《Alliance (The Ryozae Alliance, book 1)》


 Opening/Prologue

    Too much given.


    Too much lost.


    <blockquote>He was weak.</blockquote>


    Too much blood.


    Too much pain.


    <blockquote>He was drifting free.</blockquote>


    In long, dark endlessness.


    Amidst the dust of creation,


    <blockquote>someone was calling.</blockquote>


    <hr>


    <u>Tuesday, February 4th, 1997</u>


    February¡¯s chill bit through Julie¡¯s coat, and she regretted wearing the damn thing just one more time before she gritted her teeth and pushed the thought from her mind. If she was cold, it was her own fault. A proper Terran would have known to wear something heavier.


    The Skybreakers were colder than this.


    Given the number of people banished to her homeworld¡¯s frigid northern range, she had no right to complain about a dusting of Virgina snow, or the cold concrete of her garage. Her newly purchased house in Reston was warm¡ªand safe¡ªwith all the trappings of modern Terran convenience. Primitive, compared to some planets she¡¯d seen, but functional and no less luxurious.


    Unlike the barren mountains back home, splitting the clouds with their wind-swept icy blades.


    This is too big.


    She wanted her apartment back. She wasn¡¯t ready to live this way.


    She dropped a bag of Chinese take-out on the polished kitchen table.


    Then . . . for a long moment she stood, staring at the oaken surface glistening warmly beneath a colorful Tiffany glass fixture.


    A matte black folder over an inch thick sat neatly at her favorite spot, where her back faced the kitchen so she wouldn¡¯t have to look at the expansive, expensive space while she ate.


    Impressed on the surface of the folder was a swirling, dark, star-dusted crest, like an odd cosmic Yin-Yang. The usual acronym was absent, but understood: ETHICS.


    A case file, from the Extraterrestrial-Hhianmiikan Immigration Control System, and a Shadow File at that, which meant it was classified. The largest one ever recorded. Its familiar name was embedded in an alien script along the tab. Nightmare.


    Her blood ran cold; not in fear, but anger. Her senses sharpened as she sniffed the house out without moving. She continued to stare at the shadowy galactic image as she listened for footsteps, and a breath other than her own.


    What she found was precisely what she expected: the smells of her home were diminished, and she caught the familiar sound of a small, sighing breath.


    How dare she.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want this,¡± Julie called stiffly into the silence.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a request,¡± came an elderly woman¡¯s answer from the living room. The voice quavered, but still bore the legendary strength and conviction of her youth.


    Old bitch! Julie whirled toward the door, ¡°You leave my house, Sherine, and you take this with you!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not giving you an option, Ms. Hanon.¡±


    There could only be one reason Sherine would arrive like this, at a time like this, unannounced and unaccompanied, with the enormous Shadow File in tow. Julie snatched it up, noting a pair of standard manila files underneath. Each was marked on the tab in black alien script, and neither name was familiar.


    ¡°I have one agent.¡± She snatched those as well and marched into the living room, ¡°One! And he¡¯s not taking this case! How dare you give me this!¡±


    An old dark-skinned woman sat in an armchair by the fireplace, wrapped in a dark green velvet coat with an extravagantly broad collar, her wrinkled brown hands calmly folded in her lap; a scene of power and serenity before Julie¡¯s temper. Sherine was showing up the ¡°younger¡± woman, knowing that Julie was many countless times her age, and knowing well the journey and sacrifices Julie had endured.


    So that¡¯s the game you want to play.


    Julie sat down in the chair across from her, rigid with fury, but poised before Sherine¡¯s infamous calm.


    In contrast to Julie¡¯s formal dark gray business suit, pale skin, blond hair, and bright green eyes, Sherine sat with her back to the light, in shadow against the high-backed leather chair. The collar of her coat was ribbed in a pattern that gave it a vague semblance to an array of enormous leaves draped about her shoulders.


    A human might not have seen it, but Julie didn¡¯t miss an ounce of symbolism.


    This was an agonistic display. A power play.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t changed,¡± the old woman sighed.


    Julie shot her a venomous glare, and looked down at the files. If she threw it, she would break her coffee table, so she let the hefty black folder hit the marble surface with a resounding smack. ¡°No.¡±


    The other two files were still her hands. Both were marked with the faint gray imprint of the cosmic crest. Given the secrecy with which their company worked, it was dangerous to be carrying so many files so openly, much less the black one. She knew how to hide them from humans, but her people had offworld enemies, and that was enough to make even skin as thick as hers crawl at the appearance of just one of those symbols. There were three of them.


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    She opened the first manila folder and skimmed the top page: Name, age, Ryozae ethnicity and species, registered human form, notable skills, cover work and resum¨¦. A standard agent¡¯s file. Other pages would include a personal profile and detailed work history. It was thin, but full of individual case tabs, all dated within the past two years. She deposited the folder on top of the Shadow File. ¡°Too young. No combat experience. Or any other experience.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t even look at his case work,¡± Sherine reproached her, ¡°He shows promise.¡±


    ¡°I work with proof, not promises.¡±


    The second one was slightly longer, with case tabs for each year, rather than individual dates. Julie skimmed the top page, and dropped the folder on top of the others. ¡°Too old. No combat experience. Too emotional.¡±


    Sherine smirkly, mildly amused, ¡°I should think age would mean nothing to you.¡±


    ¡°One is barely out of his mother¡¯s nest, and the other is your garden-variety Nasu.¡±


    A brow rose on the woman¡¯s dark, wrinkled face, along with that smirk, ¡°Is there a problem with that?¡±


    ¡°Should I expect her to suddenly become a Ryozakkan warrior overnight?¡±


    ¡°I expect you to learn some respect for the way we do things. You¡¯ve been human long enough. It¡¯s time for you to grow up. This team could help you gain some perspective.¡±


    ¡°So I can become one of them?!¡± she snapped, lifting her hand to gesture eastward towards Capitol Hill, a short commute from her house. In her rage, she had to force herself to point her fingers correctly, rather than pointing with her whole hand, ¡°If you knew anything about these arrogant fucking self-serving, short-sighted, narcissistic prima¡ª¡±


    Sherine held up a hand in a human gesture, silencing her. Then she calmly lifted her hand towards the west and said, ¡°You could use some time amongst the rest of them.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re signing your agents¡¯ death certificates, putting them up to this,¡± Julie said, bitterly conceding. Then she moved the two files aside, and set her other hand down on the black logo, ¡°And this?¡±


    ¡°It was your agent¡¯s case.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a closed case. It¡¯s restricted. It was never supposed to leave The Vault,¡± her fingers skimmed the pages lightly, ¡°All of these people¡¯s files have been closed and sealed. It shouldn¡¯t even be on this planet, much less in this system.¡±


    They were retired from service. Barred from contact. Memories wiped clean. She knew the names without looking at them: Durant, Moore, Blackwood . . . Sparker. She would lose her job and be deported offworld for approaching any of them under any other circumstances; but Julie knew which ones Sherine was here for, and why. It was a request much too bold to have come from Sherine herself.


    Julie returned her unflinching gaze. ¡°Don¡¯t you think those three have seen enough of our world?¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t remember it,¡± the old woman said simply.


    ¡°That was the point!¡±


    Sherine leaned forward, and to Julie¡¯s dismay, she pulled three more files from a briefcase at her side. She set them down, and slid them forward. Julie picked them up reluctantly.


    This time, she recognized the names on the tabs. Picking the top two, she set the third to the right of the Shadow File, sighing, ¡°These two are more than enough on their own. You don¡¯t need me, my agent, or any of these other unfortunate individuals,¡± she let them fall to the left of the ominous black folder and set her hand down on the one remaining file, ¡°This one is dead. In that car explosion in Iowa last month. He protected his Contract, and he paid the price. There¡¯s been no sign of him.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± Sherine said, pursing her lips, ¡°What a pity.¡±


    Julie studied her, and looked back down at the spread of folders on the coffee table.


    He¡¯s alive, then. I see.


    Sherine wouldn¡¯t have brought his file if she hadn¡¯t known. Her purpose was becoming clearer.


    The woman leaned forward, her expression grim, ¡°The disappearances have increased. Not just humans, but our people, too. Sometimes agents, sometimes civilian immigrants. HQ sites have been receiving threats in the form of Ryozaebody parts. Our people¡¯s bodies, mutilated and stuffed into boxes, plastic bags, and jars of alcohol. Unexplained human disappearances is one thing, Julie¡ªit could be anything¡ªbut when its our people it¡¯s a whole other matter. Shonthera HQ is calling for all claws on deck, even if it means bringing back a few people we aren¡¯t supposed to.¡±


    ¡°New Shadow Op?¡±


    The old woman¡¯s head bobbed once.


    If Sherine had given the Shadow File to anyone else, she would have to explain the entire case to whichever unfortunate agent she handed it to. Julie knew the case intimately, thereby minimizing the number of people who needed to be exposed to its darker, stranger secrets. Still: this was a terrible idea.


    ¡°We do not have the resources for war,¡± Sherine said, ¡°in the event that things take a turn for the worse. It¡¯s never easy to make these decisions, but we¡¯ve got to try this. Our enemy seems to have anticipated our every move.¡±


    ¡°So you want to take them off guard,¡± Julie concluded, ¡°and you want me to do it because I have access to resources that most people don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°No you¡¯re not.¡±


    Sherine smiled, ¡°I¡¯m sorry for your team, but you¡¯re right: I¡¯m not sorry for you.¡±


    ¡°You enjoy this. Flaunting your power over me.¡±


    ¡°Making a ceratopsian display of myself and sitting in the dark like an Aemarri carnivore because it¡¯s the only language you understand? I do not, but you leave me no choice, Your Highness.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡±


    A car pulled into the driveway, tires crunching on the icy pavement.


    Sherine rose to her feet, her tone and mannerisms unchanged as she reiterated, ¡°The experience will be good for you. My time is short, and so is everyone else¡¯s. Call your man, and assemble your team. I want feet on the ground and wings in the air by summer.¡±


    Julie straightened indignantly. ¡°You want me to pull this off in six months?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather have it together next week, quite honestly.¡±


    Julie picked up the black folder in both hands, shaking it at her. ¡°These people are clueless! Someone has to train them!¡± she thumbed the hefty stack of paper, ¡°Someone has to explain this!¡±


    ¡°Good thing I¡¯ve assigned a trainer, and a Nasu. The team has been cleared by Counseling.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll see about that,¡± Julie grumbled.


    ¡°I doubt it. I¡¯ll see you at Base, Ms. Hanon. We expect to have more information on the enemy by the end of the month. Hopefully, no one else has to die for it.¡±


    Julie watched her cross the room. A car door closed, and a single set of footsteps approached the front of the house. Sherine pulled her coat up around her ancient frame, opened the front door, and a smiling young man in a brightly colored patchwork coat and a fluorescent pink feathered boa escorted her to the car like a favorite grandma. In terms of human ethnicity, he was ambiguous, but at a glance, Julie roughly guessed his off-world origins: Aemarri. The way people treated Sherine was alien to Julie¡¯s experience, and it wasn¡¯t limited to those of a similar background. People loved her. They wanted to love her. Female herbivores in her class didn¡¯t rise to power easily.


    What¡¯s she got that I didn¡¯t?


    The smell of Chinese take-out entered the living room. Sherine had set a sterilizer to ward off their enemies, and it had washed out the door with the winter wind, drawing the scent of egg rolls, fried rice, and Mongolian beef into the living room. Julie set another sterilizer, giving herself close to an hour to vault the files in an airtight safe before the wrong eyes could see them.


    There were several phrases that would have been appropriate in that moment. Asaahndiu, axumiradi. ¡°As I breathe, it shall be done.¡± Standard lines of formal acceptance following a set of given orders. She knew them well in several dialects of her native tongue; but in that moment, as she gazed down at the bizarre spread of files across her coffee table, pondering her options and weighing the risks while her take-out grew cold, the acceptance came with a bitter flavor:


    ¡°Asaahndiu, old bitch.¡±

 Long Nights

    <u>Sunday, May 4th, 1997</u>


    ¡°All hope seemed lost, as the feared dragon monster appeared before them. Silver had failed, and now the children were all alone on the space station. No one could save them, not even the dragons!¡±


    Though his stories spawned from his worst nightmares, seventeen-year-old Bernard Sparker''s words flowed carefree. Far be it from him to spoil his sister''s late-night entertainment with the darker visions that haunted his sleep.


    His sister, ten-year-old Odessa Moore, plowed onward enthusiastically, ¡°But then Gai¡¯en found them!¡±


    Her dark red hair spilled over her shoulders as she bounced up and down on her bed, her wild imagination taking the reins and breaking the laws of physics with reckless abandon. Teleportation, telekinesis, space bubbles, and magic materials that could become whatever she liked.


    At first, his stories had been simple and child-like, but as long as his little sister was his competitive co-storyteller, they just got weirder and weirder¡ªand that was fine with him! He sometimes had a feeling that if Gai¡¯en were real, he wouldn¡¯t mind the way she¡¯d commandeered his character and made him her own beast, using him to torment various other characters in the most bizarre and ridiculous ways she could think of.


    Odessa¡¯s hair, so much like their mother¡¯s, cascaded around her as she dropped back against pillows and piles of stuffed animals. The moonlight caught her pale skin, so different from his¡ªfrom his Asian-American father¡¯s tanned complexion.


    He drew a breath, and let it out slowly, pushing the thought from his mind while his sister carried on. School would be out in a week, and their differences wouldn¡¯t matter again until Fall.


    Then he laughed, continuing his nightly round of entertainment: ¡°And so, everything went back to normal for the children, and Silver returned to the dinosaur planet to ¨C¡°


    There was a knock at the door, followed by his mother¡¯s voice, ¡°Don¡¯t forget she has school tomorrow! And so do you! No games, Maxwell! I want you in bed, and if I catch you again, I¡¯m gonna take the power cord, and you won¡¯t have a T.V. at all until Christmas!¡±


    ¡°I know!¡± he called back, exasperated with the long over-discussed subject of his mid-night Sega sessions, ¡°We¡¯re almost done!¡±


    ¡°Five minutes!¡±


    He waited until her footsteps had faded away before he continued, ¡°Where was I?¡±


    ¡°The dinosaur planet,¡± his sister reminded him, bouncing upright again, her green eyes wide and far from sleep.


    ¡°Oh, right. So Silver returned home to a nice, long, seaside vacation.¡±


    A nice, sunny, happy ending should have been fine.


    ¡°Until Gai¡¯en appeared!¡±


    It wasn¡¯t.


    ¡°Uh. . . ,¡± he blinked, thinking fast. He should have seen it coming, and it changed things. If Gai¡¯en showed up now, they could be here for another two hours. The one time he¡¯d gone along with two appearances in one session, Bernard had been suckered into spending an uncommonly long Saturday night trying to figure out how to undo a clever ten-year-old¡¯s alternate reality, ¡°Right! Because a vacation without Gai¡¯en would just be boring!¡±


    Odessa¡¯s laugh held a wicked hint of mischief as she fell back onto her pillows.


    ¡°We¡¯ll pick it up from there next time!¡± he promised.


    ¡°Okay,¡± she sighed.


    He hugged his sister goodnight, and shot a glance at the blue LCD numbers beside her bed, which read ¡°10:07.¡±


    Dammit, he thought bitterly, I have to get up earlier than she does, and I have exams this week! Oh, well. Might as well make childhood fun while it lasts, right?


    He walked across the carpeted floor, automatically evading various books and toys in the dark. Two doors down the hall, on the other side from his sister¡¯s room and the bathroom, he stepped over the white plastic gate he used to keep his mother¡¯s cats out of his room. Shutting the door, he made his way around the bed, and the piles of papers on the floor that had made their home on his desk until last week, when he¡¯d cleared the space for an art project.


    Dominating the corner of his room, swallowing it in darkness, was a large, sturdy structure framed in natural wood, with surfaces formed from plywood, glass panes, and wire mesh. A brass-hinged door with three solid bolts contained the faintly visible form of an albino Burmese python about two inches in diameter and approaching five feet in length. His mother wanted him to get rid of it, or put it out in his stepfather¡¯s work shed, although she fought him a little less on the matter since Drestan had built the admittedly attractive, secure, and irremovable enclosure. It was complete with a pair of sliding trays at the bottom to make it easier to clean, which latched into place to keep his snake from getting out.


    He leaned against it, sighing as he stared out the window at the enchanting silver-bathed marshlands and the winding, glittering creek that helped separate Edisto Island, South Carolina from civilization. A few miles away, he could just barely make out the lights of a couple of other houses. He wouldn¡¯t change it for anything, except perhaps fewer lights, but couldn¡¯t just one of those houses be a small part-time theater? Maybe a drive-up? A boat-up? A beach chair theater? Maybe once he was his mother¡¯s age he wouldn¡¯t mind the isolation, but he was in high school, and the theater was an hour away.


    Heaving a deep sigh, he pulled himself from the mesmerizing view, snatched his French notes from his desk without looking at them, and crammed the binder lazily into his book bag before he crawled into bed, trying not to think about tomorrow¡¯s exam.


    Maybe he would miraculously learn the language in his sleep.


    *    *    *    *    *


    Rhonna Sparker woke at three-thirteen in the morning with her heart pounding wildly, her husband¡¯s course carpenter¡¯s hand on her bare arm, and the stark fears of her dreams burned into her mind.


    Only . . . she wasn¡¯t single, anymore. It had been over a decade since she had married Drestan Moore. Eleven years, this June. What was wrong with her?


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    At least she hadn¡¯t been with her ex-husband in the dream. She¡¯d made a concerted effort to keep that man off her mind!


    No; she had definitely been single, raising her child alone.


    Dwelling over the loss of Terry Zh¨¤o would do her no good, but her son didn¡¯t make it easy to forget the man she¡¯d married: sometimes Max smiled the same way Terry had, or said little things that reminded her of him, and daily reminded her that he preferred his middle name¡ªthough she¡¯d never told him it was the name his father had chosen.


    Sometimes she even thought he looked more like his father than anyone in her family, although her own father had dismissed the idea. He saw himself so much in Max that anymore she couldn¡¯t bring herself to argue with him. Not with that happy glow in his eyes.


    Those eyes¡ªher son¡¯s eyes. In her dreams the boy looked like the walking dead.


    She choked on the thought.


    One moment Max would be in her arms, so small and so brave, but so scared.


    The next he¡¯d be gone.


    Whisked away in broad daylight.


    These dreams¡ªnightmares¡ªwere they signs of the future, or just anxiety?


    Was her son ready for the world? Had she done everything she could for him? Had she missed anything? There was the matter of his temper, but there was no helping that. He was calmer than some, though¡ªand that helped her breathe. Calmer than her sister¡¯s eldest, for sure; but when his limits broke, it was like a tree falling: poignant, loud, and memorable.


    Like last week.


    It was no wonder she had nightmares.


    She took a breath, stifling the tears and fears of her demented subconscious. She loved him so much . . . and feared for him so much that it shook her to her core.


    ¡°Again?¡± Drestan asked.


    She sat up, silent, resisting the urge to bite down on her own lip.


    His hand slid down her back as he spoke softly, ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯s fine, Rhone. It¡¯s a dream.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t feel like a dream,¡± she answered.


    ¡°Look: he graduates in a year. He¡¯ll be moving out, soon. You¡¯re worried. I know you are, but if you would just admit it, the dreams might not be so¡ª¡°


    She stood from the bed in a quick, sharp motion, and his words trailed. The moonlight shone silver through the curtains and blinds across the sand-colored carpet, the pile soft and comforting between her toes. She crossed her arms, trying to get a grip on herself.


    The low polyester shag beneath her feet was real, just as real as the rugs and hardwood planking in her dream. The rugs she had picked out for the house she¡¯d bought with Terry, while she was pregnant with Max. For their house in Nebraska. At least in a dream, something might have been out of place¡ªthe rooms might have changed. But even the bold red vase his mother had bought for their wedding was sitting on the mantle. It had been in a box since 1984.


    There was no longer a sense of ¡°this is more real than that.¡± It was just there. Real carpet, and real flooring, and real shadows that had her on guard. Real noises in the night, real tears in her tiny son¡¯s strange, eerily grown-up eyes, his small fingers grasping her as she hugged him tight, terrified to let him go. He was never an adult, in those dreams. Always a child, and always scared of something, and then he¡¯d be gone when she turned her back, and her heart would wrench itself back into knots again. She¡¯d wake up in tears.


    ¡°He¡¯ll be fine, Love.¡±


    Drestan got up, sliding from her side of the bed, towards the window.


    As he approached, she leaned back against his broad chest. He was well-built, with strong, lean muscles. When he smiled, it was a big, warm expression that stretched into his wide, bristly cheeks and into his warm brown eyes. His strong, hairy figure gave her something to lean on; his gentle, optimistic nature a pillar of support.


    Terry had been the opposite: when she had been worried, she had leaned into him. He¡¯d had a way of absorbing her into his own, smooth¡ª


    Goddamn him, anyway. What was wrong with her? He wasn¡¯t here. It made Drestan ten times the man he¡¯d ever been! A hundred times! Where had Terry been when her son had raised hell because his favorite video had died after the fucking stores closed? Where had he been every damn night Max had decided he didn¡¯t like veggies anymore and was going to be a komodo dragon for the rest of his life? For that matter, where the hell had he been that time she¡¯d had to call a plumber to fix the bathroom sink? Oh, God! She wasn¡¯t sure her embarrassment would ever fade! Which was worse? The part where Max had tried to fix it himself, or her seven-year-old trying to have a manly conversation with the plumber?


    She couldn¡¯t stop herself from crying. Why did the boy in her dreams look so dreadful? Why was he so thin and quiet? If Drestan had dreams about their daughter the way she did about her son, he¡¯d be crying, too! They barely even in the dreams! It was usually just her and Max . . . alone. And then . . . just her.


    Drestan hugged her, and she finally turned to let him embrace her, although she didn¡¯t return the gesture.


    He sighed, but said nothing. She could handle most of her own problems, but he was often quick to remind her that she couldn¡¯t take on everything alone. Right now, though, if she was going to unload this for anyone, it was going to be for Max, and she wasn¡¯t ready to share this with him.


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s going to happen to him,¡± Drestan whispered, pushing his fingers into her thick, wavy hair.


    ¡°He broke that boy¡¯s nose last month.¡±


    A quiet staccato sound left Drestan¡¯s lips as he badly suppressed a laugh. ¡°Well, that boy had it coming to him. He was a jackass, and you¡¯d have done the same.¡±


    ¡°Probably,¡± she agreed, then she sighed. The touch of his fingers on her scalp was relaxing, but it couldn¡¯t remove the fear from her mind. ¡°The dreams are getting worse.¡±


    ¡°Relax, sweetie. Stop giving them so much thought.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve tried!¡± she wept, sinking into him.


    ¡°Dreams are dreams, Rhone, love. They have no sway in the real world, okay? He¡¯s going to be fine. He¡¯s a bright young man, and he¡¯s going to be just fine. Come on: summer break is around the corner, and then you¡¯ll have time to relax.¡±


    She shook her head, ¡°You know how it is. My grades are submitted, but I¡¯ve still got things to do to wrap up the semester, and then I¡¯ve got to start thinking about the Fall. They¡¯re asking me to take on a new course, and I need to go take that Java class.¡±


    He squeezed her gently. ¡°The stress must be getting to you. Let me know when you¡¯ve got time, and I¡¯ll take off one day to watch ¡®Dessa and the house so you can enjoy yourself. Or leave her with Max and we¡¯ll go out to dinner.¡±


    ¡°Oh, heavens, no!¡± she cried, half laughing, ¡°I still can¡¯t get the mud out of the carpet from last time!¡±


    Drestan laughed openly, ¡°Then leave them with your sister, or the Durants. Their daughter¡¯s a good influence on him. You have options! It¡¯s just stress, sweetie. Just a manifestation of stress. That¡¯s all.¡±


    She did her best to calm down, so he would go back to bed, but she could not convince herself that something truly terrible might not be around the corner. She only had one year left before her son left home, and it was everything she could do not to cling to him for dear life . . . and it had only been last week that he¡¯d scared her so terribly. Thankfully, he hadn¡¯t been alone. Thankfully, they were blessed with people they could count on; and Drestan was right: he was a bright young man. A man, now, and intelligent enough to make decisions for himself and look after his own affairs. He needed experience in the world, but he was ready for that. Perhaps the danger had already passed.


    She took a breath, forcing herself to calm down, until her husband finally kissed her and withdrew.


    ¡°Get some sleep,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°I¡¯m not the only one who has to work tomorrow,¡± she whispered shakily, grinning, ¡°Good night, dear.¡±


    He snorted under his breath, ¡°Too damn true enough. Good night, sweetheart. Sleep well.¡±


    She heard him crawl back into the bed. It took her another minute or so, but she finally joined him, and found him propped on his elbows, waiting for her. Only then, after he was sure she was going to try and sleep, did he lay down and go back to his own dreamland. She spent another hour wondering if she should tell Max, just to be sure he¡¯d take more care. Then she fell back asleep, and dreamed normal things that she didn¡¯t remember so well, come morning.

 Dawn Patrol

    Friday, May 23rd, 1997


    ¡°Just look at that sunrise!¡±


    Mireia spread her arms, as if to embrace the delicate pink hues of dawn, her shrill exclamation cutting through the early morning quietude of Edisto Beach, South Carolina.


    For the fifteenth time in the past hour, Bernard regretted going along with his best friend¡¯s plans.


    ¡°You¡¯re not even paying attention,¡± she pouted, ¡°It¡¯s not like that nest is going anywhere.¡±


    ¡°I have a job to do,¡± he said. Then he doubled down on his task, pushing a wooden t-shaped probe into the fine sand between the windblown dunes. It was soft at the surface, but compact and unrelenting just inches below. If he was lucky, the probe would eventually give, and he¡¯d find a Loggerhead sea turtle nest.


    Mireia Durant was eighteen and excited to be out of high school, and that was it. There was nothing about his job she found thrilling, unless there were actual turtles around. She was here to see the beach. After that, she had gifted herself a luxury weekend in Downtown Charleston, to which he and his cousin Jesebelle had been invited. The proposition excited him¡ªshe¡¯d been saving since 10<sup>th</sup> Grade¡ªbut right now she was driving him crazy by being loud and distracting.


    ¡°I¡¯m so going to buy a new dress, tomorrow!¡±


    He rolled his eyes, ¡°Oh, goody. I¡¯m going to spend all weekend watching you try on clothes.¡±


    She set her hands on her narrow hips, and walked toward him, brown eyes staring him down. ¡°Look, I said you could pick half the restaurants, and I¡¯m paying for the room!¡±


    ¡°With your parents¡¯ help¡ªhey! Back off the crawl!¡± He jabbed the probe in her direction, as her feet kicked up sand over the tractor-like flipper marks of the prospective mother Loggerhead.


    ¡°Okay, okay, fine,¡± she sighed, stepping back, ¡°You¡¯re walking all over it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the only one who should be!¡± he grunted, pushing the probe back into the sand. Still nothing. He was glad he¡¯d found the site before any tourists did. The sun was only just clearing the horizon, its soft pink glow still painting the dawning sky, so most of them were either still asleep or just now waking.


    Every morning, he rose near dawn to search the beach for sea turtle nests. Then he marked them off with wooden stakes, orange tape, and a yellow sign warning others that it was illegal to disturb them. In some areas, a stiff plastic mesh was used to keep raccoons out, and he¡¯d once used it after seeing evidence of someone¡¯s dog sniffing around.


    Part of his job included checking other nests to be sure they were still in good shape, and look for signs that they¡¯d be hatching. Then, if he was lucky, he¡¯d get to witness the event around two months later, on a night spent steering tourists and their flashlights away from the babies. The hatchlings were drawn to bright lights, instinctively gravitating towards anything that looked remotely like the moon. More than once, it had been houses and streetlights, and the tiny turtles had been found tragically crushed on the road in the morning.


    Each nest could easily contain more than one hundred innocent little lives that were unsuited to the selfish wants of human civilization. That was far more important to him anyone¡¯s vacation. Even his best friend¡¯s.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think there¡¯s anything here,¡± she said.


    He responded without looking up, ¡°I¡¯m obligated to try. It doesn¡¯t look like there is, but stranger things have happened.¡±


    ¡°Well, hurry up. I¡¯m here to relax.¡±


    He waved a hand impatiently back toward the spot where she¡¯d left her belongings, ¡°Then go, ¡®Rei, if it¡¯s that important to you. I don¡¯t see why, though. Last I checked, you live on a creek. You see the same sunrise and the same water every morning.¡±


    ¡°This is different,¡± she insisted.


