell’s going on?” she whispered, not wanting to wake Elodie or alert her mother yet.

“We have a problem. It’s nothing dangerous, but we need you at the safe house right away. Please assure your mother that you’ll be back before curfew. And don’t worry. It’s the truth.” The comm went dead.

Audrey set down Elodie’s carrier on the couch just before the doorbell rang.

“Who was on the comm?” her mother asked behind her. “And who’s at the door?”

“‘M’ called. There’s some kind of problem. But he promised he’d have me back here before curfew.”

“No. No, no no no. They can’t just show up out of the blue and take you away like it’s nothing.”

“Mom, It’ll be okay. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Her mother’s jaw clenched and she stormed over to the front door, unlocking it and throwing it open. “What the hell are you trying to—”

“Hello, Ma’am.” It was the agent she’d come to know as Five, one of three who were permitted to see her face and know where she lived, and the one who usually brought her to the safe house. He looked like a Secret Service agent from a centuries-old movie. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Inconvenience—”

“Miss MacNamera needs to come with me now. This is a matter of Federacy security.”

“It’s a what?”

“I assure you, she will be back before ten. Probably well before then.”

“You can’t just come in here and try to—”

“Mom!” Audrey felt like they were teetering on a dangerous edge.

“What, Audrey?”

“You need to calm down. If you get into a fight with a Federacy agent in front of the neighbors, they might decide not to return me at all.”

Her mother went chalky pale at her words, her hand fluttering up to her mouth.

Audrey pulled her into a hug. “It’s going to be okay. I love you. I will be back tonight, I swear it. Try not to worry.”

She hoped she wasn’t about to be made into a liar.

Neither she nor Five spoke until the car was in motion. Normally, they wouldn’t have spoken at all; his words to her mother were the first time she’d ever heard his voice.

“Any idea what’s going on?” she asked once they were a few blocks away from her mother’s house.

“Sorry. I’m not cleared to know. Just to deliver you to the security office.” That was, apparently, the official name for the safe house in his circles. He had an unusual mind, disciplined and clear, his thoughts oddly intentional and delineated with none of the clutter and free association she was used to reading in people. She wondered if it was deliberate, if he knew he was dealing with an esper. Not that she could ask. Asking anything would volunteer too much information in the process.

“I guess I’ll find out when I get there.” She settled back into the seat. “How much am I cleared to know about you, Five? I mean, since you know my name and where I live?”

He chuckled. “My name is Dennis. I know I’m allowed to tell you that much, but I’ll have to verify what else I can say.”

“Nice to meet you, Dennis.”

“You too, Audrey.” He gave her a wry smile in the rear-view mirror. “Thank you for rescuing me from your mother.”

“You’re welcome, but don’t worry. It’s been at least five years since she actually ate anybody alive.”

That got a laugh. “I dunno… she seemed to be sizing up my jugular.”

Audrey shrugged. “Long as she doesn’t go for the sweet spot, you’ll be fine.”

“The sweet spot?”

What the hell was she doing? “Don’t worry about it…”

She was going to have to think of a way to apologize to her mother, she decided as they drove on. If only…

Now, there’s a nice, non-horrible idea…

“Before you say anything,” she told the AIs as she entered the safe house, “I’m going to need CommissAIry to make a dozen chocolate éclairs for me to take back to my mom as a peace offering, because whatever’s going on just sent her freak-out levels into orbit. Peace in our time means éclairs. Understood?”

“Understood, Audrey,” MilitAIre said, his voice oddly gentle. “We really wouldn’t have brought you here if it weren’t an urgent matter.”

She took a deep breath, letting go of the bit of anger she’d been holding. “Okay. What’s going on?”

“Kyra Wittier-Collins has disappeared.”

“What?”

“She boarded a ship to the Lupus system at the New Fes spaceport. It reached its destination two weeks ago. General Toal wanted to make her a similar offer to the one that he made you, and he had arranged for its delivery once she got settled. Just an offer. No one was to attempt to take her into custody. But one of the agents in the detail apparently misunderstood the assignment.”

“Oh. Fuck.” Audrey sat down at one of the terminals and called up a set of profiles that she checked every week during her debriefing visits. “An offer like he made me? Training to be an independent ‘Operative?’”

“That was the plan,” MilitAIre told her. “He wants to assemble proof that the conditioning given to most esper ‘recruits’ actually makes them less effective in the field. His arguments against the conditioning on humanitarian grounds haven’t worked.”

She logged into the account that she’d set up, well before she and Kyra had left Tangiers Prime, where they could leave messages for each other. In the last half-year, she had left dozens of messages there, mostly recommendations of interesting films that EntertAIn had introduced her to, and the latest news about Amnesty Interplanetary’s battle on New Dartmouth to have Kyra exonerated.