    She smoothed her hands over her sage green sundress and willowy frame, and swept back her thin, dark hair as she surveyed the rest of the beach. The Point at the southernmost tip of the beach was a long walk, but Bernard was one of the youngest volunteers, and he had the stamina to cover the ground quickly.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t I finish the walk for you?¡±


    He shook his head, ¡°I have to do it.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re wearing tennis shoes and jeans, at the beach.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not here to play.¡±


    He¡¯d known her his whole life¡ªtheir mothers were college friends¡ªand this was a side of her that was new to him. He couldn¡¯t wait for it to be over.


    She reached into his canvas beach bag, ¡°Well, is there anything I can do to help?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, when I find this nest, you can go back to the car and get the markers.¡±


    She glanced back at the lightening sky.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be done before you know it,¡± he promised.


    She rubbed her pale arms. ¡°I should have brought an umbrella.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Early May. You¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    She glared at him, ¡°Says you. You don¡¯t burn. And I hope I¡¯m there the day you roast, Sparky.¡±


    ¡°Dad¡¯s genes have gotta be good for something.¡±


    When he wasn¡¯t feeling self-conscious about it, on most days he felt blessed to have darker skin than Mireia or his mother¡¯s family, as he liked to believe his father¡¯s Asian-Pacific genetics would protect him from the sun¡¯s rays¡ªat least for now, while he was still young and the planet still had an ozone layer to speak of. It wasn¡¯t as though Terry had left him anything else.


    He tried to find the nest a few more times, and finally tossed the t-probe aside, crossing his arms as he stepped back to study the site.


    Some mothers were neat and tidy. They picked a spot, dug it out, made a nest, and left the way they¡¯d come. It was an impressive feat, given their size and the intricacy of the nest. This one had trekked through Hell and half of Georgia for a spot, and it was unclear if she¡¯d ever made up her mind. If anyone else had walked over it before he had, it would have been impossible to read.


    ¡°At least we¡¯re almost to the end.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he responded, trying to be patient, then added pointedly, ¡°and I shouldn¡¯t have to relocate this one if it¡¯s here.¡±


    One might think a man with a plastic shovel or a clam shell could dig a hole in the sand as well as any big, bulky turtle¡ªand they¡¯d be wrong. A mother turtle¡¯s hind flippers were dexterous and powerful, and could carve out a perfect inverted lightbulb without ever once setting eyes on the nest.


    ¡°I wonder if it was too soft.¡± He pushed his foot into the sand and looking around at the hills and flowing bunches of sea oats she had crawled around. ¡°Or maybe she just didn¡¯t like the spot.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Mireia agreed, watching him, ¡°I wish I could do this every morning.¡±


    ¡°You wish you could come out here and play every morning. I wish I could live thirty minutes closer to school.¡± At least if he lived in town, he might have some kind of a life outside the weekends like a normal kid.


    She set her hands on her hips, ¡°Well, get your grades up, and you can go live at school when you graduate.¡±


    He stared up at her, ¡°You¡¯re the only person I¡¯ve met who can make college sound like Hell.¡±


    Her jaw dropped, ¡°That is not what I meant, and you know it!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just kidding! Jeez. Yeah, getting to see another town and not having to drive to class. Sounds great. Not having to take another of mom¡¯s programming classes also sounds great.¡±


    ¡°You going for IT?¡±


    ¡°Fuck, no.¡± He picked another spot, even though it seemed even less likely than the first one, and pushed the probe back into the sand. ¡°The occasional repair is great for pocket change, but I don¡¯t want to sit at a desk for a living. I already hate doing it for school. I was thinking about wildlife biology.¡±


    She crossed her arms, smirking, ¡°Study harder, and you might get into Clemson.¡±


    They had friends who would never forgive him if he applied to the state University. He knew as well as anyone that college football loyalties could make or break friendships and families around here.


    Still finding nothing, he leaned on the probe, grinning mischievously, ¡°I was thinking of applying to USC just to spite people. And Omaha, just to please my mom.¡±


    They both knew he wouldn¡¯t. He didn¡¯t plan on attending either one, so it wasn¡¯t worth the effort¡ªor the application fees. There were plenty of other colleges across the state to choose from, many of them decent and all of them more affordable than going out of state.


    ¡°You could apply to Furman and we could maybe go to school together. Maybe not with a 2.8 GPA, but you¡¯ve still got a year to fix that.¡±


    She¡¯d been digging at him over his grades ever since he¡¯d gotten his scores back, and he was tired of it. Algebra and English had brought him down.


    All he really wanted to do was take a year off, but it wasn¡¯t an answer most people would accept from him. The consensus was that if he didn¡¯t go now, it would be harder to go later, and there was no sense in delaying his career. He saw no reason why he couldn¡¯t spend a year doing odd jobs on people¡¯s computers and working the occasional day here and there with his stepfather¡¯s construction business, making some extra cash for college while he spent just one more summer volunteering with sea turtles, all without the added pressure from school.


    Mireia was more than familiar with this dreamy vision of his. ¡°Maybe you can take that year off to find your dad.¡±


    He leaned on the probe, giving her a level stare. Terry had left when he was two, presumably for some other woman. He was gone, and that was the end of it. The one picture Bernard had of his father was in his room in the back of a book, where he knew his mother would never see it by accident. That photo was the only proof he had of his heritage, and that was the only reason he¡¯d kept it.


    None of this was worth wasting his breath to tell Mireia things she already knew.


    ¡°All you have to do is ask for his address! Or his phone number! You know she¡¯s got it, or at least his parents¡¯ number, and it¡¯s not like she has to talk to him, herself! You¡¯re seventeen, dude. Don¡¯t you want to find out where he¡¯s been?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s had fifteen years to call me. If he wanted to talk, he¡¯d have done so, by now. You have a better memory of him than I do. Why don¡¯t you go find him?¡±


    Her jaw dropped indignantly, ¡°He¡¯s your father, Smart-Alec!¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± he asked, ¡° ¡®Cause I sure don¡¯t see him around. His parents should still have our address and phone number, and they don¡¯t even send Christmas cards, anymore.¡±


    Mireia sighed, ¡°It¡¯s just a shame, that¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just the way things are,¡± he told her, ¡°Listen: I appreciate the thought, but I¡¯m about two or three thousand miles from his family, and about five hundred miles from the nearest Asian American community. I don¡¯t know why the hell we couldn¡¯t have moved someplace like Atlanta or Miami, but I¡¯m here, and this is what it is. One lone alien in a sea of white and black folk.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not alone!¡± she protested, ¡°And you¡¯re not an alien!¡±


    ¡°Emotionally, no. But I¡¯m still a goddamn freak.¡±


    She stomped her foot, ¡°You are not! Stop saying that!¡±


    He shook his head and turned his attention back to the crawlway. ¡°I¡¯m not having this argument, right now.¡±


    ¡°You started it!¡±


    Ignoring her, he adjusted the probe¡¯s position one last time, leaned on it . . . and it promptly dropped from underneath him. He barely caught it before it sank deep enough to hit the eggs¡ªor he hoped he had. The distraction was enough to break up the argument before Mireia could take it down a road that would really piss him off. He wasn¡¯t ready to talk about his ex.


    Her voice came out in an awestruck whisper, ¡°I don¡¯t believe it. How did she do that?¡±


    Bernard was too busy frantically digging to make sure he hadn¡¯t broken anything. Losing an egg that way wasn¡¯t the worst thing that would happen, but it was important to try not to.


    The leathery white eggs, the size of ping-pong balls, were still intact, and surprisingly shallow for the amount of trouble he¡¯d had finding it. In the years he¡¯d been doing this, he¡¯d learned that even turtles, which relied almost solely¡ªif not entirely¡ªon pre-programmed instincts, could make mistakes. He heaved a sigh of relief and pulled few flags from his bag to mark the site. Then he pulled out a notebook, logged the date, time, and location of the nest, and stood.


    ¡°Maybe you¡¯ll get lucky, ¡®Rei,¡± he said, ¡°and that¡¯ll be the only one.¡±


    She gave him a sour look. ¡°That¡¯s not funny.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my job. If it was any shallower I¡¯d have to relocate it.¡±


    They finished the walk together, Mireia picking the occasional shark¡¯s tooth out of the sand, somehow spotting them easily against worn bits of debris, other fossils, and dark-colored pieces of shells.


    Bernard picked up garbage. He¡¯d once seen a turtle that had suffocated on a plastic bag, and he¡¯d seen his share of other animals killed by people¡¯s trash¡ªthough thankfully most of the animals he found were dead from storms, or else ambiguous causes that he¡¯d left up to the State Department of Natural Resources to diagnose.


    That turtle, though . . . for an animal that was supposedly dim-witted, their eyes were bright and lively, and haunting when clouded by death. It had been a windy day, and he¡¯d never forget the pungent smell of it: like rotten fish. Over three hundred pounds of it. He couldn¡¯t begin to imagine the horror of grabbing something that looked like the turtle equivalent of a steak dinner, only to choke and die on something as terribly flimsy and seemingly possessed as a wet plastic bag conforming to the animal¡¯s mouth and throat.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    After that, he¡¯d concentrated his efforts to grab every piece of trash he could get his hands on, and sometimes went out of his way for it, even if people thought he was crazy. If he wasn¡¯t feeling up to it, he just had to recall the memory of that sea turtle.


    It wasn¡¯t just for the animals, either. The ocean fed the local economy, both in food and tourism, and all of his favorite things to eat came from the water. Half of those things were full of mercury, thanks to mankind, so the least he could do was everything in his limited power to preserve what was left. And who wanted to swim with garbage?


    As he walked, however, he had something else on his mind. Jesebelle¡ªor Jez, as everyone called her¡ªhad emailed them both a few days ago, and they had yet to get an answer from Mireia.


    ¡°So, I know you wanted to meet Downtown tonight,¡± he began cautiously, ¡°But have you considered meeting earlier?¡±


    Mireia glanced up at him, ¡°Oh, wow, I forgot to ask Jez about that. Why does she need us to go shopping with her brother?¡±


    He adjusted the canvas bag on his shoulder, refusing to make eye contact. ¡°You know how Rubie¡¯s always rearranging his room, these days?¡±


    Jez¡¯s younger brother Ruben had become . . . rather strange, over the past few years, and no one was sure how they liked the change in him.


    She cast him a suspicious glance, ¡°Yeah. Whenever his pendulum or cards or whatever tells him to move things. What¡¯s he up to, this time?¡±


    ¡°Well . . . he and Jez are hitting the Market and . . . I don¡¯t know, buying a new print, or something. Aunt Jess doesn¡¯t want to tag along to watch him do this, and there¡¯s no way she¡¯s gonna let him go by himself, so Jez has to go, and their parents are hoping we¡¯ll join them. For safety reasons. We¡¯re already planning to meet Jez . . . and it would also save Aunt Jess and Uncle Matt the trouble if we could drive Rubie home. I mean, you¡¯ve saved all this money. Might as well make the weekend a little longer, right?¡±


    ¡°I suppose,¡± she mused, ¡°Of course they want us to drive Rubie home. Figures. I¡¯m assuming you want to go for lunch, Sparky?¡±


    He couldn¡¯t help but grin, ¡°What else is new? We¡¯re going Downtown. I intend to spend my weekend eating, and eating well.¡±


    She rolled her eyes at the sky, her entire body rolling in emphasis to be sure he didn¡¯t miss it, ¡°You and food!¡±


    ¡°You and shopping!¡± he cried, ¡°If I¡¯m gonna spend my whole weekend watching you try on clothes that you¡¯re not even going to buy, it¡¯s only fair that I get to eat my fill!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the whole fun of going! Anyway, I buy some things. And most of my savings is for college, and I plan my spending, unlike some people who spend it all on food and fantasy books that they don¡¯t even have time to read.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t wear everything you buy, and your purchases are more expensive! So no: I don¡¯t plan on shopping with you all weekend, ¡®Rei.¡±


    Now he couldn¡¯t stop thinking about all the spectacular seafood Downtown Charleston had to offer. Grilled shrimp, tender scallops, she crab soup, deviled crab, juicy steaks of Dolphin fish, spiced fillets of tilapia, stuffed flounder. . . . He had never denied it: he was sucker for good food, and the South Carolina Lowcountry had some of the best on Earth. If a restaurant served bad food, it didn¡¯t stay open long enough to be remembered.


    They eventually reached the end of The Point, at the estuary formed by the mouths of Big Bay Creek and the South Edisto River. All that was left was thick, reedy marsh. The Sea Island waterways were dominated by dense thickets of spartina grass. Needle-like rushes grew through mats of dead spartina wrack and slimy pluff mud formed from decayed spartina, resulting in the area¡¯s murky depths. It was a nutrient-rich habitat of environmentally and economically critical wetland, but it was no place for turtles of any species to lay eggs, so he turned back.


    The surf along the South Edisto Inlet, where the river met the Atlantic Ocean, was one of the calmest, clearest areas. The yellowish water was an excellent place to spot dolphins, which occasionally came much closer to shore than Bernard would have thought possible. He¡¯d even seen mothers bring their babies. Today, he caught sight of the local pod farther in the distance, prowling the waters of the Saint Helena Sound; the only pod of Atlantic Bottlenose Dolphins that stayed year-round instead of migrating. They had famously developed their own unique method for fishing the creeks, herding schools of fish at low tide and hurling their catch¡ªand themselves¡ªout of the water to feast on the slick banks.


    The estuary region was a place where life began, thrived, ended, and began again. It was so thick with the cycles of life that Bernard almost refused to swim here. Instead, he preferred to enjoy it with a paddle in hand, silently listening to its rhythms, or from right here on the shore.


    Mireia wandered the water¡¯s edge, poking around for shark¡¯s teeth.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what,¡± she proposed, ¡°You run with me, from here back to the nearest beach access, and I¡¯ll let you pick lunch and dinner.¡±


    She would make him work for his food. ¡°. . . I¡¯ll run. But I¡¯m not running with you.¡±


    That remark set her laughing hysterically, ¡°Alright, fine! I¡¯ll walk, very quickly, and you can . . . stumble along breathlessly¡ª¡°


    ¡°Ha, ha, ha,¡± he told the ground, ¡°She¡¯s so funny. . . .¡±


    Something odd caught his eye. Plastic again, but in an unexpected shape.


    ¡°People and their fucking garbage,¡± he muttered under his breath.


    It was a seven-sided object, flat with rounded bevels, and a bit lighter than he¡¯d anticipated. It looked like it could have been a game piece¡ªone too valuable to have been casually discarded. Perhaps it had been lost by a vacationer; but then again, the waters of the coast began in the mountains, so it could have drifted or tumbled downstream from almost anywhere.


    The sun beaming through its dark emerald surface had the peculiar effect of making it seem as though it were somehow deeper on the inside than the outside. It was covered in strange gold markings that he was sure he¡¯d never seen before . . . and yet, they looked oddly familiar. Now that he got a good look at it, he wasn¡¯t sure how he¡¯d mistaken it for plastic, although he couldn¡¯t imagine what else it might be. There was something tickling at the back of his mind¡ª


    ¡°Check this out!¡±


    He looked up curiously at Mireia¡¯s exclamation, and pocketed the object.


    She¡¯d found a huge Mako shark¡¯s tooth.


    ¡°How do you do that?¡± he asked as he leaned in, peering at all the tiny black and gray triangles in her palm. ¡°Good God! How many do you have?¡±


    She opened her other hand and started counting, ¡°Um . . . twelve so far. You see this beach every day, dude. You should have plenty.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here for other reasons,¡± he muttered jealously.


    She smiled, ¡°Well, that¡¯s your problem. You¡¯re basically done, now, so there¡¯s nothing stopping you from¡ªwhat is it?¡±


    Something else had caught his attention, and he set a hand on her arm. ¡°Let me go check this out.¡±


    ¡°See?¡± she called after him as he walked away, ¡°It¡¯s probably just a dead fish! You¡¯re not going to find any shark teeth that way!¡±


    He had actually found some very nice fossils that weren¡¯t shark¡¯s teeth. What he envied was her eagle-eyed ability to find the miniscule things without trying. Even as he looked back, she was picking something up.


    He lived just up the road, and could come back to comb for teeth any time he liked. This felt more important.


    A turkey vulture had pulled something up out of the ocean and was squabbling with several brazen gulls over it. They all flew off as Bernard got closer, the black-headed Laughing Gulls crying out in dismay as they jockeyed for aerial positions with the Ring-Bills.


    It was a dead animal, around three feet long. Even partially buried by the surf, he thought he recognized its spindly form from countless pictures of fossilized skeletons, forever frozen in death¡¯s final throes.


    A bird, he told himself, A bird with no wings, and . . . a really long tail. A bird. Dinosaurs are extinct.


    It looked like a dinosaur with waterlogged fur.


    Mireia caught up with him. ¡°What in the world is that?¡±


    He prodded it with his t-probe. ¡°Hell if I know.¡±


    ¡°It kinda looks like a dinosaur.¡±


    ¡°It has to be some kind of bird,¡± he said stoutly, ¡°There¡¯s no way. I¡¯ve got encyclopedias at home. I¡¯m not going to say what it looks like, because that isn¡¯t possible. It¡¯s a bird.¡±


    ¡°With a tail like that?¡±


    He prodded it again. It was still limp. Rigor mortis hadn¡¯t set in, yet, and it didn¡¯t show any signs of bloat. He lifted the whiplash tail out of the sand and stared in awe at a batch of long, thin quills extending from the tip.


    ¡°What do you think it looks like?¡± she asked him.


    ¡°Maybe a new species of heron?¡±


    Swallowing, he set his jaw anxiously as he cautiously lifted the thing from the wet sand.


    ¡°Careful, Sparky.¡±


    He gave the limp body a gentle, meaningful shake, knocking away a few stubborn clumps of sand. ¡°It¡¯s dead, ¡®Rei.¡±


    Something in its chest thumped against his palm, and he nearly dropped it. Carefully cradling its scaly belly in one hand, he pressed an ear to its ribs. Slowly, faintly, he heard¡ªand felt¡ªa beat. Then another.


    ¡°Jesus, it¡¯s alive!¡± he gasped.


    Mireia elbowed him in the ribs. She tolerated many questionable things that came out of his mouth, but she drew the line at the name of Christ in vain.


    ¡°Yell at me later,¡± he protested, ¡° ¡®Rei, it¡¯s alive! But . . . but it¡¯s not breathing.¡±


    She raised a brow, ¡°Not for much longer, then. . . . I guess we should go report it to the State. Weird animal and all that.¡±


    ¡°Yeah . . . I guess.¡± Something seemed wrong about reporting it.


    ¡°What?¡± she asked, ¡°That¡¯s your job, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. . . .¡±


    She poked at its sandy backside. ¡°Is that blood? It¡¯s purple. Or blue, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Could be,¡± he said uncertainly. Deep in his gut, something felt horribly wrong.


    The creature was about the size of a small cat, not including its tail or long, spindly hind legs. It had thin little arms instead of forelegs, and small hands with tiny little taloned fingers. It wasn¡¯t a bird.


    It¡¯s a bird, goddammit.


    The thing was so thin they could see its ribs. Its impossibly long, thin legs were held stiffly at odd angles, but they appeared to be built for sprinting¡ªperhaps even hopping¡ªacross dry land, as opposed to wading through the tall marsh grass. Its body, covered in shades of rich bluish greens with markings ranging from yellow to beige, was distorted by a number of dark, swollen areas, a few open wounds where the birds had pecked at it, and a nasty gash across its left clavicle, just before its shoulder blade.


    A bird. . . .


    It was like nothing he had ever seen or felt before. It was covered in fine, overlapping, scale-like structures¡ªstiff, bristly filaments, but relatively supple like some sort of rudimentary fur. They formed a protective coating over most of the creature. The little scales became more triangular and lizard-like as they descended its lower arms and legs and traveled over its face, before becoming pebbly, like a cross between a rattlesnake and a Gila Monster. As they trailed down its stomach and the underside of its tail, the pebbled scales became broader and more elongated over a series of peculiar ridges beneath its skin, and widened over a vertical pelvis. One with notable protrusions that, to his knowledge, no modern animal possessed. The filamentous structures coated the entirety of its long thin caudal vertebrae, with a small row of spines rising into the wicked-looking quills at the end.


    It had a short neck and a scaly post-crocodilian head bearing a pointed snout full of small, sharp teeth. Neither could hardly be any good for fishing


    There were no signs of broken or otherwise missing feathers.


    It¡¯s not a bird.


    ¡° ¡®Rei, I need you to go back to the car and get the stakes. You¡¯re a lot faster than me.¡±


    She gave a disappointed sigh, ¡°I guess we¡¯re not going to be hanging around, are we?¡±


    ¡°I need to report this.¡±


    It was the right thing to do. The State needed to document the strange animal and investigate the possibility of others. He was already beginning to wish he¡¯d left it where they¡¯d found it, but this was part of his job.


    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll drive the car to the nearest access, so don¡¯t go far, okay?¡±


    He nodded, ¡°Sure.¡±


    A track runner in school, she bolted up the beach easily.


    Bernard walked to a tidal pool near the access and washed some of the sand and grit off the creature. Then he wrapped it in a towel he¡¯d brought for Mireia¡¯s beach excursion and put it in his bag. It just barely fit. He walked back to the nest he¡¯d marked, and sat by the dune.


    A couple of people walked by, saw the tracks and his volunteer shirt, and stopped to ask him some questions about the sea turtles. Part of his job included public education, so he spent some time talking about the Loggerheads: they laid April through July, around one hundred forty eggs. The babies hatched at night, and followed the moon to the sea, where they rode the currents south to the Sargasso Sea near the Gulf. Their genders were determined by sand temperature. Hotter years produced more females, and cooler years more males. The mothers would return in twenty years, and could live to be over one hundred years old. They would always return to the same beaches they were born at, but the males never came back to shore.


    As much as he disliked his own species on the whole, he never minded this part of the job. The people who asked questions were always politely curious, and showed a genuine interest in the turtles¡¯ well-being. It was a reminder that there were still decent people in the world who were truly interested in making it a better place.


    Eventually, they went on their way, and he pulled the animal back out of his bag. On nothing more than a gut feeling, he moved closer to the nest, behind the tall sea oats.


    Its heart was still beating.


    The turkey vulture had taken to circling high overhead, but the gulls had moved on, some roosting on a series of weathered pilings from an old dock, now scanning for an easier meal. A black vulture arced in, distinguishable by a shorter tail and narrower wings, dressed all in black with faintly lighter tips, on which it alternated wide loops with the other scavenger.


    A v-shaped formation of pelicans made their morning southward journey, numbering between 70 and 80 birds, wings beating predictably in time from the first bird to the last. Some days he¡¯d try to count the larger flocks as they soared past. His record was close to 160 birds.


    Another flock appeared in the distance, but he was still trying to decide what to do with the creature in his lap that was neither a bird nor a dinosaur.


    Lagosuchus lilloensis had been extinct for more than 230 million years. This was a living fossil, to be sure. An archosaur, maybe, related to one of the crocodilian species of the Late Triassic, but it couldn¡¯t be what it looked like. That was impossible.


    The hind legs told a different story: Lagosuchus meant ¡°rabbit croc.¡± These, combined with the forearms, suggested a locomotion similar to a rabbit, or perhaps a squirrel. Built for escape from large predators. Then there was the matter of the series of ridges down its stomach. Gastralia bones, unless he was mistaken. It was a very primitive feature found in some dinosaurs, and still born by crocodilians and tuataras, but no other living creature that he knew of.


    His heart beat faster. This was either an undescribed species or a living fossil.


    At the same time, however, its presence gave him a sense of dread.


    A sudden spasm from the creature startled him from his reverie. He moved it onto the towel, and leapt away from its tail as it spasmed again, thrashed, shook, and lay still. Its chest heaved, and it began making choking sounds.


    A third round of spasms traveled up its neck, culminating in a violent expulsion of liquid from its gut, mostly water mixed with what looked like bile and its odd-colored blood. Bernard wished he had moved further from the nest, sure this kind of organic mess would attract predators.


    The creature gasped, drawing a long, ragged breath, and lay panting hoarsely, occasionally hacking up more fluids, but its eyes remained closed, and it didn¡¯t appear to make any voluntary movements.


    When it seemed as though the creature might be done with the bulk of its mystifying self-evacuation¡ªa feat that shouldn¡¯t have been possible, any more than its continued heartbeat¡ªBernard gathered the soiled sand onto his towel and set it aside. He would wait for Mireia¡¯s return before tossing the mess into the sea.


    He checked his watch, just as she came running with an armload of wooden stakes.


    She dropped them at his side, panting lightly, ¡°Sorry that took so long! This guy was trying to find the grocery store, and I swear it took me ten minutes to convince him that there¡¯s only one major road on the beach, and you can¡¯t leave without passing the Pig.¡±


    Bernard shook his head. Highway 174 was the only road on the island, from the bridge all the way to the causeway onto the beach, where it became Palmetto Boulevard. Though the road changed names at the end of the beach, it still looped around to meet itself. Even if the man had picked a smaller side road, he would eventually find the causeway at the end. The Piggly Wiggly was on the corner. Simple.


    Until now, that was about as exciting as this town ever got, short of the typical small-town gossip that went on in places like this. Whatever tourists thought Edisto was, to locals it was small-town USA: who¡¯s dating whom, whose dog was scaring off the deer, whether a new house or fence was an absolute eyesore, and which church the neighbor went to. And, of course, whether there was any way to manage tourist traffic in the summer months without ruining the natural scenery, critical ecosystem, and small-town landscape that made this place so special. Most small towns probably didn¡¯t have that problem.


    ¡°Did you tell him to pick up a free map from the store?¡±


    She laughed, ¡°I did, actually. I just want to know how he picked out this tiny beach to visit, then rented a house, then drove all the way here, and then got to his house without looking at one in the first place! And he¡¯s had since Monday to find the store! He tried to get me to give him advice on fishing and attractions and whether he should try boiled peanuts, so I told him I live in Charleston and to ask a cashier at the store. I didn¡¯t tell him where I really live, of course. It¡¯s a quiet place, and I¡¯d like to keep it that¡ªis that thing breathing? How?!¡±


    He shrugged, ¡°Your guess is as good as mine.¡±


    Rising, he moved the creature aside and set about hammering in stakes and taping off the nesting site. Then he dumped the soiled sand into the ocean. A few minnows rode the waves in to investigate, then darted away as he shook out his towel, hoping he hadn¡¯t just dumped a new disease.


    I hope we don¡¯t catch any strange diseases from this thing. That was another reason to call it in.


    Mireia gathered up the creature, ¡°Well, let¡¯s get going, if we¡¯re going to call the State, deal with this thing, and make it into town before lunch¡ªand I need to change.¡±


    ¡°I still need to buy shrimp and stop at the gas station on the way home,¡± he said, reminding her of an earlier conversation, ¡°Mom¡¯s going to be pissed if I forget that shrimp, and I promised I¡¯d rent her some movies for the weekend. Let¡¯s go get this over with. I¡¯ll just call the State department when I get home and tell them to come get this thing from the house.¡±


    They carried the creature back to the car and laid it on the crimson rear bench seat, on top of the ruined towel. As Mireia started the old ¡®83 Escort wagon¡¯s engine, Bernard thought he heard a sound coming from the back seat, but when he looked back, the thing was still unconscious and immobile.

 Time Enough

    They stopped at an old seafood shop nearby before driving slowly back up Palmetto, just within the strict 35 mph speed limit. Bernard wanted to see if any of his associates were still on the beach, in hopes that he could drop the creature off.


    ¡°Did you say something?¡± Mireia asked him.


    He glanced at her, perplexed, then turned to continue scanning cars at each beach access. ¡°No, why?¡±


    ¡°I could have sworn you said something.¡±


    He shook his head as she turned down Point Street. ¡°Nope.¡±


    It was a dirt road, so she took it easy and gave him time to look for familiar cars. They only found one, but the owner was nowhere in sight once he got to the beach.


    They had no time to wait around, so they pulled back onto the main road.


    ¡°God . . . damn.¡±


    Bernard spun sharply at the unfamiliar voice.


    Mireia glanced back, and looked at him. ¡°Did that . . . thing¡ª¡±


    ¡°My head. . . .¡± the thing croaked, sounding somewhere between a toad and a raven.


    ¡°Oh my God!¡± she cried, turning around.


    ¡°Wh . . . where am I?¡±


    ¡° ¡®Rei! Stop!¡± Bernard shouted, looking forward.


    She looked back and gasped, slamming her brakes and terrifying a family that had chosen to stop in the middle of the road to fool around with their kids.


    The creature slammed into the back of Bernard¡¯s seat, squealing in pain, followed by a thump and a sharp squeak.


    Mireia rolled down her window, calling, ¡°I am so sorry!¡±


    ¡°You should be paying attention!¡± a woman yelled back at her, before returning to the important task of adjusting a small child¡¯s sun hat.


    Bernard rolled down his window and yelled, ¡°Get out of the road! This isn¡¯t a playground!¡±


    ¡°Do you have children, young man?¡± another woman asked him.


    Bernard opened his door. ¡°Do you value your lives?¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?!¡± a man shouted.


    Mireia grabbed his sleeve, ¡°Bern, stop it. Let¡¯s just get going.¡±


    ¡°Nah, I¡¯m sick of this behavior,¡± he snapped, ¡°it¡¯s a town. This is a four-lane road. It¡¯s technically still the highway. People need to learn to bring their common sense with them when they go on vacation.¡±


    ¡°Not from you,¡± she pulled on his volunteer shirt, ¡°And not while you¡¯re wearing this. You can yell at people and start fights later when you¡¯re not representing anyone else. Sit down.¡±


    He did so reluctantly, slamming the door shut¡ªand drawing a glare from her.


    The family was now protesting his behavior, so she called out, ¡°I¡¯m really sorry. Y¡¯all go enjoy your vacation!¡±


    The family was still grumbling as she pulled around them, but Bernard kept his trap shut, and his hand remained, gripping the windowsill in lieu of shooting rude gestures.


    Mireia scowled at the road and said, ¡°They need to put in crosswalks.¡±


    ¡°What, for every beach house?¡± he growled under his breath.


    She smacked his leg with the back of her hand, ¡°At the access points, Bern.¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t stop them from using the whole road. Do they do that at home?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re on vacation.¡±


    ¡°From common sense?¡± he asked, ¡°By the way, I think there¡¯s a talking thing in your backseat. Or there was.¡±


    The thing hadn¡¯t made another sound since she¡¯d stopped.


    Mireia reached for the crank to roll up her window. ¡°I think your hammer fell on it. Maybe it¡¯s finally dead. Regardless, put it in a cat crate or something when we get to the house and make sure you padlock it, so it doesn¡¯t escape into the woods or something.¡±


    ¡°Fuckin¡¯ . . . hell.¡±


    Bernard craned his neck back curiously at the sound coming from the floorboards, like someone was squeezing a handful of wet gravel, and had figured out how to make it speak.


    Mireia spread her hands over the thin red steering wheel, ¡°I can¡¯t do this. There¡¯s a talking snake with legs in my car.¡±


    She started to pull into the gas station.


    He put a hand on her arm. ¡°Pull around to the putt-putt course. There¡¯s too many people at the gas station, and I need to think this over.¡±


    ¡°I thought¡ª¡±


    ¡°Something doesn¡¯t feel right, Mireia.¡±


    She rolled her eyes and pulled around the gas station, through the grocery store lot to the aging family mini golf course.


    The strange voice behind them made a strangled noise as though it were going to hurl, then croaked again, slightly clearer and less gravelly, ¡°Def¡¯nitely a one-point-six. Ford Escort?¡±


    It had a raven-like voice, but now they could detect a distinctly Southern accent. The word ¡°point¡± was drawled out, and the twang in ¡°Ford¡± couldn¡¯t be missed.


    Mireia glared at him, ¡°Do whatever it is you¡¯re going to do and make it quick. I want that thing out of my car.¡±


    ¡°Thing?¡± it asked, ¡°What . . . ? Oh. . . . Oh sweet Jesus. . . . No. Not here. Oh my God. Not this. No, no, no, no¡ªhow many people done seen me?¡±


    Bernard got out to move the creature off the floor. He noticed his hammer had slid under the seat.


    ¡°Out of the car!¡± Mireia cried.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°I smell grocery store,¡± the thing said, ¡°Tha¡¯s a bad idea.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna go call the State,¡± she snapped, getting out of the car.


    ¡°¡ªtoo many people,¡± the thing was saying.


    Bernard started after her, ¡° ¡®Rei wait!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll start a war!¡± the creature cried hoarsely.


    ¡°A war?¡± he asked, leaning in to be sure he¡¯d heard that right.


    Mireia froze in her tracks, closed her eyes, collected herself, and got into the back seat next to the thing, ¡°Make this fast, Bern.¡±


    The creature gazed up at her, and rasped, ¡°S¡¯bad enough ya¡¯ll seen me. State finds out . . . I ain¡¯t even s¡¯pposed to talk about it. Let¡¯s just say . . . I ain¡¯t alone on this planet.¡±


    Bernard felt his blood drain again, and set his weight against the car door. There it was again: a heavy, unexplainable trepidation like an invisible lead weight.


    ¡°But if we¡¯re all gonna die, can you at least tell me where?¡±


    ¡°Edisto Beach, South Carolina,¡± Bernard said as he tried to shake the feeling, ¡°In the back of a red ¡¯83 Ford Escort station wagon.¡±


    ¡°Thought it were yella,¡± the creature mused, ¡°Cain¡¯t see red with these eyes. I wanted t¡¯like the GT. Great on gas. So underpowered.¡±


    The remark was so strange that Bernard still was trying to picture the creature driving a car when Mireia asked, ¡°Why are you here?¡±


    ¡°Here? In yer car?¡±


    ¡°On . . . I don¡¯t know. Here. Edisto, let¡¯s start there.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± it croaked in its drawling, uncanny twang, ¡°Last place I recall is Beaufort. I mean, uh, ¡®Byoo-fort¡¯. Sorry ¡®bout that.¡±


    ¡°Beaufort?¡± Bernard asked, ¡°What were you doing there?¡±


    ¡°Eatin¡¯ dinner,¡± the thing said, ¡°Caesar salad, country-fried steak with shrimp and grits, and seven homemade biscuits. ¡®Mazin¡¯ biscuits. After that . . . nothin¡¯. Don¡¯t recall a fuckin¡¯ thing. All I got¡¯s this headache . . . an¡¯ everythin¡¯ else tha¡¯ hurts. ¡®Cept muh tail. Cain¡¯t feel muh tail. ¡®Cept fuh where it hurts. An¡¯ I¡¯m starvin¡¯. Tell me . . . who else¡¯s seen me?¡±


    ¡°Just us,¡± Bernard promised, ¡°And a couple of vultures.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be damned . . . there is a God.¡±


    ¡°How. . . ,¡± Mireia started. She swallowed, took a breath, and asked, ¡°Where did you learn English?¡±


    ¡°Trainin¡¯,¡± it said, ¡°I speak English more¡¯n my own language. I don¡¯t . . . uh . . . typically meet people from this height.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Bernard asked it.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t s¡¯pposed to talk about it. . . .¡±


    Mireia stood, ¡°I¡¯m gonna go rent those movies, Bern. We can¡¯t sit here all day playing word games with the dead animal you found on the beach. Your mama will throw a fit if that shrimp goes bad.¡±


    ¡° ¡®m not an animal,¡± the thing muttered, ¡°Don¡¯t think I¡¯ve died, yet, either.¡±


    ¡°Close enough,¡± Bernard told it, ¡°that you should be in a shoebox right now.¡±


    Mireia scoffed under her breath, ¡°More like a plastic trash bag.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± the thing breathed in awe, ¡°Symbiotes must¡¯a kicked in an¡¯ brought me back¡ªI weren¡¯t s¡¯pposed to say that.¡±


    Bernard recalled the spasms and the sudden mysterious expulsion of liquid. He nodded for Mireia to go, and she stood, ¡°Fine. I¡¯m not gonna call anyone, but I want that thing out of my car, ASAP.¡±


    It called out, ¡°Can ya bring me back some Slim Jims or somethin¡¯?¡±


    She hesitated, and Bernard could see from her expression that her patience was wearing thin.


    ¡°I¡¯ll consider it,¡± she said. Then she shut the door and left.


    ¡°I done fucked this up,¡± it said, ¡°S¡¯all wrong. We¡¯re all gonna die ¡®cause ¡®a me.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Bernard asked, ¡°No one else has seen you, and we haven¡¯t told anyone, yet.¡±


    It looked up at him, gray eyes unfocused as it seemed to study him. Then it said quietly, ¡°We ain¡¯t alone, son. There¡¯s more out there. I cain¡¯t tell ya no more. They¡¯ll be ¡®bound to find me soon. You. . . ,¡± it propped itself up on its long forelimbs, narrowing its eyes as it peered at him, ¡°You. . . . It¡¯s. . . . Cain¡¯t be.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Bernard prompted curiously¡ªthough based on the day¡¯s strange happenings so far, he wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to know that badly.


    ¡°You ain¡¯t Terry Zh¨¤o¡¯s boy, are ya?¡±


    Bernard felt himself go numb and deaf at the sound of his father¡¯s name. The island around him could have blown up, and he wouldn¡¯t have noticed it. Somewhere in the roaring silence of his shock, he realized that the creature had pronounced it like ¡°chow¡± or ¡°ciao,¡± in its correct dialect, without a drawl or twang.


    ¡°Siddown,¡± the creature said, pushing itself away from the door.


    Slowly, Bernard sat, pushing the bag and the creature out of the way.


    ¡°Shut the door.¡±


    He obeyed.


    ¡°Bernard, ain¡¯t it?¡±


    He nodded.


    ¡°Maxwell Bernard Sparker, born April a¡¯ 1980 to Terry and Rhonna Zh¨¤o?¡±


    He nodded again, and managed to utter, ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s Rhonna Moore, though. He left and she remarried.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± the thing said, ¡°Yer gonna find a lotta people know about the divorce.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°This ain¡¯t the place, son,¡± it told him sternly, ¡°An¡¯ this ain¡¯ how this conversation were s¡¯pposed to go.¡±


    A long, silent moment went by, as Bernard tried to absorb this.


    The creature asked quietly, ¡°You got plans, today?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re supposed to go into town,¡± he told it, ¡°Into Charleston, for the weekend.¡±


    ¡°You and your friend?¡±


    ¡°And my cousins.¡±


    ¡°No parents?¡±


    This discussion was rapidly becoming uncomfortable, as the creature pried into his personal business, so he answered cautiously. ¡°Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡° ¡®Cause I wanna speak to ya, son, and it¡¯s okay if your friend or your cousins hear this, but it ain¡¯t somethin¡¯ most people¡¯re gonna keep a secret, and I¡¯m serious ¡®bout that war. They¡¯re gonna mean well, but they¡¯re gonna do exactly what you were thinkin¡¯, an¡¯ they¡¯re gonna call the Feds¡ªthat¡¯s if they don¡¯ try t¡¯ use me for personal gain. If your gov¡¯ment takes me in, and word gets around, there¡¯s some folks ain¡¯t gonna handle it well. I got other reasons, too, but it¡¯s gotta wait. Can y¡¯get to a payphone?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, why?¡±


    A fine coat of brindled fur replaced the rich iguana-green stuff on the creature¡¯s body, and it slowly began to take on a more dog-like shape until a tiny male Italian Greyhound sat where it had once been. The injuries remained.


    It cleared its throat and said, ¡°Now, this is gonna be hard for me, using a syrinx in this body in my condition, but you can hear me, right?¡±


    Bernard noticed its accent had faded, in favor of careful enunciation. He nodded, shocked.


    ¡°Good. I¡¯m gonna need a couple favors when your friend gets back.¡±


    He prodded the animal curiously, just to be sure it was still real. ¡°Are you . . . a dog? Or . . . whatever you were? Some kinda archosaur?¡±


    The dog appeared to smile as its ears perked, ¡°Interesting guess, but too broad. Marasuchus lilloensis is what your scientists call me. The name Lagosuchus might be more familiar.¡±


    Nodding vaguely, Bernard muttered, ¡°I¡¯ll be right back,¡± then got out of the car and shut the door. He leaned against the trunk, watching Mireia jog back from the gas station with a paper bag, presumably full of movies.


    Lagosuchus lilloensis. He¡¯d been right¡ªright from the very beginning. This thing was a species of animal that predated the dinosaurs.


    Pulling himself together, he explained to Mireia what had just happened. She nearly dropped the bag of videos, but instead gripped it tighter and said, ¡°You¡¯ve got shellfish on ice, Maxwell Bernard. Time¡¯s ticking. I can¡¯t deal with . . . this is too much. Let¡¯s get the shrimp back to your mama, and we¡¯ll have a whole hour to talk about it on the way into town. We¡¯ll find another payphone later.¡± She opened the back door to her car and put the videos down. The creature had crawled back into the canvas tote, coming out only to snatch up the Slim Jims she handed it.


    As Bernard sat down in the front passenger seat, the thing said, ¡°It¡¯s Lasoren, by the way . . . call me Lasoren.¡±


    Mireia started the car as she asked, ¡°And there are creatures like you all over the planet?¡±


    ¡°I guess,¡± Lasoren said, ¡°but we¡¯re not from this planet¡ªwell, we are, but we weren¡¯t born here.¡±


    The car lurched as she engaged it harshly, barely getting it into first gear and too shocked to care. ¡°So you have a spaceship or something?!¡±


    ¡°No, I took mass transit.¡±


    Mireia shook her head, ¡°I can¡¯t do this.¡±


    ¡°You ain¡¯t gonna do much of anything if you tear your tranny out.¡±


    She rolled her eyes and glared at Bernard. ¡°And now it¡¯s a backseat driver.¡±


    Bernard remained silent, mulling over everything the creature had just said.


    Lasoren claimed to know his father, and that somewhere out there, perhaps on another planet, a lot of people did. The plausibility of that story was slim to none, but the creature had known his mother¡¯s name and his approximate date of birth¡ªand that she was divorced. How? And why? What did it mean? Had this thing been looking for him?


    He remained quiet once he got home, and focused on making sure he had what he needed for the weekend, doing his best to act natural for his mother as she carried on and on about how they needed to stick together, have a safe meeting place if they got separated, make sure they all knew the hotel and room phone number, carry change in case they needed a payphone, don¡¯t give personal information to strangers, and so on¡ªand don¡¯t forget to buy something for his sister. Even if it was just a bag of candy.


    Mireia spent most of the visit changing clothes and borrowing his mother¡¯s curling iron, spending what felt like an eternity volumizing her thin black hair just so it would look a certain way with her fancy gold barrette and gold hoop earrings. About the time she started looking for a clothes iron, lamenting a wrinkle in her black-on-white paisley blouse, Bernard lost his patience and started dragging her toward the door.


    Finally, they got back in the car and left.


    The creature was still in his bag.

 The Call

    Mireia stopped at a gas station halfway to Charleston, and Bernard got out, taking his tote bag with him. Lasoren was still inside. He picked up the phone and dialed the number the creature gave him.


    A young male voice answered with clear enunciation so precise that Bernard almost thought he¡¯d called a large corporate office, ¡°Thank you for calling the residence of Dr. Zachary Maesera, speaking. How may I assist you, today?¡±


    Following directives from the thing in his bag, Bernard said, ¡°I have a severely injured exotic bird, sir, and I was told to call you.¡±


    ¡°As it happens, I¡¯ll be able to handle this promptly. Could you provide a name and registration number?¡±


    Without prompting, Lasoren said, ¡°You ain¡¯t been assigned one. Give ¡®im mine. Loren Sanchez. Last six digits are 289-642.¡±


    Bernard quoted the name and number back to the man on the phone.


    ¡°Have you contacted the registrar¡¯s office?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s code,¡± Lasoren said, ¡°He¡¯s asking if I¡¯ve talked to my boss. No. That¡¯s the next call.¡±


    Bernard relayed the message, and Dr. Maesera said, ¡°Could you conveniently meet me in half-an-hour at the West Ashley Marina?¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Lasoren muttered, ¡°not there. . . . Fine, since you¡¯re already headed that way, but tell him we need forty-five minutes.¡±


    Bernard and the doctor agreed on a time, and the doctor told him what to look for.


    They hung up, and Bernard placed the next call.


    A chipper male voice answered, ¡°Jack¡¯s Winery and Fine Gifts, Ted speaking. How can I make your day today?¡±


    Lasoren grumbled, ¡°We¡¯ve got a comedian for an operator, and I¡¯m not in the mood. Tell him the same thing you told the medic, including the number.¡±


    Bernard did as he was told.


    ¡°Ahhh that¡¯s a shame. Will you be needing the full package?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Lasoren said, ¡°Full amenities, including transportation and lodging.¡±


    Bernard quoted it back, and Ted said, ¡°Transportation, too? Sounds like a rough time. We¡¯ll send someone to look into that. Lodging was taken care of early this morning once we were sure of the location. Look for assistance by seven tonight, Eastern Daylight Savings, no later than eight. It looks like your manager is unavailable. Would you like to leave a message?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s fine,¡± Lasoren said, ¡°I¡¯ll call him later.¡±


    Bernard told Ted, who then paused before he said, ¡°Oh, what do you know . . . oh. It¡¯s that guy. That case. I see. Very well then, Mr. Sanchez, knows what to do. Best of luck to him, and to you Mr. Sparker.¡±


    ¡°Wait, what?¡± Bernard exclaimed upon hearing his name.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°That moron,¡± Lasoren growled.


    ¡°Ahh, begging your pardon. Slip of the tongue. Excuse me. Best of luck, then!¡±


    The line went dead with a notable ¡°click¡±.


    Bernard stood there for a moment, glanced up and saw someone waiting on the phone, and walked away, growling under his breath, ¡°Now what the fuck did he mean by that?¡±


    ¡°Later,¡± Lasoren said, ¡°I promise I¡¯ll explain later. Next time I see Toronto HQ, I¡¯m ¡®a find that guy and put my tail through his ankles. He ain¡¯ gonna walk for a month. Best scanner in the galaxy won¡¯ save him the agony when I¡¯m done.¡±


    Once Bernard was back in the car, he threw bag into the back seat, causing Lasoren to yip in pain.


    Mireia stared at him ¡°What on Earth was that for?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s hiding shit, ¡®Rei,¡± Bernard snapped, ¡°And every time I ask about it, he just keeps saying ¡®later, I¡¯ll tell you later¡¯. I don¡¯t like it.¡±


    ¡°The marina,¡± Lasoren said, ¡°We¡¯re supposed to meet at a large yacht. Doc said we couldn¡¯t miss it. It should be a safe place where we can talk.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re supposed to meet his cousins for lunch,¡± Mireia said, ¡°We¡¯re pressed for time.¡±


    ¡°The hotel,¡± Bernard suggested, ¡°He¡¯s telling us tonight.¡±


    He told her about the conversation they¡¯d just had, and watched Mireia¡¯s eyes narrow as he talked, and she started her car and pulled out of the parking lot.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have time for any of this,¡± she said, ¡°We can¡¯t go meet this doctor and meet Jez and Rubie at the same time.¡±


    ¡°Sure we can,¡± Bernard said, ¡°We can stop just long enough to drop this guy off and never hear from him again. We¡¯ll be fifteen minutes late, tops. Just long enough for them to start to wonder what happened to us. Then we apologize for being late, and we go on with life like nothing¡¯s happened.¡±


    ¡°Time. . . ,¡± Lasoren said distantly, ¡°such a strange thing.¡±


    Bernard drew a long breath, let it out, and glanced behind him, ¡°Everything about this is fucking strange, and you¡¯re trying my patience. Can you at least explain that one?¡±


    ¡°Well . . . it¡¯s just that you¡¯ve been talking about time all morning. Time left to get the shrimp to the house. Time to pack the car. Time to drive into town. Time it takes to make a phone call. Time to check in with your hotel, meet with your cousins, eat lunch, drive to West Ashley and back downtown. It . . . how do I explain this . . . it¡¯s a very linear way of looking at time. As if it moves in a predictable fashion. Hours. Days. Months. Years.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how time works,¡± Mireia said.


    ¡°But it doesn¡¯t,¡± Lasoren argued, pulling himself out of the bag, ¡°I¡¯d almost be inclined to agreed with you. I¡¯m still very young, and I¡¯ve become accustomed to your way of measuring the days. But if you asked my parents, time is cyclical, bound to the rhythms of planetary seasons. Your linear, numbered concept of time is an efficient way of measuring day-to-day tasks, but it would be meaningless to them. If you asked a physicist, they¡¯d tell you that time is relative to gravitational pull.¡±


    ¡°In either fashion, it¡¯s still a singular forward path to the person experiencing it,¡± Mireia answered, ¡°Looking at it any other way won¡¯t change how long it takes to get to Charleston from Bernie¡¯s house. Or how long it takes ice to melt in this weather.¡±


    ¡°What if it isn¡¯t a singular path, but a network of slipstreams? We¡¯d merely live in their flows like so many branches in a river. Each bound to the river¡¯s path on our own separate journeys. Or fish, maybe. I¡¯d like to think we have at least some control over our lives.¡±


    Mireia peered at the tiny clock over her dash. ¡°I¡¯d like to think I have control over mine, enough that your path¡¯s journey is about to take another route. Bern, I¡¯m going to drop you off with Jez and Rubie and I¡¯ll take this thing to the marina¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a ¡®thing,¡¯¡± Lasoren said, ¡°I¡¯m a male Saurian, if you want the human word for it. I¡¯m not allowed to use our word.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s going to hear you?¡± she snapped irritably.


    ¡°Not everything in this galaxy is large enough to see!¡± he snapped back, causing her to tap her brakes reflexively. She slammed her foot back down on the accelerator, swerved, regained control of her car, and shifted gears hard, earning muttered commentary from the back seat. Something about stalling her engine.


    She cast a furious look at Bernard, ¡°I¡¯ve got four radios. Pass ¡®em out¡ª¡±


    ¡°Those things are basically useless Downtown,¡± he protested.


    ¡°They¡¯re good enough within a block or two in case y¡¯all get separated, ¡®cause I know how your cousins are. If I¡¯m not back in twenty minutes, get started without me. If you don¡¯t hear from me within an hour, call the cops. Channel 17. I don¡¯t care what else he¡¯s got to say. I¡¯m going to get rid of him.¡±

 The Medic

    Mireia had seen the boat before: a grand yacht over one hundred feet long that she¡¯d first noticed about a month ago on the way to prom. It was hard to miss, and now that she neared it, she could make out a series of expensive-looking mirrored windows.


    As secretive as Lasoren had been, it was surprisingly ostentatious.


    The dog-thing kept its head low, muttering softly, ¡°Is that a boat, a cruise liner, or a starship? I bet they¡¯ve got a mini-sub.¡± As curious as the comment was, she wished he¡¯d stop talking to her, but he wouldn¡¯t shut up. ¡°Best way to reach Main HQ. ¨CThat¡¯s gotta be his car, ahead on the left. Beige ¡¯94 Lexus sedan. You see an owner around?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Mireia whispered. She was also concerned that if she spent too much time talking to him, she¡¯d look like she was talking to herself.


    The three-year-old car was as clean as the day it rolled off the lot. The interior was immaculate, and there was no one in sight. ¡°Didn¡¯t he say to go to the boat?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like boats,¡± the thing grumbled softly.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like you,¡± Mireia said, moving on.


    ¡°This is gonna be difficult for both of us, then.¡±


    ¡°No, just for you.¡±


    A lean female figure came out to wave at them from the deck of the ship. She was pale and pretty, with an adorable pastel yellow sun dress that Mireia was jealous of, and a large sun hat over her dark hair and old-fashioned aviator sunglasses. The hat and glasses were a bit old-fashioned, with that big white ribbon tied in an oversized bow. The woman was probably about as old as Mireia¡¯s mother.


    As Mireia scaled the ramp, the lady walked over to greet her, moving elegantly in a pretty pair of white heels and extending a graceful hand, accentuated with a few thin silver bracelets with exotic inlays. ¡°Good morning! Miss Durant, I take it?¡±


    Mireia nodded and shook her hand, disturbed by the sound of her own name, ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am, that¡¯s me.¡±


    ¡°Samantha Lurizek. Everyone calls me Sam. It¡¯s a pleasure to have you on board. I¡¯m here on behalf of my husband, Daniel.¡±


    ¡°Did you just say ¡®Rizek¡¯?¡± Lasoren asked from the bag.


    ¡°I did,¡± Sam said to him without looking down or batting an eye.


    ¡°He said his name was Kago,¡± Lasoren muttered, ¡°Oh . . . wait . . . never mind. I¡¯m an idiot.¡±


    Mireia tightened her lips, withholding a retort.


    ¡°Your friend sounds addled,¡± Sam observed, ¡°Since he can¡¯t stay quiet, let¡¯s hurry along and get him someplace more private. His doctor is waiting. Dr. Maesera works here in town, so he wants to be seen as little as possible.¡±


    Mireia followed her through a door into a round chamber with a vaulted ceiling, softly illuminated by white panels that rose to meet in the center.


    There was a soft hissing sound, then Lasoren yipped sharply, ¡°That burns!¡±


    Sam took off her sunglasses, revealing lively brown eyes and youthful features as she explained, ¡°This is a sanitizing chamber. If he¡¯s injured badly enough, it might sting a bit. Our enemies deploy bioengineered microbial spies, so it¡¯s the only defense we currently have against them.¡±


    Mireia backed up until she hit the door. ¡°They what?¡±


    Sam reached for her arm gently.


    She jerked away, crying, ¡°You expect me to believe that?¡± She held up the bag. ¡°I did what I was asked and brought him here. Just take him and let me go! You¡¯re all nuts!¡±


    Sam answered frankly, ¡°I don¡¯t expect you to believe anything, yet. Nor do I want you to panic, but it would have been more dangerous to lie to you. You need to understand the importance of secrecy. Once you go back outside, you may only speak freely of these matters after certain conditions have been met.¡± She glanced down at the bag. ¡°How much has our friend told you?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Mireia said shortly, her heart pounding in her ears as she found herself trapped in a strange ship with strange people and a door she couldn¡¯t open, ¡°Not a single thing.¡±


    Sam met her eyes, studying her, ¡°I see. Since it¡¯s clear things haven¡¯t gone according to plan, I must apologize, Mireia. This isn¡¯t how they normally operate.¡±


    She realized Bernard must have given these people her name. She was going to strangle him.


    ¡° ¡®They¡¯?¡± she asked, hating this more by the second.


    ¡°My husband¡¯s company. Please try to relax. It¡¯s only an airlock. We¡¯re not going to hurt you.¡±


    A door slid open, and they stepped inside onto a raised floor covered in thick, plush carpet that felt as though it might have a layer of dense foam underneath it. The room was wide, elliptical, and mostly empty. It was well-lit, with a high, stepped ceiling. A curved couch sat off to one side, along with a TV, and a deck lay beyond the tinted windows and doors on the opposite side.


    A young man in formal attire walked over to greet them, dressed in a steel-blue long-sleeved buttoned shirt of fine linen, pressed slate-gray slacks, and black leather shoes. Pale red hair was mostly covered by a finely-woven ivory straw fedora that looked like it cost more than a hat had any right to, finished with a wide gray ribbon. He had porcelain white skin, freckled features, and gentle light brown eyes.


    Between the two of them, Mireia felt distinctly and uncomfortably under-dressed in her jeans, casual blouse, and simple flat-soled black shoes. Her slim black pocketbook and gold-plated jewelry were her only saving grace, but the expensive and expansive yacht made her wish she¡¯d taken another shower after the beach. She felt altogether icky.


    The young man extended a hand, ¡°Good afternoon, Miss. My name is Dr. Zachary Maesera, and I¡¯m the company¡¯s Regional Emergency Medic. Typically only by night, since I work for St. Francis Hospital by day. Fortunately, you¡¯ve caught me on a day off.¡±


    Mireia shook his hand uncertainly, introducing herself with what she hoped was confidence and not the shaky distrust rocking her gut, and found his grip to be much like his mannerisms: gentle yet firm at once. She wanted to like him, and under different circumstances she might have respected him.


    Lasoren responded, ¡°I have to apologize¡ªI would¡¯ve called a standard medic, but whatever happened was serious.¡±


    ¡°No need to concern yourself,¡± the doctor assured him, ¡°Serious matters lie at the crux of my vocation.¡±


    ¡°Was that English?¡± Lasoren asked.