All the messages she had sent were still unopened… but now there was a message waiting for her from Kyra. It had been sent a week earlier and had arrived via beacon courier while she and her mother had been meeting with the principal.

Don’t trust Toal. He tried to grab me. Going dark.
Always your sister. K.

“The agent tried to grab her?”

“I don’t believe that was his original intention. But he was shadowing her too closely and she ‘made’ him. An altercation ensued, and he then appears to have attempted to subdue her.”

“Fuck. Is he still alive?”

“He’ll survive his injuries, fortunately. General Toal has covered up almost all of what happened to prevent a manhunt from starting. The whole point had been to get her to voluntarily come in from the cold. Instead, Kyra has abandoned the flat she’d rented, and the Kali Montgomery ID you made her hasn’t been used since that night.”

Wait just one second…

“How do you know about the Kali Montgomery ID?” It wasn’t something she’d ever told MilitAIre, especially given his admonitions not to volunteer information. While she’d described making false IDs for herself, Kyra, and Tomlin, she’d never said which names and backgrounds the other two had been given. The name she’d picked for Tomlin, which meant “he will live” in Tamazight, had become cruelly ironic in the wake of everything.

“When I originally queried Military Intelligence about your real identity, back on the Nephrite Undine, I sent them copies of all the documentation you possessed as ‘Marianne Tepper.’ General Toal hadn’t known that name until after you left Tangiers Prime to reach the Undine, but he then traced your documents’ creation and discovered that you created two more identities at the same time, including Kali Montgomery. He was impressed by the quality of your work, by the way. You were only a few minor documents away from seamless identities.”

Audrey groaned, rubbing her forehead. Part of her wanted to ask which documents she’d missed, but she shoved that impulse down. That part of my life is over…

Was it, though? “This… is really bad.”

“It is,” MilitAIre agreed. “I’m sorry.”

“What happens now?” she asked after a moment. Had the emergency just been about getting ahead of the news before she could read Kyra’s message on her own, or was there something specific they wanted her to do?

And would she do it?

“We were hoping that you could reach out to her.”

“And?” Part of her had gone still in a way that she recognized from her time on the run; that unmoving moment while she watched to see which way a possible predator would go.

“Tell her your circumstances, tell her what we were trying to offer her, and encourage her to come in from the cold.”

Which, she had to admit, made sense. She hadn’t felt any serious fear in months—

Should she have, though?

Would she have been scared if her survival instincts had been better, and if she hadn’t been so keen on having someone else take control in the wake of the New Casablanca fiasco? Would she have surrendered first to Abecassis—believing him to be an arresting officer—and later to MilitAIre, if she hadn’t been so deep in the throes of self-loathing and a desire to be punished? Would General Toal’s plans for her have still inspired relief… or foreboding? Was Kyra being too paranoid… or was she being too trusting?

He always knew who we were and what we could do. He could have arrested us at any time.

But maybe not. Maybe that would have created a dangerous schism with the Meziane family that he had wanted to avoid. None of them, especially not Ewan, would have permitted her imprisonment, or Kyra’s.

Maybe the real urgency about getting them offworld had been to get them out from under the umbrella of protection the Mezianes had raised over them.

No, she decided after a moment. She’d never tried to read the General’s mind, but she had felt it when they were near each other, and had sensed genuine kindness and worry from him, both where she was concerned and where Kyra was. But…

He knew where I was going the whole time. He knew he could always find me again. Was he watching over Kyra the same way?

Or had he only become interested in her whereabouts once his objectives changed and he wanted to prove off-leash Operatives were superior to the heavily conditioned types?

Was there a leash hidden among those new objectives, as yet unseen?

One thing about AIs, she’d already noticed, was that they could let a silence stretch out as long as necessary without the slightest discomfort. That silence was only broken when, with the arrival of the dinner hour, CommissAIry had the safe house ’bots deliver a tray of fragrant chicken tagine, orange juice, and Maghrebi mint tea.

Comfort food, she realized. They understand comfort food… and they understand how uncomfortable all of this has me…

The move had energized her appetite, though. She ate, still thinking things over, before finally opening the messaging system again.

I heard about what happened. I hope you’re okay. General Toal enrolled me in WitSec to break my trail. I think he wanted to offer you the same deal and a safe way into the military. My handlers say one of the people assigned to make contact with you went off-mission and fucked it up. I believe they’re telling the truth. But if you aren’t sure—

First, she needed to make sure she was sure of what she planned to suggest. She closed her eyes, slowed her breathing, and willed her mind into the starfield of the Apeiros.

Five minutes later, she opened her eyes again, feeling relieved.

—you don’t need to use this system to reach out to me. The Apeiros will relay messages between us. They promise to help, and they promise not to start talking to you all the time in your sleep again. I know they make you uncomfortable, but they can help you with a lot of things if you want them to. Elsewhere and another ’verse are habitable on my world. I’m on Deckard’s World. You can come here and stay in either ’verse, if you want to get away from everybody, and I’ll bring you supplies. It’s up to you. I just want you to be safe.