    Mireia responded, ¡°He says this is his job.¡±


    The doctor gave a small sigh, ¡°Well, if the human between us understood me, then I pray it wasn¡¯t too archaic.¡± He gave a bow of his head to Sam, ¡°Thank you, Captain.¡± Then he gestured toward a hall near the couch, ¡°If you would bring him downstairs, Miss Miriea. We have a . . . rather modest medical facility, but it will suit our purposes.¡±


    Mireia did her best to steady her breathing as she moved further into the huge ship¡ªSam¡¯s ship, from the sound of it. As far as she could tell, it was totally empty. There was nothing of note in the galley as she passed it, nothing on the dining table, and the doors in the unsually broad hallway were closed and silent. Everything smelled clean and new. One door near the end appeared to be a very wide elevator.


    They walked down a set of stairs, and turned into a room across from the lower elevator door¡ªthrough a doorway wide enough to accommodate whatever must come from the elevator. The room was colder than the others, and nearly as large as the common area above them. It had a cream-colored vaulted ceiling patterned in veins of light that came to life the moment they opened the door. The floor was marbled in beige and pink, and the slightly curved walls were covered in some sort of textile panels, elegantly painted with pastel silhouettes of pine trees and ferns.


    If this was their idea of a ¡°modest medical facility,¡± she was almost curious enough to know what first-rate looked like¡ªif she hadn¡¯t wanted to leave so badly.


    The doctor moved an operating bed to the back wall and called back, ¡°Just place him there on the table, if you would, please.¡± His voice didn¡¯t echo, but still sounded clearly across the room.


    Mireia reached into the canvas bag and pulled out the small dog, placing him on a padded table in front of her, near a countertop, sink, and cabinets.


    Slowly, Lasoren shifted back to the form she¡¯d first seen him in.


    Dr. Maesera set aside his hat and pulled on a pair of gloves, a surgical mask, and an apron before opening a large tackle box full of all sorts of miscellaneous equipment. Mireia realized for the first time that despite its ostentatious appearance, the room was sparsely stocked.


    He began by asking Lasoren, ¡°Am I correct in understanding that you aren¡¯t sure what happened?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m tryin¡¯ to remember,¡± the small creature responded, its accent returning, ¡°I . . . don¡¯t shift the way everyone else does, so I avoid doing it whenever I can. I only use my canine forms for covert work, and I gotta switch to my real body, first. I got no memory of doin¡¯ that. I just . . . I had dinner in Beaufort, and I was going back to my car. That¡¯s it. Everything goes black about three blocks from the restaurant. I remember drowning, but I don¡¯t know when or why. And fear. Helplessness. Feeling tiny and pathetic.¡±


    Mireia drew a breath, attracting attention from the other two, and finally asked the question she¡¯d been avoiding, ¡°So, I get that you¡¯re shapeshifters. However, um, unexpected that is.¡±


    ¡°You can say it,¡± Dr. Maesera told her, ¡°It¡¯s bizarre. It shouldn¡¯t be possible¡ªa point you¡¯ll find most of us concur with, even if we disagree on its moral consequences. Some would go so far as to consider it an aberration of nature.¡±


    Mireia pointed at Lasoren, ¡°So you mean to tell me that something as small as him can be human?¡±


    Dr. Maesera nodded as he inspected the tiny creature¡¯s injuries, ¡°By various means, yes, that¡¯s correct.¡±


    The doctor¡¯s eyes took on a bloody crimson hue as he examined the gash across the front of Lasoren¡¯s shoulder. As nice as he seemed, he had the eyes of a demon, and that was more than Mireia could handle.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    She picked up her bag, ¡°Look, we stumbled upon him purely by accident. We don¡¯t want any trouble. It seemed as though he¡¯s back with his own kind, and I¡¯ve got plans this afternoon.¡±


    Dr. Maesera paused and looked up at her, ¡°I can hear your heartrate, Miss Mireia. There¡¯s no reason to fear me. I¡¯m really a doctor. I promise.¡±


    She wanted to believe in such a kind man. But those eyes!


    ¡°I¡¯m an ER surgeon. I have a medical degree from MUSC.¡±


    ¡°Then your friend¡¯s in good hands,¡± she said, nodding curtly.


    The doctor sighed, setting his hands on the table as his eyes faded back to brown, ¡°I understand your preference, and I¡¯m inclined to agree with the most direct and obvious action, which is to deliver him to our main headquarters and permit you to be on your way, but I must defer to my given instructions. The best I can do is set his broken bones and administer painkiller until someone delivers a healing scanner from HQ. We don¡¯t have very many of them, so I¡¯m planning to send an email momentarily. . . . No one answers the phone when I call.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll call,¡± Sam offered immediately, causing Mireia to jump. She hadn¡¯t realized the woman was still there!


    Sam pulled a cellular phone from her pocket as she left. Her voice could be heard just down the hall, crisp and direct, like a military officer.


    Mireia stared down at the table, still trying to get her head around Lasoren turning into a full-sized human being. ¡°How . . . how much larger are we talking?¡±


    Lasoren whispered, ¡°Just over five-six. About two-ninety.¡±


    The doctor¡¯s eyes widened, ¡°Two-ninety? How? I can see your ribs!¡±


    ¡°Volunteered for an experiment.¡±


    The answer drew a look of dismay from the doctor.


    Mireia tried to picture a five-foot-six adult male weighing nearly three hundred pounds . . . coming from the tiny creature on the table in front of her. The doctor resumed care of Lasoren¡¯s wounds¡ªdrawing no complaint from the previously whining Marasuchus. Now that she got a better look at him, Mireia realized that he was actually quite beautiful and fascinating. She could see why Bernard had been so drawn to him. It wasn¡¯t every day a creature like that came along. Still: she wanted nothing to do with it. She especially didn¡¯t want it back in her car.


    Sam returned, ¡°Someone will be here in a few hours. Can you stay that long, Doctor?¡±


    The doctor leaned on the table in apparent relief, eyes closed. ¡°I can. Thank you, Captain Rizek.¡±


    She set a hand on his, smiling warmly, ¡°I¡¯m no Captain, here. I¡¯m not even an agent.¡±


    The remark drew a slight, nervous smile from the doctor. ¡°I couldn¡¯t bring myself to insult you with anything less, Ma¡¯am. You earned the title fairly.¡±


    Mireia glanced between them. They both seemed like very capable adults, so she adjusted the bag on her shoulder meaningfully, ¡°Well, it sounds like you¡¯ve all got things under control. I should get going. I promise I won¡¯t tell a soul.¡±


    Lasoren looked up at Sam. ¡°She does need to leave. If she doesn¡¯t show up soon, she¡¯s told Sparker to call the cops.¡±


    Sam sighed, ¡°Oh, for heaven¡¯s sake.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Mireia said, ¡° ¡®Cause we have no idea who you people are! Look: I just finished high school. I¡¯ve got plans. I¡¯ve already spent a lot of money on this weekend, and if all I have to do is forget this happened, I¡¯d be more than happy to. No offense, but y¡¯all can take any other plans you had back wherever you came from. We don¡¯t want it.¡±


    To her surprise, Sam appeared to be stifling a grin. ¡°Well, that¡¯s not what you told us last time.¡±


    Mireia wasn¡¯t even sure she¡¯d heard her properly. ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°You were practically begging to sign up. Though . . . in all fairness, you were also more than happy to go back to normal.¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯re full of crap, and it¡¯s time for me to leave,¡± Mireia said as she headed for the door, ¡°There¡¯s no way I¡¯d forget something like this.¡±


    ¡°But you did,¡± Sam said, ¡°Because I¡¯ll bet you don¡¯t remember where you were on Christmas Eve in 1988.¡±


    ¡°Of course I do!¡± she laughed, ¡°It was in Nebraska. Ms. Rhonna hosted dinner that year.¡±


    ¡°Did she?¡±


    Mireia rolled her eyes, and decided to play along just to prove she was right, ¡°Um, yeah, she did. Bern had been in the hospital earlier that year because of the . . . car wreck. Or was it the house fire? Yeah. That was the year we went on vacation in Arizona and the cabin . . . caught fire. . . .¡± It had only been nine years. She was starting to feel terrible for not properly remembering something so important, and foolish because her plan was already falling apart.


    Sam was smiling openly, ¡°And who bought you that pretty silver dress? The one made from crushed velvet with the pink flowers around the neck, and the matching sandals?¡±


    She had loved that dress, but hearing it come from this stranger was disturbing. ¡°How the hell do you know about that?¡±


    ¡°Because I spent five hundred thirty-two dollars and fifteen cents on Christmas that year, not including the cost of decorations or the expense of dinner. Do you remember what Bernard got that year?¡±


    Mireia nodded, ¡°Yeah. Ms. Rhonna bought him a dog.¡±


    ¡°She didn¡¯t spend a dime on that gorgeous beast. I picked up a Rottweiler for her from my husband¡¯s friend in county law enforcement. Not that it would have helped our situation, but it was the thought that counted and Bernie was at least a little happier having the dog around. . . . It wasn¡¯t a house fire.¡±


    ¡°Of course it was,¡± Mireia scoffed, ¡°And that dog came from a breeder. Chester lived to be 12.¡±


    ¡°They did breed him,¡± Sam said, ¡°We called him Jester, though, because he always had a big silly grin on his floppy face, and he was too much of a goof to complete his training program.¡±


    The doctor glanced up from his work, at Sam, ¡°Should I, um¡ª¡±


    ¡°You can stay,¡± Sam told him, then she smiled at him as though sharing a secret, ¡°I trust you not to go gossiping to every nosy Nasu on the planet.¡±


    He lowered his gaze back to what he¡¯d been doing, flushing as he muttered, ¡°Verily, truer words never spoken. . . .¡±


    Mireia started to argue with Sam. ¡°It was a fire! I remember seeing him in the hospital!¡±


    It was a hospital, wasn¡¯t it?


    ¡°How big was the cabin?¡± Sam asked her, ¡°How many floors? How long was the trip? What did you do while you were there? Was there a pool? Where did you sleep after the cabin burned down? Can you describe the hotel? Do you remember the drive to the hospital?¡±


    Mireia faltered, unable to answer any of her questions.


    For pity¡¯s sake, she thought, I was nine years old! It wasn¡¯t that long ago!


    She was starting to realize she was wrong. There hadn¡¯t been a fire. Bernard had gotten lost. In the desert. But she couldn¡¯t remember how it happened.


    ¡°Or was it a helicopter and not a hospital?¡± Sam asked her, ¡°A single family home and not a multi-family cabin? Weeks of worrying and searching after his abduction, followed by a trip that only two of us needed to make, but damn near everyone got involved with? Followed by medical recovery, research, and asking you girls to keep an eye on Bernie because we knew he¡¯d been hit with an endurance drug, but we didn¡¯t know what else was in it. Remember that?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s insane!¡± Mireia cried, ¡°Of course I don¡¯t . . . I don¡¯t remember anything like that. That¡¯s ridiculous. We were worried after he had a heat stroke later that year, of course¡ª¡±


    She faltered again. It wasn¡¯t right. She could have sworn her version was the gospel truth, and now nothing she remembered about it felt right. Bernard had collapsed unexpectedly a few weeks later, as a result of some . . . alien drug.


    Her knees felt weak. The room was tilting fast. A hand¡ªthe doctor¡¯s hand¡ªguided her into a chair. He was speaking, but she wasn¡¯t listening. Everything she remembered about that year was wrong.


    A lot of things she remembered were wrong.


    But she remembered that ruffled dress of crushed silver velvet. It was her favorite. She¡¯d worn it with white stockings, matching sandals, and a pink sequined jacket. It made her feel like one of the pop-rock stars on MTV. She could have sworn Jez¡¯s parents had bought it. But that wasn¡¯t right. Jez¡¯s father was a high school English teacher, and they¡¯d bought her an adorable children¡¯s stationary set to practice her penmanship with. Because she¡¯d missed a lot of school . . . because . . . because of Bernard.


    She shook her head violently, ¡°No. No, Bernard is my brother. I¡¯ve been there since he was born. I would know if he¡¯d been . . . if he¡¯d. . . ,¡± she couldn¡¯t say it. She glanced up at the green Marasuchus lying on the padded table, took a breath, and made herself say it, ¡°I¡¯d know if he¡¯d been abducted by aliens.¡±


    ¡°Would you?¡± the Marasuchus asked.


    Sam knelt in front of her, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mireia, but we need you.¡±


    She shook her head again, stifling tears, ¡°No you don¡¯t. You don¡¯t. You don¡¯t. You don¡¯t need me, or, or Jez, or Bernard. Especially not him. You . . . you can¡¯t.¡±


    Then something occurred to her, ¡°That¡¯s right! You can¡¯t! You . . . you¡¯ve got rules! You can¡¯t do this! You¡¯ve got to go away and leave us alone!¡±


    Lasoren spoke up softly, ¡°Mireia, I¡¯ve already told you about Terry. It¡¯s a long story, but the thing you should know right now is that we work for an alien immigration and planetary protection agency. Sometimes . . . to keep bad things from happening . . . we need help. We need you. We need Bernard.¡±


    Sam took her hands, brown eyes gazing into hers, pleading, ¡°But we¡¯ll have a whole new host of problems if your parents find out. They won¡¯t remember us, and it needs to stay that way. First of all, that¡¯s policy¡ª¡±


    ¡°Because you were supposed to leave us alone,¡± Mireia whispered, fighting the tears that came as she began to realize the truth in Sam¡¯s words.


    ¡°Second of all,¡± Sam went on, ¡°we don¡¯t have the same circumstances as the last time we met. For all the things that went wrong back then, we did have a few factors that worked in our favor. This time, they won¡¯t stop until the whole world knows, or the government has buried us alive under paperwork and red tape.¡±


    Down on the table, Lasoren sat up, ¡°Wait: even if they did call the Feds, that shouldn¡¯t be a problem. We¡¯ve got people in every branch who handle this sort of thing. I¡¯ve been a mobile field agent for more than two years. I should know¡ªthat¡¯s where my orders come from.¡±


    Mireia glared at him, ¡°You said it would start a war!¡±


    ¡°I panicked,¡± he protested, ¡°And I technically died!¡±


    Sam explained, ¡°He¡¯s not entirely wrong. Even though we have people who can intercept these things, there¡¯s always a risk that word could get to the wrong humans, or back to our enemies, or both, and we could have a war on our hands if we¡¯re not careful. I would daresay the risk is less since my people started rising through the ranks.¡±


    ¡°Thank goodness,¡± the doctor murmured as he resumed his work, gently pulling Lasoren back down.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that increase our chances of going to war?¡± Lasoren asked, lying back obediently.


    Sam rose to look at him and shook her head once, in a swift, firm action, ¡°No. We may be warriors, but we¡¯re better prepared to avoid a war than to start one¡ªand to win if it happens or die giving it everything we have.¡±


    ¡°Yet you don¡¯t have a military. . . .¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re shattered.¡± She tilted her head, gazing down at him in a way that felt hawk-like. ¡°By war. My people are here to find peace, the same as any of you.¡±


    Miriea took a step back from them, watching their eyes, their body language as she tried to process all of this. ¡°How many of you are there? And what are you?¡±


    Dr. Maesera glanced up at her, ¡°That depends on which details you want to know.¡±


    Sam answered her, ¡°Our ancestors were dinosaurs, as you must realize by now. We¡¯re the results of alien experimentation and ages of evolution. Currently, there are just under half a million of us working for the company, mostly off-world. I¡¯m not sure of the civilian count.¡±


    Mireia put a hand on Sam¡¯s shoulder, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I can¡¯t deal with this. You¡¯re going to have to find someone else. I promise I won¡¯t say a word if you just leave us alone.¡±


    Sam sighed, ¡°I¡¯m afraid we don¡¯t have much of a choice. Go ahead and leave, but don¡¯t forget: if the wrong ears hear you, the consequences could be disastrous for both our peoples.¡±


    The doctor added, ¡°Even our best sorcerers couldn¡¯t save us from that.¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t,¡± Sam said, ¡°There are a lot of rules around how and when and why they can act on a situation, and it¡¯s usually only if the solution isn¡¯t one we could manage by our own hands. Their roles are . . . often beyond my understanding, no matter how many times my brother has explained it.¡±


    ¡°The sorcerers are real?¡± Lasoren asked.


    The doctor answered him, ¡°Her brother is Taii Rei¡¯ik Rizek, one of the Sorcerers of Ryozauggex.¡±


    ¡°Her brother?!¡±


    ¡°Sorcerers?¡± Mireia asked weakly. Dinosaurs, demons, shapeshifters, false memories, and sorcerers. Microscopic enemies. It was too much. A hand touched her shoulder, and she was startled to realize Dr. Maesera was standing by her side again.


    ¡°I¡¯d ask you sit back down, but I understand you¡¯re short on time. Can I interest you in a cup of tea?¡±


    On any other day, it would have been the weirdest thing he could have asked her. Instead, she gave her watch an anxious glance. ¡°I need to get out of here.¡±


    ¡°The door¡¯s open,¡± Sam told her, ¡°When you¡¯re ready.¡± Then she left.


    He reached in his tackle box, and turned to her with his hand outstretched, bearing a few brownish-yellow pills. ¡°Passionflower, Ashwagandha, and Lemon Balm. For your nerves. Most of the other things I have will make you drowsy. Technically, as a doctor, I¡¯m not supposed to make or give you this, so I¡¯m offering it as an herbalist, not a physician. I¡¯m certified off-world, if that helps any.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, but I should go.¡± There was no way she was taking anything from him, no matter how good he claimed to be, or how nice he was.


    She now had fifteen minutes to get back to her car, drive back to the Market, radio Bernard, and find a parking spot. As soon as she got out of here, she swore she¡¯d let Bernard pick every single meal for the rest of the weekend, and buy herself at least one new outfit for every day of her first week in college if it cost her the rest of her savings. Anything but this.


    ¡°Then I recommend that you stay on your feet as much as you can and take a good long walk. It will keep your blood moving so you can think more clearly, as well as releasing endorphins that reduce stress hormones and help you feel better.¡±


    Maybe he was a real doctor, and maybe he wasn¡¯t. She wasn¡¯t sure what was real anymore, but she could agree with that last piece of advice: she could do with a good, long run. As it was, a walk Downtown would have to suffice.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she muttered uncertainly, before running upstairs. There was no sign of Sam. The airlock opened from the inside like a normal door, releasing her into the warm sunshine of early summer. She struggled to return to her car without breaking into a dead run, and nearly wrecked it four times before she finally parked it again.


    Despite all the warnings, part of her was hoping Bernard had called the cops.

 Market Gathering

    A city of architectural charm and grace sweltering under oppressive summer heat and humidity, Charleston, South Carolina was first settled in 1670¡ªthen known as Charles Town. The peninsular city established in 1680 would seat the state capital until 1786, but history books would remember it as the place where the American Civil War began in 1861. The Battle of Fort Sumter, however, was mostly fought from James Island, Morris Island, Sullivan¡¯s Island, and the surrounding waters at the outer edge of the Charleston Harbor. While Fort Sumter could be seen from the city¡¯s Battery Wall at White Point, it was too far away.


    One of the largest ports in the colonies, and at its height the largest and wealthiest city in the South, Charleston more importantly became the most common port by which African slaves were brought to the shores of North America, from the very foundation of Charles Town until import was Federally banned in 1808. Thereafter, Charleston remained committed to the domestic trade of the slaves upon which it had built its success. A ban on public auctions in 1856 only succeeded in moving the trade indoors, and the Emancipation Proclamation of 1863 fell on deaf ears until the Union Army occupied the city in 1865 just months before the end of the Civil War.


    During that time, the city had also been both hostess and victim to pirates such as Blackbeard during The Golden Years of Piracy, through roughly 1720. Following an epic battle in 1718 between Colonel William Rhett and the infamous ¡°Gentleman Pirate¡± Stede Bonnet, forty-nine pirates were hung at White Point in a mass execution, including Bonnet.


    In 1780, Charleston was occupied by the British Army during the American Revolution. They added the Provost Dungeon below The Exchange Building, and over the years the dungeon came to house prisoners of every kind, including slaves. Known in modern times as The Old Exchange Building, the main building had served many government functions, and was among the sites where the United States Constitution was ratified in 1788.


    In its brief but tumultuous history, Charleston had also survived hellish plagues, powerful hurricanes, devastating fires, and a massive earthquake. As recently as 1989, the area had weathered a direct hit from Hurricane Hugo, a monstrous Category 4 storm, and its impact promised to linger for some time, yet.


    The indomitable Holy City, so-called for its religious tolerance and many magnificent sanctuaries, persevered through thick and thin. Through hell and high water, the rise and fall and steadfastness of its people¡¯s hopes and dreams were etched upon the city¡¯s walls, often recounted in lore, legend, and numerous eerie ghost stories.


    As for its roles in slavery and segregation, Charleston¡¯s relationship with its own history was complicated, but more honest than one might expect. A majority of Bernard¡¯s teachers were Black, and they covered the subject as a key component of not only local history, but the nation¡¯s past. As they often said, you couldn¡¯t move forward if you didn¡¯t know where you¡¯d been. The Lowcountry still had many hurdles to overcome, but in his experience most people were doing their best to move things in the right direction. In the past 3 years alone, he¡¯d read several major works of classic African American literature in school, and attended a number of musical and theatrical productions by local Black performers.


    After all, the city was also home to a strong arts culture, and one of the biggest performing arts festivals in the country: the seventeen-day Spoleto Festival, along with its local counterpart, Piccolo Spoleto.


    Which brought him to his current dilemma.


    Mireia had planned her vacation for the middle of Spoleto. Not that it would have been a bad thing, if they hadn''t been in a hurry. The weather was still beautiful at this time of year, and the historic fences and facades of the city were hung with colorful flyers and banners announcing the many performances. But the crowds! It was Friday, and the press of people was so intense that, to his great irritation, Mireia had dropped him off at a stop light instead looking for a parking spot. He tried to convince her to pull through the valet section of the hotel they were staying in, but her patience had run out.


    The air was humid and unseasonably cool, but at least it wasn¡¯t going to rain¡ªthey wouldn¡¯t have to worry about getting flooded out, or smothered by steamy wet pavement. Bernard was comfortable in a dark blue t-shirt, printed with the stark white silhouette of a Marlin sailfish arcing majestically over the open ocean¡ªsubtly suggestive of his growing desire to escape.


    Despite the din and throng, he had no trouble finding his cousins, thanks to Jez.


    ¡°For the love of tacos, just pick one!¡±


    Fifteen-year-old Jez Blackwood was short and played roller derby¡ªwhich was the only team sport she hadn¡¯t been banned from, yet. The brash upper pitches of her voice rang off the cavernous brick walls of the entrance to the City Market, below the iconic Greek Revivalist architecture of Market Hall.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care which one! They¡¯re all the same!


    Her brother¡¯s words were softer. Bernard only heard them because he knew what to expect: ¡°You¡¯re such a plebe, Jezzie. Leave me alone.¡±


    Ruben was fourteen, and still shorter than most people, but his long blonde ponytail, buttoned off-white shirt, khaki shorts, and repurposed 1970s camera bag gave him an archaic sense of style that was hard to miss.


    Bernard dragged his feet.


    The smells of food, sweat, gasoline, and horses hung heavy in the air. Charleston¡¯s streets were just barely wide enough for two lanes of traffic; and, in far too many cases, only one. It was a veritable labyrinth, traversed by pedestrians as often as cars, horse-drawn touring carriages, and the occasional bike taxi.


    A small family walked by, and he caught wind of their conversation, ¡°. . . I heard they sold slaves, here.¡±


    He was glad for the distraction, and called out, ¡°Actually, that¡¯s a myth.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± a woman asked, ¡°But wasn¡¯t this a market, even back then?¡±


    The City Market was widely known as ¡°The Slave Market,¡± and many believed that slaves had been sold here. Some locals claimed it had been a market for slaves to sell things at. Given everything he knew, Bernard doubted the story. It smacked of a rhetoric popularly pushed in the first half of the 20<sup>th</sup> Century, which suggested that slave masters had been somehow kind and merciful, and that slaves lived well. ¡°It was different here,¡± he¡¯d been told. ¡°Slaves were treated better in Charleston.¡±


    The mere idea of a person being sold in irons and tortured seven days a week, forced to surrender all autonomy, then being allowed some measure of independence to make money on ¡°their own wares¡± every now and then¡ªto even handle money at all¡ªwas insane to him.


    He pointed down the street, toward the harbor, ¡°Yeah, it was a market, but slaves were auctioned as property down by the harbor, closer to the docks, not sold next to the corn and tomatoes.¡±


    A man responded, ¡°I hadn¡¯t thought about it that way!¡±


    He was glad that he wouldn¡¯t have to argue this case with some know-it-all who had the ¡®truth¡¯ on good faith from their forefathers. The way long-standing popular beliefs blended insidiously with real history in the South was enough to make anyone¡¯s head spin.


    They parted a few minutes later after the lingering banter of a typical Southern farewell.


    Happy to have set the record straight for even just a few people, he moved on reluctantly toward the sound of Jez¡¯s voice shrieking over the mass of people, ¡°Just hurry up, would you? Uggghhhh.¡±


    He checked his watch. Mireia had only been gone for fifteen minutes. They had three hours before they were supposed to take Ruben home.


    Somewhere behind him, across the intersection in the Charleston Place Hotel¡¯s glossy indoor mall, was Waldenbooks, its windows dominating the street corner with colorful rows of bestsellers and local lore. It made him wish Ruben was shopping for ghost stories. Then Bernard could be looking at something he enjoyed, while keeping an eye on both his cousins from across the store where he wouldn¡¯t have to listen to this.


    It didn¡¯t have to be the bookstore. Anything with closed walls would do, so he could wander and look at something interesting.


    The much-loved Market¡¯s covered shopping corridor divided Market Street into North and South Market, sprawling beneath a partially closed area before becoming an open-air pedestrian market. From Church Street to State Street, foot traffic was divided by a wealth of artisan wares right down the middle and bordered on both sides. The longest section stretched between State and East Bay. Numerous shops and restaurants both sides, from start to finish.


    In short: there were dozens of things Bernard knew he could be doing instead of listening to his cousins bicker. God knew, he¡¯d rather be stuck in some uppity gentlemen¡¯s shoe store on King Street with Ruben than this.


    It wasn¡¯t that he didn¡¯t like art, but these had to be some of the blandest, most boring paintings he had ever seen. They belonged in the hands of a tourist, or in a beach house, or hotel bathroom; not on his cousin¡¯s bedroom wall. Opposite the Mandala? He couldn¡¯t see where else Ruben planned on putting it, and he couldn¡¯t see anything the Market had to offer as ever achieving Feng Shui with that. Maybe something at the mineral shop down the street that sold worldly folk art, but not here.


    As a small child, Ruben had enjoyed doing ordinary magic tricks, and everyone thought it was adorable. Then he seemed to grow out of the phase, and they thought it was over. To the dismay of all, and especially his Catholic parents, that was when he opened up with claims of abandoning the world of illusions for a better understanding of that mystical, hidden side of reality; or what he called ¡°real magic.¡± His camera bag was full of tarot cards, pendulum, chakra stones, and various other odds and ends.


    As much as Bernard loved to read fantasy, the concept of a ¡°real deal¡± wasn¡¯t something he was prepared absorb. He would have liked nothing less than to see his cousin go back to doing card and coin tricks, without hearing a word on psychic perception.


    Jez let out a loud, echoing sigh, ¡°You don¡¯t physically know what you¡¯re looking for, do you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll know when I see it,¡± her brother answered simply.


    Bernard called out, ¡°Do you have to be so loud?¡±


    Groaning loudly, Jez turned away from him, and threw her hands up, seeing Bernard, ¡°Oh, thank, GOD. Where in the world is Miri? Parking the car?¡±


    Bernard checked his old Timex again. ¡°She said she might be a while. Let¡¯s get going.¡±


    Ruben straightened from his inspection of a series of watercolor prints¡ªclassic sunny images of the popular homes along Rainbow Row¡ªwith a far-off, thoughtful look that everyone had learned to be wary of.