She took a deep breath, blew it out, and added in the thing she’d wanted to tell Kyra since before they had gone their separate ways.

My name is Audrey MacNamera and I am always your sister.

Love,
Tizzy

“Are you sure you want to send that?” MilitAIre asked as she finished. “It’s a risk.”

“You tell me how secure the system is,” Audrey muttered. “She needs a safe haven. Why not here?”

“The encryptions you have in place are comprehensive. It should be safe. And if she chooses to come here, we will protect her and let her choose her path. I promise you that.”

Audrey touched the “Send” button. “Where is General Toal right now?”

“On Helion Prime,” MilitAIre told her, “trying to learn more about what your ‘friend’ Irena is up to.”

Audrey nodded. So Kyra’s assumption that he had tried to grab her wasn’t because she had seen him in the Lupus system. He did, however, have high-speed courier drones that could get messages across the Federacy within a single day. They were expensive as fuck, but it appeared he was using them to run damage control on the botched contact mission… and to ensure that his side of the story arrived at the same time as Kyra’s.

Was reaching Kyra what was important to him… or keeping Audrey MacNamera on his side?

He had, she realized as she thought more about it, always been more interested in what she could do than what Kyra could.

“Dihya, I think, relies more on her physicality…”

Kyra had turned away from the Apeiros. In all probability, she was still only two ’verses wide in her five-shape, having spent months dreaming in cryo instead of cultivating additional ’verses with each Star Jump. She was deadly and formidable, but…

But that isn’t something new to him…

If Kyra’s talents were less interesting to him, though, then he had to genuinely care about helping her, and about making good on Tomlin’s promise to her. Didn’t he?

It felt like truth to her. She hoped she wasn’t being naïve.

True to their word, the AIs had “Eleven” drive her home shortly before Elodie’s bedtime, with chocolate éclairs for Audrey’s mother, huge, sticky cinnamon rolls for Alvin, and a supply of Elodie’s current favorite custard—she had been obsessed with banana custard for the last week—as peace offerings. She arrived at the house just before Elodie was due for her bedtime snack.

The four of them ate their desserts together, Audrey nibbling on an éclair and wishing she could have brought home some almond briouats without raising questions. Elodie, in particular, was ecstatic about the special treat.

“You okay?” Alvin asked as he pulled a ring of iced pastry off his roll.

“I will be,” she said. Her message to Kyra had gone out, but…

…she found herself more and more worried about her sister.

“I don’t guess you can tell us what all of the fuss was about,” her mother groused.

“I can, a little.” She and MilitAIre had worked that much out. “There’s a girl… we were in custody together for two months.”

Literally true. Just in Aceso instead of in WitSec. Using the truth to mislead disturbed her, but the truths underlying the illusions, assumptions, and lies of omission were still the most important details.

“We became friends. We started to think of each other as sisters, even. But… we had to be separated. We were too big a target together. Too risky. So… we were split up.”

Also literally true. It just hadn’t happened in a safe house, and the decision hadn’t exactly come from a WitSec handler. Her mother and Alvin would believe that they had been sheltering in place together, in some hidden location, for two months somewhere on Deckard’s World, developing a “best friends forever” bond over safe, protected activities.

Not fleeing a mental institution together before one of them could be dragged off and made to “stand trial” by the people who had committed genocide against her family; not figuring out how to negotiate a dangerous breach between universes that had infected them before it could drown them; not being flung into a deadly battle with hundreds of lives at stake and that multiversal breach their only decisive weapon… Just two girls killing time in a safe house…

…who were then separated by someone’s dispassionate judgment call, instead of being forced to break their own hearts to safeguard hundreds of fugitives and the millions of Imazighen who had stepped forward to protect them…

She took a deep breath. “She’s disappeared. One of the agents on her detail…”

That was one way to describe the idiot, anyway.

“…is in the hospital, and nobody knows where she is. They were hoping maybe I had a way to get in touch with her without breaking cover, but…”

She shook her head. She could be on her way to anywhere in the Federacy by now.

The Apeiros hadn’t been able to “hear” her when Audrey had asked, but they only ever “heard” Kyra when she was asleep and dreaming. She hid from them when she was awake… and even now Audrey was afraid that giving them permission to try to speak to her might be seen as a betrayal.

Wherever Kyra was, she was alone. Completely alone…

Audrey hadn’t meant to lose her composure, but a sob escaped her before she could stop it. Her mother’s arms were around her a second later.

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry.” Her mother’s voice was gentle and soothing, all of her fight from earlier gone. “If there’s anything we can do to help…”

Somehow, that just made the tears flow harder.