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    His sister set her hands on her hips, ¡°What is it, now?¡±


    He gently set a print back in its place and turned to them, ¡°Remember what I said about that reading this morn¡ª"


    ¡°Oh, you and your stupid, stupid cards!¡± she cried, and she rolled her eyes to Bernard, ¡°He pulled the Death card this morning. Woo, I¡¯m so scared.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say it was scary!¡± he drew his hands into fists by his sides, ¡°I¡¯m just saying: be careful! It¡¯s a sign of change, not danger. The other half of the reading¡ª¡°


    ¡°I really don¡¯t care,¡± she snapped brusquely as she walked away, ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with¡ªit¡¯s already eleven o¡¯clock. We don¡¯t have all day, you know.¡±


    Ruben sighed in resignation as he followed her. ¡°The inversed Seven of Wands represents defeat.¡±


    On any other day, Bernard would have started window shopping while trying to keep up with his cousins, but given the morning he¡¯d just had, even though Ruben¡¯s strange tone made him want to go back to this normal mode of operations, he wanted to hear the rest of what was in those thrice-accursed magic cards.


    He grabbed his cousin¡¯s shoulder¡ªfaster and harder than he¡¯d meant to, but effectively gaining Ruben¡¯s attention. Clearing his throat, he murmured, ¡°Sorry. I didn¡¯t want you to run into that lady back there.¡±


    Ruben regarded him for a moment, a cryptic expression flickering briefly across the boy¡¯s face before he shrugged and carried on, casually, ¡°The Tower represents sudden changes, which will undoubtedly result in drastic transformations¡ªthat''s Death¡ªbut the reversed Seven of Wands suggests the potential for failure due to powerlessness. Perhaps the change brings too much too soon. No,¡± his tone grew distant, ¡°that doesn''t feel right. Extraneous factors. Like walls closing in.¡±


    Ruben called his sister back and stopped to look at a stall of prints, still talking to Bernard while his fingers scrolled through a stack like a card file, ¡°I pulled a fourth card, hoping it would clarify the reading. That turned out to be a mistake. I should have just left the cards alone.¡±


    ¡°Why? What was the fourth card?¡± What could be worse than failure?


    Ruben paused, contemplative, ¡°The World. But its meaning was unclear.¡±


    Bernard felt his brows rise. ¡°Don''t you look at these cards every day?¡±


    He got an eyeroll for that. ¡°Yes, but the readings come as much from the cards as from intuition, and,¡± Ruben narrowed his eyes at a line drawing of the skeletal Cooper River Bridges, but his focus was somewhere past them, ¡°all I saw was this gray cloud over the card. Its meaning remains to be seen. I''ve been doing this for two years and that''s the strangest reading I''ve ever heard of.¡±


    ¡°Can''t you just move the cards around or draw new ones?¡±


    Ruben reached up and tapped Bernard¡¯s head, ¡°Intuition, Bern. You have to listen to what feels right.¡± Then he turned back to the prints, thoughtful. ¡°Perhaps the meaning isn¡¯t mine to discover.¡±


    Bernard shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to shake off the return of that icy block of lead in his lower back, ¡°Sure it''s not your own paranoia?¡±


    Ruben looked up at him, green eyes meeting his own. ¡°Sure you¡¯re not projecting your own feelings onto me? If you don''t believe me, then why do I sense so much fear from you? And why is it that, for once, you suddenly seem to believe me?¡±


    Jez was ignoring them, until she realized her brother wasn¡¯t look at prints. ¡°Are you shopping or talking? Can we get this over with?¡±


    Ruben dropped his voice, ¡°Can you not feel the universe shifting around us? Or am I the only one who gets to be dizzy, as always. . . .¡±


    Before Bernard could respond, Ruben patted his arm and moved on, smirking at his sister as he made some smart comment that was lost in the din of the crowds. They walked away, arguing as always, and Bernard followed along, casting a glance at his watch. When he looked up, he could have sworn someone was watching him, but the only change he noticed was a large black vulture sitting on a nearby building outside, watching the activities along South Market Street.


    The Downtown Peninsula was like a dream. Its beauty, walkability, and wealth of good seafood made up for its blistering late summer climate and accursedly confusing, readily flooded streets. Aside from the narrow roads, it was really a shame that modern cities weren¡¯t built this way. Beyond the Peninsula, areas like West Ashley were much like any other city in the country: covered in stretches of asphalt and purpose-built for car traffic.


    They strolled past stall after stall of jewelry, artwork, textiles, souvenirs, and the occasional antiques. Ruben stopped at the occasional stall, seemingly aimless but supposedly with intention. Through it all, Bernard couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that they were being watched, and not just because his cousins were acting still like children. Still, when he looked around, no one looked back.


    As they stopped at another stall, Jez prodded him with her radio, ¡°Have you heard from Mireia?¡±


    He shook his head and looked down at his watch again. It was getting close to an hour.


    Jez gripped her shoulder strap uneasily. ¡°I thought she was parking her car?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± the answer suddenly came to him, as he considered it aloud, ¡°she did say something about possibly meeting with a friend. Something about her dorm situation for college.¡±


    Jez crossed her arms, ¡°Well, is she parking her car or meeting with a friend? And why would that worry you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not worried!¡± he cried, alarmed.


    ¡°The hell you¡¯re not!¡± Jez said, jabbing him in the chest with her finger, ¡°You¡¯re a terrible liar, Bernie! Where is she?¡±


    He turned away uncomfortably, ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Yes you do.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t! Really! I don¡¯t know where she is! I just know she said to get started if she didn¡¯t show up in twenty minutes! Maybe she¡¯s checking into the room!¡±


    She grabbed his wrist, shaking his watch at him, ¡°Yeah? Well how long do you think that takes? It¡¯s been almost an hour!¡±


    Call the cops in an hour, Mireia had said. Bernard glanced nervously back toward the entrance. Then he dropped his voice, ¡°Look, you two, she went to meet someone, and neither of us is sure what¡¯s going on. She said if she wasn¡¯t back in an hour to call the cops.¡±


    His cousins both gawked at him.


    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake!¡± Jez shouted at him, drawing cries of dismay from several vendors and bystanders, ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t you tell us something like that from the start?¡±


    ¡°I told you it¡¯s weird, okay?¡± Bernard said, ¡°We¡¯ll explain¡ªI¡¯ll tell you later, I swear.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna tell me right now,¡± she snapped under her breath, shaking. Then she grabbed her brother¡¯s wrist in her other hand, ¡°Come on Rubie, let¡¯s find someplace quieter than this.¡±


    Ruben went along without complaint, quietly echoing her sentiments that Bernard should have told them the truth from the start.


    Jez¡¯s idea of ¡°quiet¡± was outside, against the shaded wall facing North Market Street. A voice like hers would still echo against the brickwork.


    ¡°Talk,¡± she ordered, poking Bernard in the chest. Ruben stood with his arms folded in dismay.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe me if I did,¡± he said, pushing her away. ¡°It¡¯s really weird, Jez. I¡¯d have to show you. All I can tell you is she¡¯s with some stranger down at the Marina.¡±


    ¡°You could have told me that!¡± she yelled, alarming him and gaining several glances from up and down the street.


    ¡°What part of this is quiet?¡± he demanded.


    ¡°She could be in danger!¡±


    ¡°Jez,¡± Bernard hissed, ¡°He¡¯s two feet tall and scaly!¡±


    She froze, mid-retort, jaw dropping in shock. There was confusion on her face. Anger. Disgust. Doubt. Confusion again. Then she whispered, ¡°What the fuck is Aunt Rhonna feeding you? Did you eat a bad oyster or something? You know they¡¯re out of season.¡± She put a hand on his forehead, ¡°You don¡¯t seem sick.¡±


    Ruben said quietly, ¡°We should probably take him to the hospital, anyway.¡±


    Bernard pushed her away again, patting her shoulder, ¡°Mireia went to go leave it at the marina with some stranger I talked to on the phone. I told you you wouldn¡¯t believe me.¡±


    She turned to her brother and pushed him along toward the nearest shop, ¡°Come on, let¡¯s go call the cops . . . and an ambulance.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Bernard sighed, ¡°Just please don¡¯t tell them I said that, okay? This morning¡¯s been weird enough.¡±


    Ruben froze in his tracks, resisting his sister¡¯s forceful shoving. ¡°Maybe we should wait just a few more minutes.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Jez cried, ¡°She could be in danger!¡±


    A voice called out from their radios all at once, ¡°Are y¡¯all doing this thing or not?¡±


    Bernard turned, and breathed a sigh of relief when Mireia came running toward them up the sidewalk, her old lavender backpack bouncing along on her back.


    Oh, thank God. he thought. ¡°She¡¯s alive.¡±


    Mireia caught up to them easily, ¡°What are you all doing out here? I thought we were shopping?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s in the bag?¡± Jez asked.


    ¡°What?¡± Mireia stared at her blankly, then slowly turned Bernard suspiciously, ¡°What did you tell her?¡±


    ¡°Can we go to lunch or the hotel room first?¡± he asked.


    Jez smirked, ¡°Maybe, unless Bernie has food poisoning. What¡¯s in the bag?¡±


    Mireia glared at Bernard, ¡°You swore you wouldn¡¯t tell anyone.¡±


    ¡°He wanted to talk to her anyway!¡±


    Jez added, ¡°Don¡¯t blame Bernie! It¡¯s not his fault he¡¯s a terrible liar! And easy to interrogate!¡±


    Bernard started toward her, when a hand landed on his chest. Ruben put himself between them, setting his other hand on Jez¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Stop.¡±


    The boy¡¯s eyes were on the ground as he said, ¡°Something really weird is going on, and you¡¯re all making it worse. Can we finish what we came here for? I feel like I¡¯m on a friggin¡¯ rollercoaster. I just want to find what I came here for and go lay down. Whatever happens after that, you three can leave me out of it.¡±


    Jez groaned, rolling her eyes. ¡°You told me earlier you weren¡¯t sick, so would you stop acting like the whole universe¡ª¡±


    ¡°Is spinning and tilting like a carnival ride?¡± Ruben snapped, meeting her eyes with a sudden seriousness that caused her to step away from him. Then he looked at the Mireia. ¡°There¡¯s nothing in the bag, is there?¡±


    Mireia shook her head, ¡°No. I left it at the Marina, and I hope I never see it again.¡±


    Bernard gave a sigh of relief, ¡°Thank God.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s real?¡± Jez asked. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure anymore,¡± she intoned wearily, ¡°Some talking half-dead creature Bernie found on the beach this morning. I¡¯m with Rubie. Let¡¯s finish what we came here for so I can take him home, and I¡¯ll explain everything over dinner.¡±


    Jez¡¯s features wrinkled in disgust. ¡°Fine.¡±


    Bernard noticed, however, that as they moved along, she put extra special effort into bothering her brother, who was now too cranky to deal with her. Wanting nothing to do with this newfound vigor in their relationship, Bernard and Mireia hung back to give them some distance, instead watching an elderly Gullah-Geechee woman sitting among her sweetgrass baskets, smiling as she worked the strands of grass, dark fingers elegantly threading it in around and out, in around and out. . . .


    After a moment, Mireia bought a small set of sweetgrass coasters for her dorm room. While he waited for her, Bernard looked over a stand of baseball hats. A brown one with a black shark silhouette had caught his eye, as a nice compliment to his shirt.


    Together, they moved along through the market, he with his customary casual stride, a soft smile on his tanned face. For now, things were as normal as he could hope for, and he was savoring that for all it was worth. Somewhere near the end of the shopping corridor, Ruben finally chose a large print of a shrimp boat at night, gleaming peacefully on a shining silver sea beneath a full moon. To Bernard¡¯s surprise, it actually looked like it might fit the boy¡¯s eclectic bedroom.


    Jez thumped him on the back of the head, ¡°We came all the way down here for a picture of a boat. I hope you¡¯re happy.¡±


    Ruben smiled slyly, ¡°No, we came all the way down here for a painting of the moon.¡±


    At first, Jez looked confused, until comprehension dawned on her face, ¡°Dad¡¯s going to kill you.¡±


    ¡°Jez! Please don¡¯t tell him!¡± Ruben cried, clutching the paper parcel to his chest, ¡°Please!!¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t, I won¡¯t,¡± she reassured him, ¡°Fiiiine. But you better hope he doesn¡¯t figure it out.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just a boat, after all, isn¡¯t it,¡± Ruben said quietly, his fingers tightening on the brown craft paper bearing his prize.


    Bernard was confused, ¡°What¡¯s the big deal?¡±


    Ruben flushed, glancing at the floor, ¡°In Celtic Wicca, the Goddess is represented by the moon. Dad doesn¡¯t know about it, yet. He¡¯s already banned witchcraft from the house, but he doesn¡¯t necessarily know what it looks like without the usual tools. He¡¯s lose his mind if he knew about this. Anyway . . . it¡¯s not witchcraft if I¡¯m not doing magic. It¡¯s just another way of looking at the world. Wicca¡¯s a system of beliefs; not necessarily the practices themselves.¡±


    Jez put an arm across his shoulders, sighing, ¡°He¡¯s not going to see it that way.¡±


    ¡°Yeah . . . I¡¯m aware.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Bernard said, ¡°I¡¯m glad to know you¡¯re not just crazy.¡±


    He was trying to be helpful, and the statement drew a laugh from his cousin, but there was a bitter edge to it.


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s still nuts!¡± Jez laughed.


    Mireia glanced at her watch meaningfully, ¡°At least he has your support. Your dad¡¯s super cool, but you don¡¯t want to anger him any more than I do. So as far as we know, Rubie bought a painting of a boat.¡±


    Ruben added, ¡°And then you took me home, and I never mention a talking dead creature from the beach this morning.¡±


    Mireia froze solid, wide-eyed.


    With a broad smile smugly plastered across his face, he said, ¡°But what do I know? I¡¯m the crazy one.¡±


    Bernard walked past them, ¡°It¡¯s lunch time.¡±


    ¡°How¡ª¡± Mireia stammered, ¡°How can you talk about food?¡±


    He shoved his hands in his pockets, and turned on his heel to face them, ¡°Anything¡¯s better than this conversation! I just want to sit my happy half-blood ass at a table and ponder the super weird morning I had over a nice normal fried shrimp Po¡¯ Boy and a glass of Diet Coke! If the shrimp talks back, I¡¯m taking myself to the hospital, and if that creature shows up again, I really am going to call someone!¡±


    Mireia set her hands on his shoulders, stopping him, ¡°Look, Bernie: you have no idea. Let me take Rubie home, first, okay? You and Jez can go . . . take your stuff out of my car and go grab a sandwich at a coffee shop or something while I¡¯m gone, and we¡¯ll figure out dinner. We seriously need to talk, and it¡¯s better if it¡¯s not here, and he¡¯s not here.¡±


    He shrugged, ¡°Okay,¡± then he pointed at the restaurant on the corner across from them, ¡°Right here.¡±


    For a moment, she studied the place, and then she nodded, ¡°The crowds will work to our advantage if no one can hear us over the noise.¡±


    Jez grabbed their arms, ¡°Glad we¡¯ve got that figured out! Let¡¯s go. That sandwich is sounding great.¡±

 Transformation

    Many eons ago, before any dinosaur ever laid eyes on a spaceship, someone came up with a way to heal the body almost instantly. The ability to craft such technology was long-lost, but a few devices yet remained.


    Sam Rizek was good on her word. Within a couple of hours, someone arrived with a bioscanner for Lasoren. The brilliant blue light healed his tiny body in minutes, leaving no visible evidence that he¡¯d nearly died. Halfway through, however, the process was disrupted as he felt his organs heave in an unfamiliar way. His body convulsed, and pushed out waves of bile, blood, salt water, and sand. The doctor had to stop and wait for the purge to end before they could finish the healing.


    Lasoren still bore the agony of pain throughout his body in the aftermath, but once it was done, the damage was gone. The phantom pain would eventually fade.


    In the event that Sam and Dr. Maesera couldn¡¯t acquire the bioscanner in a timely fashion, Lasoren did have just one trick in his playbook that others didn¡¯t: thanks to a quirk in the design of his human body, he could temporarily heal himself by shifting, reforming his damaged body parts as his DNA transitioned from birth form to human, but the ability came at a severe cost. The injuries would return with time. Like an elastic band, his body would eventually remember what had happened yesterday¡ªthough he still did not.


    Why can¡¯t I remember it all?


    Was it because he¡¯d almost drowned? Was the fractured memory a result of trauma? He should have at least remembered shifting bodies! Shapeshifting was messier and more intense for him than for other Ryozaem, so he had to be very careful and conscious about when and where he did it. His last clear memory was on a street, walking toward the parking garage where he¡¯d left his car. After that . . . pain, fear, and possibly drowning. He wasn¡¯t sure if the memory of drowning was real, or influenced by the knowledge that he¡¯d been found washed up out of the ocean.


    What the hell was he supposed to tell his counselor?


    Dr. Maesera refused to allow him to even consider walking, so he allowed himself to be carried to a bathtub. As he was lowered into the basin, the doctor said, ¡°You know, it¡¯s usually advised that you do this somewhere where you can get a good ground.¡±


    On the rare occasion that he shifted, he always chose to use a bathtub so he could dispose of the messy remains more easily. There was a slight risk of electrocution from the energy output from a normal transformation, but he¡¯d never had that problem with his.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that kind of transition, Doc.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± The doctor¡¯s head tilted slightly, stopping short of an avian expression of curiosity. Lasoren recognized the verbalization as a cover for customary trilling, and didn¡¯t respond.


    As much as he also preferred to have privacy, he agreed to allow the doctor to witness the transformation and take a tissue sample. It felt weird to have someone standing there, so he stared at the porcelain floor and rubberized nonslip mat, and focused on drawing out his other body, the instructions written in his flesh, just waiting for his command.


    Depending the type of transition being made, it felt a little different for everyone. Many described it as an electric feeling. Like a charge building up in the flesh. For Lasoren, it was like fire. His entire body burned like a furnace.


    It was a painful business on the best days: the expansion and contraction of his bones, his entire body pulling and splitting as his muscles surged and his organs inflated and reshaped themselves. His gastralia¡ªthe narrow ribs running from his breastplate to his longitudinal pubis¡ªdissolved, excruciatingly at first, until they were gone, and left him with a momentary sense of relief.


    The most painful part of transformation involved everything between his back legs. The changing of his hip bones, the transition between joint sockets, and the violently agonizing shift from a cloaca to mammalian body parts . . . and going back again was worse. Like his reptilian ancestors and avian descendants, all of his lower bodily functions occurred through the same orifice. Mammals were split. Though he couldn¡¯t be certain, he wouldn¡¯t have been surprised to learn that he was blacking out during that stage.


    In his birth form, the bones of his sacral vertebrae (his lower back) were sandwiched between his ilia to support body and tail across the fulcrum of his pelvis. His pelvis warped and splayed for an upright body and his caudal vertebrae¡ªhis tail¡ªreduced itself to a fifth sacral bone. The itching of hair growing in all over his body signaled the end of his transformation.


    And he¡¯d learned to accomplish it all without screaming. It would never do to have someone hear him and think a man was being murdered. Still: he lay panting on the bathtub floor with tears flowing freely down his human face as he sobbed. That had hurt more than usual, but it had to be done.


    What he¡¯d told Bernard was true: he was no geneticist. The brilliant technicians who had built this body for him were lightyears beyond his education, which equated to little more than the average American high school diploma, with an added emphasis in anthropology. Like many of his people on Earth, he specialized in human mimicry, and not much more outside of a few job-specific functions. So he truly had no idea how his body worked. At best, he was aware that multiple methods of shapeshifting had been developed over the ages, the initial technique created by some unknown race of beings and handed down from time immemorial, only to be mostly forgotten and resurrected as recently as a few hundred years ago (by Terran count). Much like the bioscanners, it predated his own people, and possibly every known race in their sector.


    He could feel the doctor¡¯s gentle hand on his shoulder. The man was saying something, but he couldn¡¯t make it out through the pain, disorientation, and the throbbing, pounding pulse in his ears.


    ¡°What were they thinking?¡±


    He finally heard the question, but had no answers.


    He gripped the edges of the tub, and hauled himself to his feet, shaking. The doctor leapt in to help, setting aside a transparent monitor full of medical data.


    The agony of transformation had one last phase, not at all helped by the sudden weight of muscle mass and engorged fat cells on his weakened skeleton. Deep in his human chest, his four-chambered heart pounded blood through his new mass with dizzying speed. That would all pass soon, so he¡¯d just have to walk it off. It wouldn¡¯t kill him. What might be a problem would be if he didn¡¯t eat something. Immediately. This body craved food.


    ¡°Will you be okay if I go handle this sample?¡±


    Lasoren nodded, staring at the floor, which was suddenly so very, very far away, and grunted under his breath, ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m used to this. Go ahead.¡±


    A few minutes in the shower washed the translucent, globular remains of shapeshifting media down the drain. The lubricated material had acted as a matrix to construct his current form, and it contained critical data that the doctor would hopefully be able to use. Whenever he shifted, Lasoren was careful not to leave anything behind where a human could find it. Even degraded, it still contained enough genetic material to cause a disastrous scene in the wrong hands. Thankfully, that wouldn''t be the case here.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    He hummed softly and muttered to himself, shakily working his human lips and larynx to the tune of some catchy bluegrass ditty he¡¯d heard in a bar, just to be sure he still knew how to use them. Unlike most of his people, however, he¡¯d spent more time in this body than his real one, so the practice came more as habit than necessity.


    After that, he moved to the sink with painstaking slowness, stood against it, and stared into the mirror to be sure he¡¯d done it properly. Bleary-eyed and lightheaded, he gazed at the reflection.


    Loren Sanchez gazed back: a fat, pale, haggard-looking young man with disheveled blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Somewhere in his profile, he was a ¡°Caucasian US Citizen of Spanish descent.¡± One of the many crafted aspects of his identity bestowed upon him by his employers. ¡°Born in Miami, Florida, 1974.¡±


    Still panting, a sudden wave of disgust overtook his empty, pleading stomach, and he gripped the marble until his fingers hurt. He gasped into the basin, his gut lurching into the back of his throat, but it never finished the job.


    Tearing himself away from the image, Loren grabbed a towel and dried himself off, trying his best to regain some decency.


    It wasn¡¯t being human that disgusted him. It was knowing what he had to do. He couldn¡¯t look at himself in any body, knowing what he was about to become.


    I¡¯m going to ruin that boy¡¯s life.


    The thought had been on his mind for days.


    Humans were adaptable, flexible creatures, but not nearly the hyper-adaptive beings Loren¡¯s employers seemed to think they were. While it was true that young humans were very adaptable, those years were critical to their development. The tension and trauma of the five-year-long Nightmare Case had done things to those children that no child of any species should have to experience¡ªand for what? Because his own people couldn¡¯t keep track of a pair of escaped lab rats? That case was the very reason he wasn¡¯t supposed to be here, today, but it seemed his orders were pushed by some cold-hearted Naka commander all the way at the top. No one else would have this kind of gall.


    Nothing about any of it added up properly, and the only thing he could chalk it up to was terrible judgement . . . or severe desperation.


    Nowhere in his contract agreement had anyone said anything about drafting human children who had already been put through hell and pulled from service.


    So much for company ethics.


    His stomach lurched again . . . and then his vision swam.


    Something was wrong. Something else, unrelated to the terrible assignment.


    A dull throb began in his limbs, coursed through every inch of his torso as it gained intensity, and shot straight up his spine with a splitting pain that made his eyes water. His head pulsated, the fatty mass of his human brain beating against his skull.


    Of all the things he¡¯d experienced as a shapeshifter, never, ever before had anything like this happened.


    Screaming, he clutched at his temples, and considered the awful possibility that he may need to shift back.


    Who was going to do the mission? He couldn¡¯t do this as a dog. Could he?


    No. No, he needed the full use of his human brain.


    The one that felt like it was exploding. His brain, and his whole body were on fire.


    His knees hit the bathroom floor.


    Everything pulsed.


    And everything burned.


    His body was trying to kill him.


    The doctor was back at his side, talking again, trying to figure out what was happening to him.


    ¡°Just make it stop,¡± he wept, ¡°Make it stop. Make it stop.¡±


    The pain went on, and on, and on, until just as quickly as it had started, it began to fade.


    He slid the rest of the way to the floor, leaning against the cabinet as he gasped for air. Beside him, the young medic waited, crouched with a syringe in one hand.


    ¡°Better?¡± Dr. Maesera asked him.


    Loren nodded weakly, and whispered, ¡°Yeah. Better. What¡¯d you do?¡±


    ¡°Just an anti-inflammatory drug. I took a risk and used one formulated for our kind. If that didn¡¯t work, I was going to call MHQ for more advanced assistance. Your external symptoms resembled either a debilitating migraine or an Ilaysian attack. I¡¯ve re-checked security, just in case. I¡¯ve never witnessed an event like that, before.¡±


    ¡°No. Wasn¡¯t Them. My body . . . it was my body. I don¡¯t understand what¡¯s happening. Like . . . everything was on fire. Whole body . . . just lit up. Doc . . . somethin¡¯s up with my Ka¡¯dour.¡± He couldn¡¯t bring himself to pronounce the trilled ¡°aa,¡± but the doctor had no trouble understanding him. In English, they called it a symbiote. A cellular lifeform that worked to support normal cell functions, resulting in longer lives¡ªand in some variants near-immortality.


    ¡°Kaadour-kaima is supposed to be healing you, even as a human.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Loren groaned, ¡°Cain¡¯t explain it, doc. Sounds like it saved my life this mornin¡¯ and it did the job just now, but somethin¡¯ ain¡¯t right. It¡¯s . . . sluggish. Like, y¡¯know how the first time ya shift, y¡¯gotta wait for your brain to catch up? I feel like I gotta do that every time, except it hurts, and it keeps gettin¡¯ worse. I¡¯ve only been in this body four years ¡®n I feel like ¡®m dyin¡¯.¡±


    He dragged himself to his feet with the doctor¡¯s help. He was still dizzy, but his head was starting to clear, more than it had since this misadventure began in Beaufort. It occurred to him that the doctor had given him something they weren¡¯t supposed to have, which could get the man deported. He offered a weak smile. ¡°That¡¯s a hell of a risk you took. Thanks. I won¡¯t tell anyone.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d appreciate that. Thank you. Do you want me to call your supervisor?¡±


    ¡°No. I just wanna eat. A lot.¡±


    His eyes fell on a stack of clothes. Khaki pants, tropical shirt, boat shoes, and a granola bar.


    The doctor explained, ¡°The Captain¡ªI mean, Sam Lurizek left that for you.¡±


    Loren snatched the granola bar, ignoring the clothing as he tore the package open, stuffed nearly the whole bar in his mouth at once, and fumbled for the sink, intending to drink straight from the spigot like a wild animal. A glass of water was conveniently placed in his hands.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he gasped after a moment, ¡°How many of those do we have?¡±


    ¡°Ease up before you injure yourself. There¡¯s a full carton in the galley. How much do you typically eat after you shift?¡±


    Loren shrugged, ¡°I dunno. A lot. I¡¯ve only done it a few times, and I don¡¯t have any memory of last time . . . so there¡¯s no telling how long it¡¯s been since I¡¯ve eaten last. I think it mighta been yesterday, but I¡¯d have to check a calendar to be sure. Lately I¡¯ve pretty much always been hungry, though. I feel like I¡¯m always eating.¡±


    Dr. Maesera frowned, entering something on his handheld monitor, ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I know. It¡¯s still a human body, and I need to take care of it.¡±


    The doctor shook his head, ¡°What I mean is that you shouldn¡¯t be hungry like that. Shapeshifting makes you hungry of course because it requires so much energy. At least some portion of that energy comes from your own body¡¯s reserves, so it¡¯s natural to need food after the fact, but not continuously as you¡¯ve described. There are a few human issues that could cause that, but I can¡¯t be sure, since you¡¯re Ryozae, and given your other symptoms. Your real body is also drastically underweight. Your ideal weight is around fourteen pounds, and you¡¯re closer to eight. You should be coexisting with your human body, not fighting it. Something¡¯s definitely wrong. Would you mind if I asked a colleague to run some tests on that sample?¡±


    Loren shrugged again and started dressing, ¡°Go for it. I started asking for a new body last summer after working a bad case down in the Caymans, but I haven¡¯t heard anything back. I ain¡¯t been right since then. I ain¡¯t no damn action star, and that was the second case last year tried t¡¯ kill me. I¡¯ve been tired. Tired and hungry, all the time.¡± He turned and studied the man briefly. ¡°I can¡¯t tell if your diction has changed or my brain has caught up. It seems less formal.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s probably your brain, in this case,¡± the doctor murmured, unexpectedly embarrassed, ¡°But this isn¡¯t the first time someone has made that observation. It¡¯s a terrible habit of mine.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that. It¡¯s just interesting. Do you do it in our language, or just in English?¡±


    In the mirror, he watched the doctor¡¯s face flush, as the man answered in an archaic-sounding dialect Loren had never heard before, like an elegant variation of the old reptilian form his parents spoke, as opposed to the modern avian dialects he was otherwise accustomed to, ¡°Irria. Seiyassei¡¯diu-ahn xonn, xiaanyu¡¯zu¡ª . . . zuli.¡± (Indeed. I¡¯m afraid (I) do, qu¡ªquite often.)


    The sound was refreshing, as something Loren¡¯s primitive ears didn¡¯t have to strain to understand. The doctor was clearly uncomfortable, however, for some reason Loren couldn¡¯t begin to fathom¡ªand he was too hungry to try. Instead, he finished dressing and patted the man¡¯s arm, ¡°Didn¡¯t mean to pry, Doc. Think I¡¯m gonna head upstairs and look for those granola bars. It ain¡¯t gonna be much, but it¡¯ll get me to my next meal.¡±


    The doctor nodded, with a look about him as though he were coming back from some far-off place, ¡°Yes¡ªright. The¡ªoh, there¡¯s a case of starship rations to the rear of the pantry. They¡¯re designed for our kind, so they¡¯re significantly denser and burn off more gradually than granola. Will you need a ride?¡±


    Loren smiled, thinking of that beautiful Lexus in the parking lot, and imagining the purr of its still-new engine and the smell of fresh leather, ¡°You know, I¡¯d like that. Thank you.¡±


    The rations were standard grade and tasted awful, but it was the first time he could remember feeling satiated in a long time. He needed a new body, but this one would simply have to do for now.

 Forgotten Lives

    ¡°Can¡¯t you tell me anything?¡±


    Bernard rolled his eyes at his cousin, and continued eating his clam chowder.


    The moment Mireia was gone, Jez had dragged Bernard to the nearest sandwich shop so she could get more information out of him. He¡¯d told her very little, and she wouldn¡¯t let up until she knew everything.


    ¡°So you just expect me to believe that you found some talking creat¡ª¡±


    ¡°Jez,¡± he finally said, setting down his spoon so he could use both hands to stop her with a single open-palmed gesture, ¡°One of the last things I heard him say was, ¡®not everything in the galaxy is big enough to see.¡¯ He said frustratingly little of use, for how much he speaks. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on, and I don¡¯t know what I can tell you, except I think my dad might be involved. Mireia seems to have some kind of plan, so could you just wait?¡±


    Her eyes widened, and she felt silent, glancing back her roast beef sandwich as though it might bite her back.


    After lunch she went swimming, still silent while she dove the to the bottom of the pool. Then she lapped its length continuously as though she could swim her way out of everything that was happening, and everything that was coming.


    If anything, the exercise seemed to be making her more angry.


    Bernard read a book while she was in the water, but the lurid fantasy did little to distract him. In some ways, it made him feel worse. If Ruben¡¯s abilities were even halfway real¡ªif anything that had happened that morning was even slightly real¡ªthen he could no longer be sure of what wasn¡¯t real. Truthfully, the only comfort he gained from the book was the subversive thrill of knowing he wasn¡¯t supposed to have it in the first place.


    Eventually Jez stopped, and pulled herself up onto the stairs at the other end of the pool. For several long minutes she remained there, contemplating the water¡¯s surface before taking herself to the sauna. By the time she came back she seemed to have calmed down¡ªher motions and posture were less rigid¡ªbut remained silent.


    Once Mireia returned, they took a walk down Meeting Street, killing time until dinner with a stroll through White Point Gardens at the tip of the Peninsula, then eventually returned to North Market, arriving at the restaurant Bernard had suggested earlier. Jez remained mostly silent for the entire walk.


    It was crowded, and a little noisy, but it had a comfortable surfside atmosphere, and a good seafood menu. They requested a corner or a booth, and they got lucky with a table in the back. It wasn¡¯t a corner, but it was close enough.


    They settled down and ordered drinks.


    Bernard ordered a glass of Diet Coke, Mireia and Jez each got a glass of sweetened iced tea, and Mireia also ordered a glass of water. It was the little things that were starting to matter to him: the normal details, in contrast to the strange world they were setting foot into, where green, quill-tailed dinosaur ancestors came back from space, and crawled out of the ocean speaking his long-lost father¡¯s name. The syrupy concoctions were familiar, and he was clinging to that for all it was worth. The cold plastic cups were wet, and real. He couldn¡¯t stop running his fingers over the dripping condensate, reassuring himself of its physical presence.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hear it,¡± Jez said, ¡°What the fuck is going on?¡±


    Bernard took a deep breath, about to explain, when Mireia held a hand up, ¡°You don¡¯t have any tact, Bern, and this invisible enemy thing has me scared out of my wits.¡±


    He shrugged and leaned back with his drink, ¡°Save me the trouble of sounding like a lunatic.¡±


    Coke had never tasted so great.


    Mireia did a terrible job of explaining it, in his opinion. Bernard had to remind her that she¡¯d thought it was a fish at first, and he had to remind her what a Marasuchus was, and he had to stop her from digressing over her misadventure with the lost tourist before she came back to the beach.


    ¡°We all know what tourists sound like, ¡®Rei.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡± she responded, ¡°Well, it¡¯s the only part of this story that makes any sense.¡±


    They paused long enough to order appetizers of fried clams and calamari, and they were finished telling the tale by the time it arrived.


    Jez stared off into space, considering her sweet tea while they piled seafood onto their plates.


    Then Bernard told her what Loren had said about his father.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know what I¡¯m supposed to think,¡± he said, ¡°We thought he¡¯d left for another woman. I¡¯d prefer to stick to that story, even though it sucks. This one¡¯s too weird.¡±


    Mireia laughed, ¡°You know, if you¡¯d been younger, you¡¯d have been mad at him for not telling you the truth and taking you with him.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I guess,¡± Bernard sighed, considering it, ¡°Or I would have been mad at him for not telling us the truth and working from home. How cool would that be?¡±


    A strange expression overcame her. Bernard and Jez both waited for a moment before Jez prompted gently, ¡°You okay, Mir?¡±


    Mireia shook her head, ¡°No. No, no I¡¯m not. We¡¯re . . . how do I even explain this . . . y¡¯all, some weird stuff happened on that boat.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s more to this?¡± Bernard asked, stunned.


    ¡°I was on that boat for close to forty-five minutes, Bern,¡± she said, ¡°Things happened on that boat.¡±


    ¡°Like what? How much weirder is this going to get?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± she said, struggling to keep her tone down, ¡°At this point, how in the world should I have any idea how strange this is going to get? Talking dinosaurs and shapeshifters? That¡¯s your territory, Bern. You¡¯re the one with all the fantasy books and art stuff, and the video games and RPGs. I¡¯m the normal one, remember?¡±


    ¡°Thanks!¡± Jez exclaimed.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never tried to kill anyone with a hockey stick!¡± Mireia shot back.


    ¡°For the last time, I wasn¡¯t trying to kill that girl!¡±


    ¡°You fractured her knee!¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to!¡±


    ¡°It sure looked like you meant it!¡±


    Bernard piled some more appetizer onto his plate. ¡°This is great calamari. Be a shame if it got cold.¡±


    Mireia moved her drink out of his way, still arguing with Jez about a hockey match two years ago¡ªthe breaking point that had caused her parents to pull her from team sports until they could sort out her anger issues. It was better than the previous conversation, so he left them to it.


    All too soon, however, the waitress returned, with a new problem in tow.


    A hefty young man followed her, barely older than themselves. Dressed in a Hawaiian-styled shirt and khaki slacks, he had pale skin, round blue eyes, and blond hair, parted on the left and neatly combed.


    Thanking their waitress, he helped himself to a spot at their table.


    He seemed friendly, but Bernard and Jez shifted uneasily in their seats, sharing glances that bore the same question: What the hell? But Mireia¡¯s expression was different: distinctly ruffled in a way that Bernard could not readily parse in the few seconds he had before his questions were answered.


    ¡°This is a nice choice,¡± the stranger observed of the restaurant.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t,¡± Mireia said, ¡°You did not just track us down.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± he said, ¡°I tried to tell you this ain¡¯t over.¡±


    ¡°I told you we didn¡¯t want any part of it!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want it, either, but we gotta work with what we¡¯ve been handed.¡±


    Bernard felt his skin crawl. The toady rasp was gone, but the attitude and the accent were the same.


    Jez interrupted them, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve met. You are . . . ?¡±


    The man cleared his throat and extended a hand, ¡°Loren Sanchez. I gave a different name earlier, but it¡¯s better if I don¡¯t say it again. As far as anyone knows, we¡¯ve been very lucky so far.¡±


    There¡¯s no way, Bernard thought, No way that¡¯s Lasoren.


    But Mireia had said something about shapeshifters, and the only reason he or Jez had let it go had been because of his cousin¡¯s urgent need to defend the time she put another girl in the hospital¡ªthe nearest thing to they¡¯d had to normal conversation since they sat down.


    Jez shook his hand slowly, uncertainly, ¡°Jesebelle Blackwood.¡±


    ¡°Jezebel?¡± he asked.


    ¡°With an ¡®S¡¯ two ¡®L¡¯s¡¯ and an ¡®E¡¯, ¡®cause my parents were high or something,¡± Jez managed nervously, ¡°Or just call me Jez.¡±


    He smiled, ¡°I knew how it was spelled. I just kept hearing a ¡®Z¡¯ all morning and realized I must have read it wrong, so I had to be sure.¡±


    She nodded, visibly suppressing a rising tidal wave, ¡°They were high.¡±


    The moment Loren looked away from her, however, she shot Bernard a look that was pure venom, as though somehow this were all his fault.


    Mireia smiled with a forced pleasantry, ¡°Bernard, you remember Loren? From the beach?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Bernard made himself answer, shaking Loren¡¯s hand, ¡°Yeah, this morning.¡±


    Loren passed her a bill, folded in such a way that he didn¡¯t flash it, but Bernard caught sight of a ¡°50¡± on the corner. ¡°From Dr. Maesera. In exchange for feeding me, because turning into this person takes a lot of energy, and I¡¯m starving. If you think you¡¯re having a bad day, just picture your whole body splitting apart and reforming, and forcibly expelling sand and salt water after almost drowning and waking up with your lungs on fire.¡±


    ¡°That was before you woke up,¡± Bernard told him, finally taking in Loren¡¯s identity.


    ¡°It was? Well, I did it again while I was healing. Lotta fun. Like puking up sandpaper,¡± he glanced around surreptitiously and dropped his voice, ¡°Seriously, this was a great choice. I don¡¯t think anyone heard a word of that, and the waitress cain¡¯t come from b¡¯hind me. We have seriously weird business to discuss, even by my standards, and I¡¯m willin¡¯ to bet Ms. Mireia ain¡¯t told you what we told her, yet.¡±


    She snorted ruefully, ¡°I don¡¯t know how you¡¯re supposed to tell people something like that, and I personally think you people are full of it, right now, so you know what? I told them we could eat first, so if you don¡¯t mind, we¡¯d like our dinner.¡±


    The waitress came back, and he ordered a garden salad. The choice surprised Bernard, who hadn¡¯t pictured him enjoying any sort of vegetable matter.-


    ¡°I¡¯m really sorry about this,¡± he said after she left, ¡°I¡¯m just doing my job¡ª¡°


    ¡°What?¡± Mireia asked, ¡°Hijacking our lives and our dinner plans?¡±


    Bernard glanced between them, feeling like he wanted to disappear, and Jez seemed equally uncomfortable with this turn of conversation.


    Loren seemed just as irritated, ¡°Look: I¡¯m sorry that things haven¡¯t gone as planned. I really am. Honestly, this is the strangest assignment I¡¯ve ever heard of, and I¡¯ll be the first to admit it hasn¡¯t been going well. For God¡¯s sake, I technically died last night, and I still don¡¯t know when or how. I¡¯m sorry I haven¡¯t met you all under better circumstances, but I¡¯m trying my best with what I¡¯ve got, here. It¡¯s just going to keep getting stranger and stranger, the more I tell you, so¡ª¡°


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Can you not wait until we eat?¡± she snapped.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Jez said, ¡°I want to know one thing¡ª¡°


    ¡°No you don¡¯t,¡± Mireia promised her.


    ¡°I just want to know who he is,¡± she said, ¡°I¡¯ve heard everything you know about him, but I don¡¯t know him from Adam¡¯s fuckin¡¯ housecat. If I¡¯m gonna have my dinner hijacked by some stranger claiming to be a¡ªa whatever Bernard called him¡ª¡±


    ¡°Marasuchus,¡± Bernard obliged.


    ¡°A whatever,¡± Jez said, ¡°I¡¯d at least like to know who he is, if we¡¯re not going to talk about why.¡±


    Mireia sighed deeply, caving as she gestured for him to go on.


    Loren explained, ¡°I work for a refugee and immigration support agency. Their Terran division¡¯s focus, however, lies mainly in planetary protection. When I get a call from headquarters, it¡¯s usually for something like a rogue, missing person, or job switch¡ªcover work, that is. I used to be a landscaper, and then they took me off that and made me an exterminator, and then I was an aviator, and then a landscaper again¡ªthat¡¯s how things are supposed to go. I take a normal job, and I¡¯m on call to do investigative work within in my region, which covers all of Dixie and stretches as far south as the Caribbean Islands. I¡¯m not alone, but I¡¯m the most readily mobile person they¡¯ve got. What I¡¯m doing right now is well outside of my usual line of work.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re kind of like the C.I.A. or something, I guess?¡± Jez asked.


    ¡°Sort of, I suppose,¡± he rubbed his hands as the waitress brought him a plate and silverware, along with his salad, ¡°Let¡¯s just say, I¡¯m about to blow your mind.¡±


    ¡°Y¡¯all are really serious, aren¡¯t you?¡± she groaned, sinking in her seat.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Mireia said, ¡°Apparently, we knew these people as kids, but don¡¯t remember them, and they want us to come back and, I dunno, I guess work for them. Well, mostly they just want you, Bern. I can¡¯t even tell you the rest, because supposedly they¡¯re being watched.¡±


    ¡°Bern told me that part,¡± Jez said, ¡°I¡¯ve spent all afternoon trying to get my head around that idea.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Loren said, ¡°We¡¯re not exactly being watched that we know of, but there¡¯s too much risk that we could be. So caution is a good thing to have, but there¡¯s no need to be paranoid.¡±


    ¡°Why me?¡± Bernard asked, dumbfounded. ¡°To what do I owe the honor?¡±


    After a long minute, Loren finally said, ¡°I¡¯ll get to that. . . . What she said is true. You were all involved with our company a long time ago, and right now, we need all the help we can get. We¡¯re recalling as many of our people as we can, even if they¡¯ve been deported or fired for misconduct, depending on the case. Customarily, we would hold off until you graduate high school at the very least, but we can¡¯t wait that long,¡± he took a breath, and said with some effort, ¡°Normally, we wouldn¡¯t even have approached the three of you at all. It¡¯s illegal to bring back humans, once you¡¯ve been removed from service. Especially not you three, or any other Terran who was involved with Nightmare.¡±


    That chill shot up Bernard¡¯s spine, again.


    ¡°Once you¡¯re out and your memories are gone, that¡¯s it,¡± Loren said. ¡°You can¡¯t come back.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Jez said, ¡°You tryna tell me our memories have been altered?¡±


    ¡°Yup,¡± Mireia said, taking a nice long drink of her tea, while Bernard and Jez just stared at the two of them, at a complete loss for words.


    ¡°In a manner of speaking,¡± Loren said, ¡°As it was explained to me, your memories are still mostly real, just with a lot of substitutions and omissions. Unlike most cases, it doesn¡¯t appear to be permanent. Just being around us seems to trigger flashbacks. That¡¯s why it¡¯s doubly important that you not tell anyone about this. They don¡¯t remember it any better than you do, and it¡¯s absolutely got to stay that way.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be joking me,¡± Bernard moaned, massaging his temples.


    ¡°Nope,¡± Mireia said.


    ¡°That¡¯s insane!¡± Jez cried, ¡°Why the hell should we believe him?¡±


    Bernard glanced down at Mireia¡¯s plate, which she hadn¡¯t touched. ¡°You gonna eat that?¡±


    She lifted her plate without a word and slid her appetizer onto his.


    ¡°At least eat something,¡± Loren said, ¡°Trust me, this won¡¯t be any easier with an empty stomach and a light head. This is freaky, even by my standards, and I¡¯ve grown up listening to some mind-blowing stories that even my people have a hard time believing.¡±


    Bernard found that not only was Loren right, but the presence of food kept him grounded in reality, and he felt a little less like he might be hallucinating. It brought back the small comfort of familiarity.


    The waitress brought Loren¡¯s salad. Bernard ordered the shrimp po¡¯ boy sandwich he¡¯d been dreaming of all afternoon. Mireia followed with seafood pasta, Jez with grilled dolphin fish, and Loren with the largest platter of grilled seafood they had to offer, an extra appetizer, and an extra side of fries.


    Loren prodded at the salad after she left, finally muttering, ¡°I don¡¯t even particularly like salad.¡±


    Mireia set her fork down, frustrated, ¡°Then why on Earth did you order it?¡±


    ¡°. . . It made sense at the time,¡± he said quietly, ¡°Guess my body needs it or somethin¡¯.¡±


    Jez buried her face in her hands, groaning, ¡°I¡¯m supposed to believe my memory was altered, according to some guy who orders food he doesn¡¯t like without knowing why.¡±


    ¡°Well, that doesn¡¯t really have anything to do with my memory,¡± Loren said, now staring very deliberately at his salad, ¡°Doc called it a ¡®hopefully temporary circumstance of cognitive malfunction.¡¯ ¡±


    She lowered her fingers, looking as though she wanted to break his face.


    Loren took a breath, and after a pause he finally began to speak even more softly than before, ¡°So the story goes like this: Years ago, before I worked for the company, we had a nasty security breach on our hands. Can everyone hear me?¡±


    They nodded, though they had to lean in to catch every word.


    His voice rose just a little, ¡°Good. So, years back we had a bad case out in Nebraska. According to our records, you were all born there, and my understanding is that you moved to Charleston around ten years ago.¡±


    Jez and Bernard stared in surprise, and she was now eyeing him suspiciously.


    ¡°Bernard and his mother originally lived next door to one of our field operatives, and she was reportedly good friends with his wife, Sam Lurizek, whom Mireia met earlier. From here out, I¡¯ll be reporting to her husband, Daniel. The general consensus has been that their friendship with Rhonna and Terry Zh¨¢o is where the problem started, and our company has watched our actions a lot more closely ever since.¡±


    Bernard shook his head, ¡°No, no, that can¡¯t be right. My mother didn¡¯t know our neighbors,¡± but he knew something about what Loren was saying was true. He just really didn¡¯t want to believe in it.


    Loren¡¯s lips tightened in a grim smile, ¡°It¡¯s The Plains, son. Of course you knew your neighbors, whether you wanted to or not.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but I don¡¯t remember them at all. We can¡¯t have been close.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure? Because where I come from everyone knows that Terry Zh¨¢o¡¯s closest friend is his former neighbor, Daniel Kago Lurizek. They¡¯re so close that there¡¯s even a running joke in the company that the only way to call your father is to call Danny, because Terry very rarely answers his phone. You father is popular, but as far as I know he¡¯s a bit of an enigma, even to the people who are close to him, so that¡¯s saying a lot about their relationship.¡±


    Jez put her head down, mumbling something about wanting Loren to go away.


    He didn¡¯t respond to her, but carried on.


    ¡°Our problems began around 1983. Our host planet is famous for its genetics labs, but they¡¯re usually very closely monitored. The Agency knew that an illegal lab had lost a pair of creatures, but no one thought the problem would extend beyond planetary boundaries, much less that they would ever reach Earth. The escapees set out to take advantage of this planet, however, and the Agency had to respond. Nightmare, as we¡¯ve come to know him, was what you might call draconic. He¡¯s described in the case file as a ¡®large, scaly vertebrate biped with flight-capable wings.¡¯ He and his lab brother, known as Dark, were a violent, dangerous pair¡ªand before you ask me, we still aren¡¯t sure what Dark was.


    ¡°A year after they disappeared, reports started coming in of strange disturbances around St. Louis, Kansas City, and Omaha¡ªroughly the south-central region of the continent, and mostly quiet enough to avoid too many prying eyes. They reportedly had cloaking abilities, among other talents, and were difficult to detect. A few weeks later Danny found himself being followed by something he couldn¡¯t identify. Unfortunately, by the time he recognized it, it was too late. Nightmare and Dark had staked out the town of Lincoln, and were moving in on the house. Over the next two years, they began following, and finally harassing Bernard. They would enter his home, day or night, conduct experiments, and in several cases carried him off in broad daylight, each time further from home than the last. In 1986, Danny put a gun in Bernard¡¯s hands and showed him how to use it. Much to your mother¡¯s well-documented chagrin.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure she was thrilled,¡± Bernard muttered. He was also sure he must be hallucinating, right now. Everyone else at the table was probably talking about how he was sitting there losing his marbles.


    Loren went on, ¡°Around that point, you girls joined him, so eventually you all had to be trained, in part by Danny, and in part by a . . . what you would call a . . . well, later. I¡¯ll tell you later. Our people know her as Silvia, and Silvia¡¯s people know her as male under a similar name that I can¡¯t remember. Sh¡ªHe¡¯s sort of one of my own kind, what we¡¯ll call Saurians, for the moment. I¡¯m told he¡¯s a real weirdo¡ªtakes a lot of issues with our social structures¡ªbut it sounds like he fit in reasonably well on Earth, at the time.¡±


    Jez held up a hand to stop him, ¡°Just lemme get this straight: You¡¯re telling me we did this . . . when I was five?¡±


    Loren nodded, ¡°That¡¯s right. Children are flexible and impressionable, so for a while our company thought it would work to your advantage, but it had long-term drawbacks, as I¡¯m sure you can imagine¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t all bad. Some really incredible stuff happened in that time period, and y¡¯all got a lot of help with everything¡ªsome of the same help you¡¯re going to have with our current problem¡ªbut it didn¡¯t change the fact that Nightmare¡¯s attacks grew steadily worse. I had the exclusive pleasure of reading the full case report. Every incident. Every occurrence and occasion. The damn thing is over an inch thick on paper, and I¡¯m told that¡¯s the condensed version. I could have done without any of it.¡±


    Their food arrived, and they were all glad for the brief reprieve from Loren¡¯s tale. He asked the waitress to wait awhile before she came back, so they could talk business.


    ¡°I love this town,¡± he said, turning back to his plate as though it were suddenly the only thing in the world that mattered, ¡°I know, I need to finish my story, but just thinking about those case files is going to keep me up at night for a long time. I¡¯m glad we¡¯re doing this in Charleston. I always did like seafood, and it¡¯s always best fresh from the sea . . . even though I work hard to stay away from large bodies of water, if I can help it. Hard to beat a pot of New Orleans gumbo, or good barbeque, and a few of our kind have a special fondness for Southern get-togethers involving whole roasted hogs¡ªand I¡¯ve tasted nothin¡¯ like it since¡ªbut Charleston seafood sure runs a close race for damn fine fare, ¡®long as it ain¡¯t so smothered in grease that you cain¡¯t taste the ocean. Though, what do I know, I cain¡¯t cook. I got better luck hunting roaches, and that ain¡¯t easy to¡ªoh! Sorry about that!¡±


    All three of them had nearly choked on their meals when he said it.


    ¡°I normally go for lizards, actually, but they¡¯re harder to find and catch in this body. None of the things my parents ate really exist anymore¡ªor not in the same quantity. About the closest thing I¡¯ve ever had is rabbit. I always wanted to try rat. Both are hard to come by, but I can get crickets by the can.¡±


    ¡°I trap and shoot rabbits for my snake,¡± Bernard said, ¡°It¡¯s not hard. You can have one of the traps.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t offer to help him!¡± Mireia snapped, ¡°We¡¯re not going along with to this, Maxwell Bernard!¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Jez agreed, ¡°We¡¯re not.¡±


    Loren bit his lip briefly and said, ¡°You probably shouldn¡¯t be feeding wild rabbits to your snake, son, they¡¯ve got parasites. But I sure wouldn¡¯t mind a few. That¡¯d make my day.¡±


    Mireia looked dead at him, ¡°I¡¯m not driving you to the vet if you have worms. I¡¯m not boarding that ship again, either¡ªyou can forget it.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t do boats,¡± Loren said, ¡°So there won¡¯t be a problem. I can tell you¡¯re out of patience, but I¡¯m almost done, I promise, because you see we had, and have to this day, some problems on our end.¡±


    Bernard almost asked him to go back to talking about his dietary habits, but held his tongue and listened.


    ¡°Political problems, you might say, that would have been really quite serious if we didn¡¯t think of a solution, and fast. As I was told, Ms. Rhonna¡ªwho, I believe remarried in ¡¯86?¡±


    ¡°Moore,¡± Bernard said.


    ¡°Okay¡ªfunny, our people still think of her as Sparker¡ªanyway, as we know the story, she was the one who moved first¡ªto Charleston, at Mrs. Durant¡¯s suggestion¡ªI cain¡¯t remember the name, sorry. Ellen?¡±


    ¡°Helen . . . ,¡± Mireia said dully.


    ¡°Right, right, Helen. Sorry about that.¡± There was little Bernard heard from there. Loren was comparing stories with Mireia and Jez on who moved when and why: something about the company making the decision to move them, versus their recollection of their parents¡¯ decisions to cheerfully follow each other halfway across the country. Both stories concurred on Mireia¡¯s mother wanting to live closer to her parents on James Island.


    Bernard found himself wondering more and more if he might not really just be sitting here imagining things . . . so he focused on eating. That way, if he were actually going mad, at least he would look like he might still be sane.


    The shrimp was perfectly breaded and fried. The bread was warm and fresh. There were hints of spice in the sauce. The experience was at once crispy and creamy, melting together amidst a substrate of tomato and shredded lettuce. It was everything he¡¯d wanted out of the sandwich. Nothing else fucking mattered.


    ¡°Whatever the case,¡± Loren finally concluded, ¡°It didn¡¯t solve the remaining problems after the case was finally closed. Trauma, PSTD, and the glaring security issue of a whole family of humans who knew about us. To deal with that, my company employed a number of powerful individuals who,¡± his voice dropped a little lower, ¡°petitioned a higher being to help solve the problem. One well-known to us by the name of Gai¡¯en¡ªa name I don¡¯t like speaking aloud, but I was told it¡¯s safe to do so.¡±


    Jez spat her tea out, coughing and sputtering, and reaching for a napkin to clean up the undignified mess she¡¯d made.


    Bernard half-choked on his sandwich, unable to believe his own ears. Gai¡¯en? Did I hear that right?


    Loren nodded, ¡°Gets weirder and weirder, doesn¡¯t it? Don¡¯t hurt yourself, please . . . ,¡± he waited for the girls to clean up the mess and make sure Bernard didn¡¯t need medical help before he asked, ¡°Are you okay . . . ? Do you need me to repeat that?¡±


    ¡°No, please don¡¯t,¡± they begged him, almost in unison, ¡°We¡¯re fine.¡±


    ¡°If you say so. I needed to hear it about five times before it sank in. Everyone knows that your memories were altered, just as you all initially suspected, but no one knows how they did it. This sort of thing just . . . isn¡¯t possible. We¡¯re talking about more than seven whole years. Your memories of everything that happened. Your mother¡¯s memories of Sam and Danny, dating back before any of you were born. The memories of people around you who were exposed, even a little, to what was going on. You see what I mean? This was a miracle, and you must realize that due to the nature of the thing, it cain¡¯t be done again. Whatever happens from here out, we¡¯re stuck with it.¡±


    Mireia interrupted him, ¡°Bernie, do you remember the trip to Arizona?¡±


    Bernard gazed at her, blank for a moment. Her eyes were expectant, with that look she had whenever there was a particularly juicy piece of gossip to share.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he finally said, ¡°The fire. Why the hell would I want to remember the fire? Where are you going with this?¡±


    ¡°Do you remember getting lost in the desert?¡±


    Jez laughed, ¡°Of course not. We went to the Grand Canyon without him because he was in the hospital. Because of the fire.¡±


    ¡°Did we?¡± Mireia asked, ¡°If the cabin burned down, then where did we stay?¡±


    ¡°We¡ªin a hotel, of course,¡± she laughed, but then the laughter faded, ¡°Didn¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°What if I told you there was no cabin, no fire, Bernie was never with us, and we stayed the whole trip in someone¡¯s house?¡±


    Bernard felt his skin prickling. He remembered burning. He remembered heat, but no fire. Being trapped, but not indoors. There was no smoke. Most severe fire-related injuries were from smoke inhalation. He shivered, rubbing his arms.


    ¡°She¡¯s right. Jez . . . that trip never happened. I . . . don¡¯t remember you at all. I never stayed in a house.¡± He remembered starving. Outside. Alone. There was no vacation.


    And Gai¡¯en was real.


    Jez didn¡¯t respond. Instead, she excused herself to go to the bathroom, and was gone for half an hour. By the time she returned, she looked unusually pale, and remained unresponsive.


    In the meantime, Loren ordered a daquiri and 4 rounds of peach cobbler, and consumed the full spread without a hitch.


    Mireia paid the bill, and Jez got up to leave without waiting for them.

 The Shadows In-Between - FIXED

    They followed Jez out into the cool early summer twilight on North Market Street, with their new companion remained in tow.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what,¡± Jez finally said, ¡°I¡¯ve never had a drink in my life, but I could go for a stiff one.¡±


    ¡°Ditto on that,¡± said Mireia, ¡°Sparky?¡±


    Bernard hesitated. There was one thought on his mind, and it was something he knew they wouldn¡¯t want to hear, but he couldn¡¯t think of a reason to hide it, either. ¡°This is going to sound really crazy.¡±


    ¡°Try us,¡± Jez said.


    He drew a breath; and, after another moment¡¯s hesitation, he said cautiously, ¡°What if I told you . . . that I remembered Gai¡¯en. Even before today.¡±


    They all stopped in their tracks. When he tried to continue, Mireia grabbed his shoulder, squeezing it as she begged him, ¡°Please tell me you have a terrible sense of humor. God-like aliens are hard enough to believe in on their own.¡±


    Turning as he pried her hand away, he said, ¡°He¡¯s a character in the stories I tell ¡®Dessa. Sort of an omnipotent demi-god with a childlike penchant for mischief.¡±


    Loren¡¯s eyes turned wide. ¡°Shit, you do remember that thing. At least from what I¡¯ve heard. They say it mostly keeps to itself, but stirs up trouble now and again for its own mysterious reasons.¡±


    Jez set her hands on her hips and demanded, ¡°Well, is there anything else you¡¯ve accidentally remembered? Because now would be a great time to tell us.¡±


    He shook his head, ¡°I really couldn¡¯t tell ya, Jez. At this point, I couldn¡¯t even tell you what¡¯s real and what isn¡¯t, although my guess is that I¡¯m really just getting to the good part of a spectacular hallucination, and I¡¯m speaking utter nonsense.¡±


    ¡°If you are, then so am I,¡± she said, ¡°and I should walk myself down to MUSC.¡±


    Mireia chimed in, ¡°Right behind you!¡±


    He raised his hands, pleading, ¡°But how do I know y¡¯all really said that?¡±


    Loren said, ¡°If ya¡¯ll¡¯re losing yer minds, that makes four of us. It ain¡¯t all bad, though. There¡¯s some really great stuff that you¡¯re definitely going to like, but this ain¡¯t the time or place for it.¡±


    Mireia waved her hand in a motion that begged him not to go on. ¡°I think we have enough to consider.¡±


    Bernard continued walking, and they followed, until something occurred to him and he fell back in step with Loren. ¡°There¡¯s just one more thing I want to know.¡±


    Loren¡¯s brows rose worriedly, but he asked, ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Does my dad know about all of this?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He looked relieved. ¡°Only a handful of people know, so he wouldn¡¯t be told unless there was a need for his protection and yours.¡±


    ¡°Do you . . . know why he left?¡±


    Loren sucked in a breath. ¡°Matter of fact . . . everyone does.¡±


    ¡° ¡®Everyone?¡¯ ¡±


    ¡°It was such a rare case that it¡¯s been referenced during training ever since. He found out about us by accident, you see¡ªwalked in on Sam Lurizek¡ªand he was very lucky she¡¯s got a level head, because she could have had his memory wiped. The problem, you see, is that on top of losing a whole day of his life, having one¡¯s memory altered traditionally can cause serious brain damage, which has to be masked as something mundane. Your mother would have gotten a call from a hospital, saying he was in a coma after a major accident. He¡¯d¡¯ve come back around and gone back to his normal life, but he¡¯d never be the same. Sam and Danny didn¡¯t want that for him, so they offered him an alternative option, and he chose to join us.


    ¡°Unfortunately, he panicked when he found out about our, um, invisible enemies, and it¡¯s said that he left to protect his family. If that¡¯s not a satisfying answer, rest assured it¡¯s a subject of controversy throughout the Agency. Some people think he¡¯s a coward for fleeing, and some people think he¡¯s a hero who made a difficult choice for the greater good. Either way, he¡¯s very well thought of as a person for his efforts since.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what Terrence told his wife. I understand that he never talks about it, not even to his closest friends. I personally think it was a drastic move. It is possible to work for us and still live a normal life. Nine times out of ten, for most positions, you¡¯re not asked to do much more than take a business trip, or perform a service for someone in need of your particular skill set or assignment. Some jobs require you to fabricate records now and then¡ªwhich is shady, yes, but I think you¡¯ll understand our position, soon enough. The important part is that he left to keep you all safe.¡±


    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t he come back?¡± Bernard asked, ¡°He would have known about Nightmare, right?¡±


    ¡°Not necessarily,¡± Loren said, ¡°Around the time Nightmare came about, he was being transferred off-world. Since it was considered Daniel¡¯s case, he wouldn¡¯t have been told anything.¡±


    ¡°He was head of our Public Relations department for a while, and gained most of his current popularity during that time. He did a lot to improve our Agency¡¯s relations with our host planet, and provide better lives for refugees. Practically everyone who works for us has either met him at some point, or else is familiar with his work. Anyone who ever got accepted or denied for immigration during that time would have at least seen his signature. He stepped down a while back, and since humans are offered two-to-four years sabbatical leave, I imagine he came back to this country; though, for his sake and mine, I wouldn¡¯t know about it unless I needed to.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Bernard said, ¡°Then why couldn¡¯t they send him to do what you¡¯re doing? It seems like he¡¯d be good at it.¡±


    Loren glanced up at the sky, smiling sympathetically, ¡°You want to know why he was never sent back here. I asked the same question¡ªwhy me? He was the natural choice for the job, but I¡¯m told there were concerns that he¡¯s too emotionally close to you. In your best interest, he might not tell you enough, or interfere with what you need to do, and that could go very badly.¡±


    Mireia said, ¡°You still haven¡¯t told us what we¡¯re going to do.¡±


    Loren shook his head, ¡°We need walls and privacy, and I¡¯m hoping my partner will be back at the hotel, by now. She¡¯s supposed to be flying in from Johannesburg today. She¡¯s also supposed to have my new ID, and hopefully she¡¯ll know what became of my Civic VX. I liked that car, and I want it back. The thing is a masterpiece of reliability and gas mileage.¡±


    Whatever Mireia said, Bernard didn¡¯t hear it.


    Then he realized he couldn¡¯t hear it. Nor himself, nor anyone else.


    Her lips were moving, but there was no sound. She faltered, her fingertips moving to her throat in shock.


    There was no sound, anywhere.


    Not from the evening birds, passing cars, or the couple down the street with the screaming baby.


    Jez lunged at Loren.


    Then everything went dark.


    Everything.


    One moment they were walking down the street, and the next they were standing in total darkness.


    Slowly, a pinkish glow appeared in the nearest streetlights.


    Jez had fallen short of her assault, fingers grasping anxiously at her sides as she turned with the rest of them, staring at the lights.


    The air pressure had dropped. The wind had stopped. There were no people, no cars, no bikes or horses; just the three of them, alone on an empty North Market Street, near one of the entrances to the market, which had already closed for the night. It was like being in a vacuum.


    She reached up and ran her hand along a decorative flag hanging outside a nearby shop. It moved oddly, as though weighted, and dropped without flowing. There was no air at all.


    Yet, they were breathing.


    Bernard walked to the road cautiously, looking around for some sign of anything that might help him get his bearings. There was nothing. ¡°Everything is gone.¡±


    Loren grabbed his wrist. ¡°Don¡¯t go far.¡±


    Mireia turned to Loren and asked, ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said, ¡°But we should stick together.¡±


    Jez suddenly gasped, backing toward them. She fumbled for Mireia¡¯s arm and latched onto it.


    A dark figure walked toward them, from the blackened opening to the corridor of the Rainbow Market shopping center. It moved with absolute surety, with a toe-heel footfall more like that of an animal than a person. Its fingers tracing the ironwork entryway with an air of curiosity. It glanced up, hesitated, and then its eyes locked on Bernard.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    A chill shot up his spine like an electric shock.


    The figure moved toward him. Its lips parted in a soft snarl, its features weathered and scarred, its eyes cold. It shoved its hands into pockets set in matte black pants of an unfamiliar material, complimented by a worn matte black jacket of some pebbled leather. Ragged black feathers draped from the arms and flowed from the lower back.


    It rasped in a strange tongue with short syllables that lilted and rolled in a staccato rhythm, then tilted its head, studying them. It spoke again, in a distinctly different tongue.


    Loren responded.


    They exchanged words, the stranger speaking in low, graveled tones.


    Bernard nudged Loren¡¯s arm, ¡°What¡¯s it saying?¡±


    ¡°He asked what plane we¡¯re on, and I told him I didn¡¯t know.¡±


    It gazed into Bernard¡¯s eyes once more, and for the first time, Bernard realized he was looking at himself. Then, in a hoarse growl that barely sounded like English, the Other said, ¡°I see. It¡¯s you.¡± He gestured around them crassly. ¡°See what they¡¯ve wrought us. The stupid Nasu tried to save us, only to kill us. Too little. Too late. That¡¯s what they do. Pay attention, for they will not. The fools claim they have everything under control. Do you know what a scouring event looks like? Have they told you about 1949? The time that Ryozae presence on Earth drew the Ilaysian forces, lords and masters of Xal Enjhi. onto a bunch of helpless unsuspecting humans? Do you honestly believe they would just . . . give up and go home, after that?¡±


    Loren answered, ¡°Of course not. We can neither confirm nor deny their presence, but the point is to keep anything like the incident in ''49 from happening again. Meanwhile our immigration program means that our people have a place where they are no longer hunted or killed, if not by our own, then by the Reapers, or the Ilaysian Patrol. For the first time we can draw breath without fear.¡±


    The Other tilted his head, animal-like, studying Loren. Then it approached Bernard, fingers reaching for his face.


    Unnerved, Bernard took a step back.


    ¡°What''s it worth,¡± the Other asked him, ¡°if the Patrol grows tired of this game, and calls upon its hoard¡ªits bioengineered spies that can hide in the air you breathe? Everything you are, suddenly gone. Scoured clean.¡± It nodded at Loren. ¡°Is their freedom worth that price?¡±


    ¡°Maxwell Zh¨¢o!¡± A female voice cried.


    Bernard hesitated, unsure if he was being addressed by a name he hasn¡¯t used since he was a toddler, but the Other¡¯s lips twisted as he turned to the new voice, calling out, ¡°You¡¯ve already failed!¡±


    The woman came striding toward them out of the darkness, ¡°This time, we operate on our own terms, Max. You¡¯d best be on your way.¡±


    The ugly, eerie visage of the Other turned back to Bernard, growling, ¡°We always front the bill.¡±


    ¡°On your way!¡± the woman barked.


    Sneering, the Other walked past them.


    The woman watched him, then called out, ¡°Is that Jjae¡¯r hide?¡±


    The figure paused. Then its voice growled into the darkness, ¡°I won her fairly and wear her with honor.¡±


    ¡°Our bodies are sacred, you know that. Even those of us who have taken human form recognize that, no matter what oath or creed they live by. You never take from us unless it is offered, and you never wear it so casually. That sai¡¯raa¡ªthat woman¡¯s skin has been through hell.¡±


    ¡°Yours is not the only way things are done.¡±


    It continued walking, until it vanished into the shadows.


    Mireia spoke first, ¡°What the hell was that?¡±


    Jez followed with, ¡°Where the fuck are we?¡±


    Bernard was shaken and speechless. His blood felt cold, his head light and his body heavy.


    Loren stepped toward the woman, ¡°Can you get us out of here, Sam?¡±


    She nodded, ¡°This is a microdimension that my brother created for his own use. I don¡¯t know how you got here, but he can send you home just as easily. And that . . . that was a possible path Bernard might have taken. Given the circumstances, I suppose it was only logical to see something like that.¡±


    Jez shrieked, ¡°You call that thing logical?¡±


    ¡°A logical possibility, yes,¡± Sam said plainly, ¡°If not the most reasonable version of him we could have met. It doesn¡¯t surprise me anymore, that¡¯s why I gambled on him answering to his other name, but it¡¯s a shame you had to see that.¡± She pointed at Bernard, her tone becoming serious, ¡°I don¡¯t care what path you walk or whose oath you take, don¡¯t ever let me catch you wearing someone else¡¯s skin like that.¡±


    ¡°S¡ªsomeone else¡¯s¡ª¡± Bernard began, bewildered, then he shook his head, ¡°That wasn¡¯t me. I don¡¯t know what the fuck that was, but it wasn¡¯t me. And don¡¯t worry. I don¡¯t plan on ever becoming that.¡±


    She closed her eyes, sighed, and said, ¡°It wasn¡¯t real. I know that, but . . . it was deeply crude and upsetting, and not in the same way you might think. It¡¯s something you¡¯ll understand after you¡¯ve been around us for a while.¡±


    Jez had her arms crossed uncomfortably, still staring at the spot where the figure had disappeared, ¡°Is any of this real?¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course,¡± Sam told her, ¡°But think of that one as no more than a ghost. A shadow of what might have been. There countless possibilities, but you can only exist in one stream. One reality. What you saw was no more than a ripple. Since it was my brother who made this realm, and I¡¯m here with you, the conditions appear to have been ripe for such an event.¡±


    Mireia was shaking her head, ¡°If you people can do all of this, then you don¡¯t need us.¡±


    The lights shifted, brightening towards a new figure as it approached them.


    Around nine feet tall at the shoulders, the thing was vaguely shaped like a dinosaur, with a horned nose and a short pair of twin crests, three clawed fingers on each hand, tridactyl feet and a smooth stride. A long, dark, fur-covered tail whipped the air behind it as it moved, though it made no sound.


    Its face had a more mammalian structure: it had pointed ears, though the left one was largely missing, and it was almost covered in fur. Triangular scale-like structures, like those of a pangolin, covered part of its upper legs. It appeared to lack fur on the backs of its thighs, on its hands and the insides of its arms, down the length of its belly, and the back of its neck, where it bore a row of short triangular spines interspersed with glowing lights, attached with thin, dark strapping.


    As it neared, Bernard thought he could make out a series of crystals within the lights, but it was difficult to tell. The same lights appeared over the backs of its hands, bound in place by a similar method.


    Sam gestured, ¡°This is my brother, Reio-Taii Raik, one of the Sorcerers of Xal Enjhi. Or Taii, as most people call him.¡±


    Taii¡¯s head bobbed, and he spoke to Mireia in a strange, warbling voice, ¡°Great power comes at the cost of governance, no matter what sort of power it is. Remember that. Our abilities are granted and governed under contract. We are allowed the occasional miracle, once in a great long span, but we have important roles and strict rules. Yours is a mundane struggle, so it is not for us to interfere.¡±


    Jez asked, ¡°So, this Gai¡¯en thing . . . it¡¯s real? Really really real?¡±


    The strange creature¡¯s head bobbed again, but Sam raised a hand, stopping him, and said, ¡°And Nightmare, and unfortunately Dark. Or 4973821-lamda-b and 4973897-rho-z, if you prefer our best Terran translation of their original names. We still don¡¯t know what they were. They had abilities we¡¯d never seen before, and it was years before anyone even got a good look at Dark. The only word we had to go on was Bernard¡¯s. There aren¡¯t any known creatures in our realm that look like the ones he described, nor did we think there could be any lab advanced enough to create them. A human-like dragon and a living shadow? It sounded like something out of a cartoon. But they were real. With physical bodies and genetic material that¡¯s still being studied.


    ¡°Bernard was abducted no less than eight times. Five in particular were notably damaging, and we¡¯re still not sure how many other times you came into contact with them. As far as we know, Nightmare and Dark were conducting experiments and logging results, mostly likely because it was the only lifestyle they¡¯d ever known, and the universe beyond their original lab was a novel curiosity to them. Their results and our own analyses are currently locked away in our offworld headquarters.


    ¡°The damage they caused had lasting affects, to say nothing of the experiments they ran. By the time we were finally rid of them, there were a lot of concerns for your futures¡ªall of you. Our best option to offer the care you all needed and avoid future security risks would have been to move you off-world.


    ¡°Your families of course wouldn¡¯t have let you go alone, and some of them would have needed to relocate, anyway¡ªbut how do you explain the sudden disappearance of three families? That¡¯s why we petitioned Lord Gai¡¯en to give you back your normal lives¡ªthe only being we know of by name that could have pulled it all off¡ªI can see this isn¡¯t news to you.¡± She smiled sympathetically. ¡°It¡¯s strange to us, as well. Gai¡¯en disappeared after the Fall of Ryozauggex, and no one expected to see it again so soon. My family members,¡± she patted Taii¡¯s forearm, ¡°won¡¯t tell me what they offered it in exchange for the miracle.¡± She looked back at Bernard and the others, ¡°And if you want to know what happened to Nightmare and Dark, Bernard, you¡¯d have to ask Danny. They¡¯re dead, but I think he enjoys telling the story.


    ¡°Neither I nor my husband are planning to meet your parents, as it could cause them to remember us, so it¡¯s best if you never mention us. Under the circumstances, however, several Ryozae agents working in the area have been alerted to expect you for safety reasons, so don¡¯t be surprised if you get any awkward questions, and do the best you can to deflect them. They¡¯re not supposed to ask, but some of them love to gossip, and they¡¯re nosy.¡±


    Loren crossed his arms, ¡°I thought this was a Shadow Operation?¡±


    Bernard muttered, ¡°I thought we were going to go sit down. . . .¡±


    Sam¡¯s head tilted slightly, ¡°You do look especially pale, dear.¡±


    The glow around Taii began to intensify, and he asked, ¡°Are you finished here, Samra?¡±


    ¡°Just a moment!¡± Mireia exclaimed, ¡°What¡¯s all this Patrol stuff got to do with us? Are those the bioengineered things you were talking about earlier?¡±


    ¡°Ah!¡± Sam frowned. ¡°Of course. You do need to know about that.¡±


    ¡°Samra. . . .¡± Taii warned her, a low growl creeping into his voice, ¡°Be quick.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± she said, ¡°But this is important,¡± she turned back to the group, ¡°They are, just as the Other Bernard suggested¡ª¡±


    ¡°The thing that wasn¡¯t me,¡± Bernard corrected her.


    ¡°But it was you, even if it isn¡¯t you now. The only thing that separates you is circumstance. There will be time to discuss this later, but that isn¡¯t a luxury we have tonight. I must be absolutely sure you know what we¡¯re dealing with.


    ¡°As you hopefully realize by this point, ETHICS is both a planetary protection program and immigration management network, which serves to protect our people as they hide among yours, as well as maintaining a minimalized impact on your world. ETHICS also keeps a watch for signs of Ilaysian activity on this planet. To date, none has been found, but we like to play it safe, particularly where the Ilaysian Patrol is concerned. They don¡¯t take kindly to traffic leaving our realm, Xal Enjhi, and especially not if it¡¯s headed for Earth.


    ¡°We¡¯re Terran in origin, so the program has become increasingly geared toward offering refugees a safe haven from the instability of our home realm. Earth-like planets are nearly un-heard of, so even those who don¡¯t work for the Agency will often back its efforts.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t my job to brief you¡ªthat¡¯s going to be Loren¡ªbut I do want to be sure you three to understand where we¡¯re coming from. We were supposed to leave you all be, to live your lives in peace, but we need you, or so they tell me. Danny will be handling any data Loren gives him, and communicating with his supervisor, since he¡¯s best suited for both tasks. He¡¯s too analytical to be the kind of help you need, right now, and I don¡¯t like talking to his supervisor. But if you need anything else, I¡¯ll be happy to step in.¡±


    ¡°Our time is short, Samra,¡± Taii said, ¡°I cannot support this field much longer. Too many variables. Too many vibrations. They have already destabilized it once. It will take a lot of energy to send them home, and I still wish to speak with you.¡±


    She rapped his furry arm with the back of her hand, ¡°Of course, but whose idea was it to set the field here?¡±


    He tilted his head, seeming to scoff at her, ¡°Diuah-rrundi luriin magahii''si xa''ilou. They should have passed through.¡±


    She folded her hands and addressed the group with a short, formal bow. ¡°You know how to reach me. Good luck.¡±


    The lights went out.


    Everything went dark.


    The lights of the city filtered through a curtain behind them. A cool breeze flowed from the vents of the unit humming below it.


    They were in their own hotel room.

 A Dark Recollection

    Loren pulled the curtains open, musing to himself, ¡°And on the evening of the fifth day, God created the Rizeks, right after He got done with the dinosaurs or something.¡±


    Mireia sat down on the bed, dragging Bernard down.


    He landed heavily. His whole body felt like lead.


    ¡°Do you believe in God?¡± she asked Loren.


    ¡°All Saurians do, in a manner of speaking. We¡¯re very spiritual beings, but we ain¡¯t exactly religious. We¡¯ve got no need for such constructs, although a few do find peace in elements of human faiths. We tend towards a more holistic and natural approach to the spirit world. I think our unusual origins and long lives have a lot to do with that¡ªthough I can¡¯t speak for all of us. Gai¡¯en and the Sorcerers are an anomaly from a more distant planet; and everything about that planet is an anomaly.


    ¡°To my parents, the universe¡ªits galaxies, stars and planets and every one of us¡ªsimply is, and Deity is a given factor that exists in every atom that stitches it all together. But if you ask someone like Taii, he might give you a very different answer since he¡¯s a . . . I hate the word ¡®sorcerer.¡¯ I think it¡¯s in our official lexicon because it¡¯s a common idea to you, but the word we use actually translates as ¡®Lightwalker,¡¯ which is much more accurate. It¡¯s literally what he does¡ªand what he just did to us. Walked us right through energetic planes with his freaky auric light-magic. I¡¯ve got no idea what he knows or believes he knows, and I ain¡¯t looking to find out.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you asked that question, because I¡¯ve spent a lot of time in your Christian churches here in the South, and I can tell you now if you go around re-labeling our people as devils and demons, you ain¡¯t gonna make it through training. And you ain¡¯t gonna make many friends, either.¡±


    ¡°What about that doctor?¡± she asked, quiet and still.


    ¡°Maesera? What about him?¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you see his eyes?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s normal. Those are his real eyes.¡±


    ¡°They were bright red. Like, creepy red.¡±


    ¡°Really? I assumed they were yellow. But that makes sense. Some birds have do have red eyes.¡±


    ¡°Birds?¡± Jez asked.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he began, and then he faltered, frowning, ¡°Oh. Did you think we were scaly?¡±


    She paused, and said uncertainly, ¡°Well . . that¡ªum, Taii had fur, but . . . yeah. You said dinosaurs, right?¡±


    Loren grimaced, ¡°I did. Look . . . most dinosaurs are closer to birds than crocodiles. I¡¯m the other way ¡®round, but in terms of geologic time, you¡¯re living closer to Tyrannosaurs rex than my own kin did, so before my partner, Saara, gets here, you¡¯ll need to revamp your idea of what a dinosaur is. She¡¯s real proud of her feathers.


    ¡°And remember that we¡¯ve been living off-world, and we¡¯ve changed. Some of us come from bloodlines that are no longer dinosaurs and never truly became birds, but evolved into something separate altogether. How dinosaur or how ¡®alien¡¯ someone¡¯s line is varies between individuals. Saara can easily trace her line back to Utahraptors with a skeletal comparison, but some folks have evolved so much that you¡¯d have to run a DNA match to find out where they came from¡ªand good luck finding dino DNA.¡±


    Everything Bernard thought he knew about dinosaurs had just flipped on its head.


    Therapod arms were wings.


    Wings came from dinosaurs.


    It had been speculated by scientists for many years, but there was little in the way of solid proof to back up the claims.


    But it solves the problem, he thought. He¡¯d always felt that many therapods were often awkwardly posed, being the only non-primate animals he could think of on Earth with arms and hands. Wings would fit, and made sense.


    ¡°And,¡± Loren added, ¡°In case you¡¯re wondering, Taii and Samra have fur because their people experimented with mammalian genetics and hybridization.¡±


    Jez patted him on the shoulder, ¡°I think that¡¯s enough new information for one night.¡±


    Mireia strode purposefully to the door, ¡°Yes, it¡¯s getting late, isn¡¯t it? Don¡¯t let us keep you.¡±


    Loren gave a sage nod, ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t emigrate yesterday. I know when my time¡¯s up. I¡¯ll leave you be, then, and let you think that over. Saara¡¯s late, so I should go see if I can find her. She¡¯s probably singing karaoke somewhere.¡±


    Mireia hesitated just short of opening the door. ¡°I thought you people were in some kind of hurry?¡±


    ¡°We are,¡± he said, ¡°but . . . how do I explain this one . . . music is central to our lives. We use it for everything, especially folks like her. Her people sing for every reason you can think of. Just wake up early enough to listen to the birds sing in the morning, and you get the idea.¡±


    Mireia opened the door, ¡°Well, wherever she is, hopefully she¡¯s got your wallet. You won¡¯t get far without that.¡±


    He was barely out the door when she said it. His voice could be heard in the hall, ¡°Oh, man. I forgot about that. Yeah, I¡¯ma go find her. I still want my car back, too.¡±


    ¡°Uh, huh,¡± she said, ¡°Good luck with that.¡±


    ¡°Yeah . . . we¡¯ll be around, later, then.¡±


    ¡°If you think about changing your minds, please do.¡±


    She shut the door. Then she walked back to the bed she was sharing with Jez and flopped onto her back, letting out a long, deep, frustrated sigh. ¡°The next time you see a dead animal, Bernie, leave it dead.¡±


    Bernard stared into space, exhausted. ¡°I just might do that.¡±


    Jez remained standing in the middle of the room.


    ¡°So we¡¯re clear,¡± she said, ¡°We¡¯ve all just experienced the same hallucination. There are no aliens, no dinosaurs, no unspecified mission, and no weird alternate micro-dimensions created by magical alien dinosaurs. We did not witness an alternate version of Bernard that looks like your worst nightmares, Mireia never met a demon-eyed alien doctor, and there¡¯s no such thing as Gai¡¯en.¡±


    Mireia spoke from the bed, still staring at the ceiling as she intoned, ¡°And there¡¯s no big huge yacht at the Marina with an airlock for a door, an interior elevator, a medical facility that looks more like a ballroom, and possibly a mini-sub that leads to an underwater headquarters.¡±


    Bernard added, ¡°And there¡¯s no operator named Ted in Canada who knows my name based on the knowledge that I was with Loren.¡±


    ¡°None of it,¡± Jez said, ¡°We¡¯re going to get up tomorrow, go for a good long walk around town, hopefully not spend most of it watching Mireia try on clothes¡ª¡±


    ¡°Or walking endlessly for no reason,¡± Bernard told her.


    ¡°It¡¯s good for us,¡± she quipped dismissively, ¡°We¡¯re going to walk until our legs fall off. Whatever just happened, it¡¯s just a bad hallucination. Something in the water. We¡¯ll just keep walking until it stops happening.¡±


    ¡°I want a new dress,¡± Mireia said, ¡°That Sam lady had the most adorable yellow dress.¡±


    ¡°You mean Sam Who Doesn¡¯t Exist?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Sam Who Doesn¡¯t Exist had a super cute dress, and the prettiest shoes. The hat was a bit much, but I¡¯ve just gotta have a dress like that.¡±


    Somehow, some way, despite the number of years he had known her, Bernard had forgotten that every outfit had to have its own pair of shoes, which meant they were probably going to backtrack a few times while she made up her mind.


    ¡°I still intend to spend my weekend eating well,¡± he said, reminding them that he was not going to spend the whole weekend walking in circles around town and watching Mireia look at clothing.


    Jez grabbed her pajamas from her suitcase. ¡°We¡¯ll cross that bridge when we come to it.¡±


    Taking the cue from her, Mireia pulled herself up off the bed and followed suit, saying, ¡°Bernie, you can eat as much as you like. Straight to your next doctor¡¯s appointment if that¡¯s what you want, as long as I get to buy what I came here for.¡±


    After a while, mostly spent waiting on the girls, the lights finally went out. Bernard stared at the ceiling, sprawled peacefully across the cozy hotel mattress, and nestled into the soft, comfortable pillows, feeling as though he could sleep for a week. The bed and sheets were cool against his bare torso, the room dark and equally cool, and the air fresh and clean.


    Eventually, he managed to ease his racing thoughts, as he mentally reviewed all the restaurants in the area. All of the best food on the planet, all in one town. He closed his eyes, seeking solace in sleep.


    * * *


    He found himself standing in a yard he had never seen before, although it was right next to his own house. The house where he had spent his early childhood in Lincoln, Nebraska. A man with short black hair, deep brass-toned skin, and heavy features with thick brows sat on the front steps, watching him play in the yard with Jez. A red Frisbee disc coasted between them, and they laughed as it veered errantly back and forth across the yard.


    It was early April, 1986, and the world was getting ready to bloom. A bird feeder hung from one corner of the house, entertaining the occasional feathered guest. It was still cold enough that Jez and Bernard were both dressed in jeans and light, long-sleeved shirts. Bernard would be six years old in a couple of weeks, and Jez was still four.


    A pale woman with long, dark hair drawn back in a ponytail came out and sat down with the man, whose name was Danny, and leaned against his arm, quietly smiling.


    His wife¡ªSammy, Bernard called her, or Sam.


    A few cars passed by as he and Jez tossed the Frisbee back and forth, enjoying a slow, lazy day until a car pulled into the driveway; the same mud brown 1971 Ford Country sedan that his Aunt Jessica had driven until it finally stranded her in 1992 in the middle of Atlanta, Georgia, forcing her to purchase a car with functional power steering, airbags, and an electric keypad on the driver¡¯s door. She had come to pick up Jez.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Sammy stood and walked over to speak to Aunt Jess for a few minutes, something about Bernard¡¯s mother, out shopping with someone named Silver for birthday presents. Jez tossed the Frisbee, but Bernard missed it, and it flew into the bushes by the house. He ignored it for the moment, and said goodbye to his cousin instead. Everyone bade each other a cheerful farewell before Aunt Jess and Jez got in the car, and they rolled away down the street.


    Bernard went to retrieve the Frisbee, prizing it loose from the branches it had landed in, and stood, turning it over in his hands, running his small fingers over the gold lettering in absent contemplation.


    Sammy called out to him, beckoning him to play with her. He tossed her the Frisbee, and she caught it. She was about to throw it back, when she glanced up at the sky, and froze, her brown eyes widening in horror as she called for her husband and ran to Bernard.


    Danny was already on his feet, a black gun in one hand as a dark shadow fell over the yard. Something large and indistinct shot down out of the sky, smacking and tossing both adults aside with a force that surely must have killed them. Torn from Sammy¡¯s arms, Bernard found himself in the grip of a huge, black, scaly hand. Something was carrying him swiftly up over the neighborhood, so fast that it made him dizzy. A dragon. An immense, black, humanoid dragon.


    A funny pressure built up in his ears until they finally popped, and the frigid wind roared in his ears with deafening force. He dared to glance down, and stared at the ground, terrified, as it passed so far below them. Block after block went by, and the brown Ford as it drove off into the distance. A couple of kids that he went to daycare with were playing with a football, but he was moving so fast that no one could see him. That must have been the reason no one looked up. He could think of no other explanation. Surely someone would see a giant black dragon up in the sky, even if they could not see him. His whole body was starting to ache from the force of his rough capture, and the icy wind was drying out his eyes, until he could barely see, much less keep them open. His face had gone totally numb.


    That was when he felt it: something sticky creeping over his skin.


    He looked down at himself, and could only scream as he saw a translucent black substance ooze from the creature¡¯s clenched fist. He could only watch, transfixed, as it crawled up his body, as though with a mind of its own. It <sub>~Bernard.~</sub> stopped short of his shoulders and ankles, and then the dragonoid adjusted its grip on him, as they descended. The creature pressed the edge of one finger, which alone was bigger around than his head, against his mouth to silence any further cries, nearly suffocating him¡ªand it wasn¡¯t long before he discovered the reason:


    Below them, waiting within the walls of a backyard privacy fence, the house itself up for sale and uninhabited, was a monstrous beast, <sub>~It is okay.~</sub> with multiple limbs, a long, whiplash tail, massive, fleshy wing-like structures, and what looked like enormous, fleshy fins. It was slick and black, with a face that might have been draconic at one point in its conception, but was contorted practically beyond recognition as anything he¡¯d ever seen before. He couldn¡¯t make out where its limbs were, or where one thing began, and another ended. It was too dark all over to tell, and the highlights and shadows of the beast only served to further confuse him. <sub>~BE CALM, BERNARD!~</sub>


    The only thing he knew with any certainty was that he was being lowered toward it, and he struggled violently, trying in vain to make some sound loud enough that someone might hear him and come make this stop, though he couldn¡¯t imagine what anyone could do against these creatures. Anything was better than nothing, wasn¡¯t it? But there was nothing he could do, and no one heard him, and nobody came. He could only stare, transfixed by fear, at the monster¡¯s long, black claws, its sharp, white fangs, and its strange, shadowy form, which almost seemed to change shape as it reached to encompass him in the thick folds of its soft, black flesh.


    The scaly hand was gone. He was upheld, now, by the soft, surreal, slippery yet secure grasp of the shadowy monster, as it wrapped around his body. Any screaming he did, now, fell flat and failed to pass beyond the darkness that enveloped him, but it hardly stopped him from calling for help just as loudly as he could. He continued to squirm in vain against the sickening stickiness binding his arms and legs, hoping to find some flaw to exploit.


    Out of the blackness, its jaws parted in ravenous delight, baring its hideously long fangs. A pair of small, wide-set eyes seem to stare right into his soul.


    ~Wake up!~


    ~Bernard! Wake up!~


    <sup>¡°For God¡¯s sake, Bernie, wake up! Before you wake up the whole hotel!¡±</sup>


    Its eyes had been so alien at first glance; but close up, they were much too human, yet lacking any of the warmth that human eyes should have possessed. Its black body continued to keep him shrouded, hiding him away from the world and holding him still, while something, a needle, pierced his shoulder.


    Something tightened over his mouth, and he tried to jerk his head away from it before he realized that something was off . . . it didn¡¯t feel right. It wasn¡¯t alien. The only thing pinning his body, now, was . . . human.


    ¡°Goddammit Maxwell Bernard, shut up and open your eyes!¡±


    He blinked and squinted into the blinding light of . . . he couldn¡¯t remember . . . it wasn¡¯t home, or anyone¡¯s house.


    The hotel.


    Jez pulled her hand away from his mouth slowly and leaned back, sighing deeply. She was sitting straddled across his stomach, her right hand and leg pinning his left arm. Mireia was seated on his right, on the edge of the bed, holding his other arm down. Their faces were drawn with concern as they slowly released him, and Jez flung herself onto the edge of the bed, next to Mireia, glaring at him.


    He took a few deep breaths, and let each one out slowly. In his mind, he could still see those cold, soulless eyes. An old fear had risen in him, long-suppressed . . . but it wasn¡¯t old. It couldn¡¯t be, because he had never experienced anything like this in his entire life. It was a brand-new thing, wasn¡¯t it?


    Mireia stroked the back of his hand worriedly, and wrapped her fingers around his, her thumb massaging his knuckles as she watched him, evidently searching for something to say.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± she finally asked.


    He wasn¡¯t sure how to answer that. After a moment¡¯s thought, though, he settled for, ¡°Don¡¯t ever do that again.¡±


    Jez threw her hands out to the room furiously, ¡°What in the world do you expect us to do? Watch you suffer and let you wake up the whole fucking hotel?¡±


    ¡°You scared the shit out of me!¡± he snapped angrily.


    She balled her fists, quivering as she looked for something to punch. Without warning, she brought her left fist down on his ribcage, as hard as she could.


    ¡°Ow!¡± he yelled, curling up on his side defensively, ¡°Jesus!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome!¡± she snapped, ¡°You think we scared you? Why don¡¯t you take a moment and think about what you did to us! You¡¯ve been rolling around in agony for almost an hour! You¡¯d think someone was torturing you!¡± she stuck up her middle finger at him, ¡°And you hit me in the face, asshole! If it ever happens again, you can just keep suffering until morning!¡±


    She was seething, at a loss for words or actions, and put her back to him abruptly.


    Mireia touched his arm cautiously, ¡°Would you mind telling us what happened?¡±


    It was the last thing he wanted to think about. He gave them a stony silence as he stared at the wall, deeply disturbed by the dream and thoroughly embarrassed by his behavior, and the fact that they¡¯d had to wake him like that. They were right, of course: they couldn¡¯t go drawing attention to themselves. He was still pissed off about it; and, given the nature of the dream, not a bit surprised to find out he¡¯d hit his cousin, though it was remarkable that the strike had landed.


    Jez hadn¡¯t said anything more, but he finally spoke, in answer to the question he was sure she was still waiting for him to respond to, ¡°It was just a dream,¡± he muttered it to the wall.


    He felt Mireia scoot up until she was seated against his back. She set a hand on his arm, doing her best to sound calm, but her words came out a little strained, ¡°That had to have been more than a dream. Are you sure you don¡¯t want to talk about it?¡±


    The rest of the summer¡ªhell, the rest of his life¡ªwas starting to look dismal if this was how it was starting off. Between Mireia¡¯s sympathy and Jez¡¯s anger, he was finding it hard to calm his nerves. He was torn between their emotions, both of which he felt himself; but, as he lay there, seeking some scrap of inner peace, he felt something odd . . . a chilled but soothing solace within him that he was not totally sure was of his own making. He didn¡¯t know what it was, and he couldn¡¯t recall ever feeling anything like it before, but whatever it was, it was helping him, and he couldn¡¯t bring himself to be afraid of it.


    He closed his eyes, cringed at the darkness it brought, and opened them again. He wanted to cry. It was too much. It was just too much. Everything that had just happened, and now this? He couldn¡¯t process it, and on top of that, he hadn¡¯t gotten enough sleep; and now he could hear¡ªfeel¡ªhis heart pounding in his chest, his blood pulsing violently through his veins. He was going mad. He was sure of it.


    What was worse, he was sure that one of the voices he¡¯d heard hadn¡¯t been Mireia or Jez. It had sounded like a child¡ªa young male, perhaps about the age he¡¯d been in the ¡°dream,¡± but it hadn¡¯t been his voice at all.


    Definitely going mad.


    The icy solace was still there, gently resting somewhere in the core of his being, soft and peaceful. He knew he ought to be disturbed, or at least suspicious of it, but he couldn¡¯t bring himself to raise more than a small doubt. Slowly, cautiously, he focused in on it, and dared to welcome it. Anything to make his head stop spinning.


    Bonus points if it made him sane again.


    Anything. . . .


    It spread, just a little, and he forced himself to take slow, even breaths. He didn¡¯t think he could go back to sleep, but he at least had to calm himself somehow.


    Finally, his heart began to recede to a normal rhythm and his adrenal glands relaxed. He became aware that his muscles were tightly clenched. His whole body so tense that it had become stiff. He forced his fingers to relinquish the grip they¡¯d found on his arms, and focused on relaxing. As he sought to distance himself from the fear and panic that the dream (or whatever it was) had set in him, he remembered something his sister had said once after one of her karate classes: if your body was tense, your mind would be tense, as well. He had to uncoil his nerves and loosen the grip he had on himself.


    He was vaguely aware of Jez and Mireia holding a discussion about him.


    Jez broke off as he began to force movement into his limbs, ¡°You wanna talk, Bern?¡±


    He turned to her slowly, propping himself up on his elbows, ¡°Do you really want to listen to me talk about . . . ,¡± he couldn¡¯t even bring himself to say it.


    ¡°Nightmare?¡± Mireia guessed.


    Bernard started to confirm it, but then shook his head, ¡°No. The . . . other one. Mostly.¡±


    The thing was still so vivid in his mind. As though it could spring to life at any moment, right there in the room. He inhaled, tried to think of a way to explain the ¡°dream,¡± and exhaled, giving up, instead pleading with them, ¡°Don¡¯t make me talk about it.¡±


    Jez sighed, ¡°It¡¯s just a dream, dude. It can¡¯t hurt you. Anyway, I thought we agreed that none of that stuff happened.¡±


    ¡°I¡®m . . . not actually sure that was ¡®just a dream.¡¯ ¡±


    The girls exchanged anxious glances, and Mireia asked, ¡°You think it¡¯s real?¡±


    He didn¡¯t immediately answer her, afraid to give life to the dark suspicion rising within him.


    Jez studied him carefully, ¡°You mean . . . like a memory?¡±


    Mireia leaned back, thoughtful, although clearly uncomfortable, ¡°I guess . . . since the memories are coming back . . . that must be the case.¡±


    ¡°No fucking way,¡± Jez said as she turned to stare at their friend.


    ¡°You¡¯re shitting me,¡± Bernard whimpered, as he realized her assessment made sense, ¡°I¡¯ve gotta relive things that were erased from my life when I sleep at night? Are you serious? I¡¯ll never sleep again!¡±


    He really did not think he could close his eyes again, knowing that Nightmare and Dark would be waiting for him when he did. He couldn¡¯t believe he was even thinking of them that way, as if they were somehow real!


    They were, weren¡¯t they?


    Something deep inside of him was screaming: if he went back, it would be just like before. He¡¯d have no choice but to give up the normal life they¡¯d been enjoying for so many years, and he would have to remember what it was he left behind.


    Those memories could come back to him, regardless of whether he chose this path or not, and this time he might lose them for real, and who knew what else he might lose this time. Would going ¡°back¡± to these people make it worse, or would avoiding them only cause him more pain in the long run? He¡¯d known it would cause him trouble either way, but this wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d had in mind!


    Jez shook her head roughly, ¡°This is insane. I . . . , ¡± she took a breath, ¡°I don¡¯t know, Bern. I just don¡¯t know what to tell you. I¡¯m really sorry, but that¡®s way too heavy for me to think about, right now.¡±


    ¡°You think it¡¯s heavy?! What am I supposed to think? Jezzie, I¡¯m losing my mind, here!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± she said, ¡°But what do you want me to do about it? Miri, what time does that clock say?¡±


    ¡°Three forty-four,¡± Mireia said tonelessly.


    Jez stood. ¡°I¡¯m going back to bed.¡±


    ¡°No way!¡± he yelped, ¡°You¡¯re just going, just like that?¡±


    She sighed, throwing up her hands at him, ¡°What do you want me to do? Stay up all night? You should try to sleep, Bern. Like, for real this time. You can¡®t just give up sleeping, or you really will lose your mind.¡±


    ¡°You must be joking.¡±


    How could she even think of going to sleep, herself?


    ¡°I know it must sound impossible,¡± Jez pleaded, ¡°but please try. We¡¯re all going to need the rest. You know Loren and his friend are still out there. I hate to admit it, but we all know we haven¡¯t seen the last of them.¡±


    He thought about it for a moment, and tried to picture how the day to come might be if he didn¡¯t get any sleep. He finally conceded, ¡°This is going to sound childish, but can we leave the lights on?¡±


    Jez and Mireia both looked reluctant, but seemed to silently agree upon it. They gave in, and bade Bernard goodnight as they wearily crawled back into the other bed.


    Somewhere inside of him, that cool peace rested, content as a cat that had curled up in its favorite chair. He still didn¡¯t know what it was or where it had come from, but he couldn¡¯t bring himself to care. Right now, it was helping him. Maybe, just maybe, with a little help, he could manage to sleep. As he closed his eyes, it seemed to fade, but he had a feeling it had not gone far.

 Coffee on Ice

    Mireia woke the next morning to a room like an icebox.


    She rolled over, groaning, ¡°For Heaven¡¯s sake, Sparky, I know you wanna be a penguin, but turn off the air. . . .¡±


    ~The air is not on.~


    She bolted upright in bed, certain she had just heard the voice of a child.


    Beside her, Jez mumbled something incoherent. There was no one else there. Not even Bernard.


    ¡°. . . Hello?¡± Mireia tried, hoping that either someone would show up or she would get no answer at all.


    Jez started to sit up, muttering groggily, ¡°Someone here, Miri?¡±


    ¡°Hi,¡± the voice said aloud. It was an older child: a boy of perhaps ten or eleven years old.


    Jez leapt out of bed, then yelped in shock, ¡°Holy shit, it¡¯s freezing in here! What the hell?¡± but then she gathered herself, and answered the voice boldly, ¡°Look, whoever you are, this is a private room, and you need to get out!¡±


    Mireia stared at her.


    She blinked back. ¡°What? You try living with my brother for a while, and you¡¯ll get used to stuff like this.¡±


    ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t believe him.¡±


    The voice began laughing, and Mireia realized she could feel him speaking. A gentle pressure, flickering in the back of her mind like a small candle struggling to light.


    ~I am no ghost, I am alive! Can you not feel the difference? There is plenty of activity in this town, but I am not part of it.~


    Jez¡¯s jaw had dropped, and Mireia suddenly realized that hers was likewise agape.


    Jez worked her mouth soundlessly for a moment, and finally managed, ¡°Then . . . what are you?¡±


    ~Your teammate.~


    They glanced at each other, brows raised in question.


    Teammate? she had to ask herself, A . . . living spirit? But wouldn¡¯t a dead spirit be non-existent? Aren¡¯t spirits eternal? Then that would mean. . . . She couldn¡¯t make heads or tails out of it, not first thing in the morning, and she could see the same confusion all over Jez¡¯s face. Most of what she knew about this sort of thing came from Ruben, and nothing he¡¯d ever said covered anything like this.


    ~Technically I¡ªand Bernard. I am his partner.~


    ¡°Bernard and I,¡± Mireia muttered automatically, ¡°Um . . . look, whoever you are, can you . . . well . . . show yourself? Or maybe not . . . it¡¯s sort of dangerous, I guess¡ª¡°


    ~No danger. I would know. I can also tell you exactly how many people are in this building, and exactly where Bernard is. He went for a walk early this morning, and he now waits in a caf¨¦, wondering if either of you want to join him.~


    The room grew even colder before it started to warm a little, and the air became drier as a cloud of ice crystals formed before them, denser and denser until a shape could be made out; or a series of shapes, rather. She still wasn¡¯t sure what she was looking at, but whatever it was, it was so big that it wouldn¡¯t fit in the room, and didn¡¯t fully materialize. Smooth, icy surfaces formed in large triangular structures, until they could make out a scaly, bright-eyed figure with a blocky snout and long, slick spikes. He was a dragon. Not like any dragon Mireia had ever seen, but undeniably a dragon.


    ~You do not remember me, do you?~


    They hesitated, looking at each other, equally confused, and shook their heads.


    He came a little closer.


    Jez reached out almost immediately to touch him, curious, before she caught herself and drew back, but the icy being pushed his crystalline nose into her hand. She ran her fingers over the surface, and Mireia found herself reaching out as well.


    ¡°Call me Toby,¡± he said aloud. Though he appeared to speak, as far as they could tell his ¡°voice¡± was simply emanating from somewhere around his head while his jaws moved.


    The scales were as smooth and solid as they looked, but although they were cold, she found she could rest her hand against them without getting chilled.


    ¡°Toby,¡± she echoed softly, committing the name to memory, ¡°And are you . . . male?¡±


    What seemed like a smile lifted his icy features, and he resumed the odd telepathic speech, ~My ¡®self¡¯ is more of what you might call masculine, yes, though I am still very young and not of full development. My kind grows slower than humans. We . . . ,~ he paused, settling a massive clawed paw on the other bed as he halfway seated himself, ~I can say little of my people, even to Bernard. They are . . ,~ he hesitated again, and said, ~Forgive me. It has been some years since I used English. I am trying to use Bernard to integrate, and he is not of . . . not awake, and we are hard to explain.~


    In place of speech, Mireia felt as though she were simply becoming aware of his thoughts. Somewhere beneath those thoughts, she dimly sensed an abstraction which could only have been called language, though she couldn¡¯t have put it into sound if she tried. It was his native form of communication. His people had little need for language¡ªnot in the way she was used to thinking of it.


    He didn¡¯t possess a true body, nor, as a result, any micro- or macrobiological sex components. His form was constructed from the air itself. Natively, it would have been carbon and oxygen, but in this climate hydrogen and oxygen were more convenient. Mireia caught vague impressions of a frigid world, and frosty figures of carbon dioxide ghosting briefly in a violent wind. They required the absence of heat to survive. That was difficult in a place like Charleston, but Toby was able to connect with cold places, mainly underground, and exchanged heat from his immediate surroundings. He had great control over this ability, though it was stronger in winter, and he would also be stronger with Bernard¡¯s help.


    The figures Mireia thought she saw in her mind¡¯s eye were indistinct, but so alien that she found herself straining to get a better look, mentally begging him to go back and show her again. He refused. It was forbidden to share more than he had.


    He resumed the telepathic ¡°speech,¡± ~We decide when very young what shape we take. It is usually one of the others we share our world with. I chose my appearance when I met Bernard. I saw such dark and terrible creatures in his mind that I used them as inspiration, and turned them into something not so frightening at all, and it helped him overcome some of his trauma. I chose to bind myself with him, and in doing so I have gained not only wonderful friendship, but the ability to perform in unexpected ways, in . . . ~ he phased out for a moment, then returned, apparently having found the words he was looking for, ~Unprecedented biospheres. Since then, I have contracted my service to ETHICS. I was already working alone on our current assignment, but at less than half my potential ability. That may not be something we can afford to do. I shall need Bernard¡¯s help.


    ~But enough. There will be time to talk.~


    Then Toby said, ¡°I believe you were to go shopping?¡±


    Mireia nodded, emphatic, ¡°Yeah. If we can just get this one normal day in, that would be great ¨Cer, relatively normal. Tell Bern we¡¯ll be there, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡± He quipped cheerfully, ¡°You are here to have fun, and I will never be against having fun! We will be wait-ing then.¡± He would direct them once they got downstairs, for practice.


    Then he vanished, misting out of sight, and the room became a little warmer. The glow of his presence in their minds flickered out, as though he¡¯d never been there.


    They stared at each other for a moment, and then Mireia shook her head, shaking off her bewilderment. ¡°I can¡¯t, Jez. I just can¡¯t.¡±


    Jez began gathering belongings they had scattered late last night. ¡°You can¡¯t? You¡¯re handling it better than I am, and I woke up one night with some Victorian-looking chick at the foot of my bed, no thanks to Rubie.¡±


    Mireia sighed, ¡°I can¡¯t explain it. It¡¯s all insane, but something feels right about it.¡±


    ¡°And yet,¡± Jez grouched at her suitcase as she fished out a shirt, ¡°Everything feels wrong. . . . Oh, don¡¯t misunderstand me: I feel it, too. Like they¡¯ve always fucking been there. But this is wrong.¡± She sighed heavily, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Miri. I¡¯ve been swearing like Mike. Heh. . . . Glad he¡¯s not here, right? He¡¯d¡¯ve called the cops by now. And he and Bern can¡¯t be in the same room. Guess it¡¯s good not to have that headache around.¡±


    There was only one take-away for Mireia from those two: No matter what was said on T.V., a broken family dynamic wasn¡¯t something that could be fixed with a few sweet words. Bernard and his long-estranged cousin were very different people, on very different paths. It was possible they¡¯d never get along. It was highly probable that, given what they¡¯d be told, Mike had been involved in the past; and if that was the case, then maybe there had been a time when things had been very different. One tiny little detail had changed their lives completely, however: until now, as far as any of them remembered, there had been no aliens.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    That was a pretty big detail.


    We¡¯re all going to go insane by Monday, at this rate.


    She stood to find the blouse she¡¯d planned on wearing¡ªwhite with lace and gold accents¡ªa pair of brown capris, and a comfortable pair of white Birkenstocks she could walk for miles in, and then she reached for her makeup bag. The Lord willing, she¡¯d have her normal day as planned.


    She ran a curling iron through her hair, attempting to give it some life and control the frizz that everyone else swore didn¡¯t exist, chatting away while Jez pulled on a t-shirt, denim shorts, and the tennis shoes she usually wore. Mireia pinned the gold barrette she¡¯d worn yesterday into her dark locks and chose a pair of gold earrings with dark brown ornaments that matched her eyes and capris, while Jez waited by the door, fiddling impatiently with the digital keychain pet cat that she so often killed out of neglect.


    Then they finally walked out.


    * * *


    Bernard had been awake since five a.m.


    Since then, he had gone for a walk around the block, perused the outside windows of the bookstore, then showed up at the coffee shop the minute it opened, where he stayed to wait for the girls.


    Since the crack of dawn, Toby had begun darting in and out of buildings, up and down stairways, down halls and corridors, gardens, cemeteries, and historic structures of all kinds.


    By now, Bernard was staring off into space, keeping his distant gaze somewhere in the region of his third bagel as he nursed his fourth glass of soda, feeling very much as though in a sort of dull aftershock following the complete meltdown of his senses.


    Suddenly, he was aware of everyone around him in a way he¡¯d never been before; and not just people, but everything. He was even aware of which way the wind was coming from, the changes in temperature through the atmosphere as the sun rose, and the presence of thirteen ETHICS Agents in the downtown area, based on Toby¡¯s own observations of them. Five of them knew who he was. The others were less aware of why they were there, but had been placed in case they were needed. The Charleston area had been crawling with them since yesterday, but most were now on their way out, with the instructions that the added security was no longer necessary. No explanation was given. Just a sudden reassignment. Toby was a top-secret asset.


    Bernard continued eating his bagel, as though the act could somehow save him from this fate.


    At the same time, however, Toby was so peaceful and happy, so ready to offer support, that Bernard honestly wasn¡¯t sure he could have made it through the night alone. By no means was he in his right mind, even now, but somehow Toby was making things better, even as he was making them worse.


    Eventually, Toby flew off to greet Loren and his partner Saara, who had gotten a room in the same hotel. Loren had been half-dressed when Toby greeted him, and Saara . . . was a vision Bernard didn¡¯t think he¡¯d ever forget. She had been standing naked in the middle of the room, gesturing exuberantly while she complained about prudish human cultures and having to wear certain clothes a certain way. She had the most jaw-dropping figure he had ever seen, with incredible golden brown skin, shallow-set brown eyes, and round, expressive features. Everything about her seemed so full and soft and . . . lush.


    Bernard shook his head, cursing the lack of sleep.


    Loren tried to explain why she couldn¡¯t prance around town in a bikini or expose herself to teenagers¡ªand why it wouldn¡¯t be considered ¡°a display of one¡¯s beauty and good health¡± (at which point Toby became more distant, apologizing to Bernard for bringing him in so close). The argument sounded like one they¡¯d had several times, mostly involving inappropriate daily wear, and the inclusion of undergarments along with such social standards.


    It eventually boiled down to Loren explaining that clothing was designed to fit with said garments. They wouldn¡¯t fit properly otherwise, and she would eventually regret her decision. That was just as true in her adopted home in South Africa as anywhere else. Humans didn¡¯t have fur to protect their skin¡ªthey had been wearing garments since long before their ancestors walked the Earth. They had evolved to require clothing. Besides: civilization was dusty and dirty.


    In that moment, Bernard was thankful for Loren, because if he had to spend any length of time around her, he was going to have a hard time maintaining eye contact as it was.


    Still: she came through the door of the coffee shop half-an-hour later in a gold-and-black crop top and a black denim skirt that ended below her broad thighs, and placed an order before she approached him directly. The way she moved as she bent over made him glad she wasn¡¯t wearing a shorter skirt, because he wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d know how to do it decently¡ªor, based on her earlier comments about restriction, if she¡¯d care to.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    He glanced up at her. Eye contact, man. ¡°Yeah. Just . . . having a weird morning.¡±


    She and Loren glanced at each other, and Bernard heard Toby¡¯s voice in his mind, ringing like a clear, unbidden thought, ~I will try to tone things down, for you, until you have adjusted,~ and even as he said it, Bernard could feel everything fading back to normal, just a little.


    ¡°I know you¡¯d like to be left alone,¡± she said softly, almost conspiratorially, ¡°But I thought we should ask, anyway. The . . . dream . . . is an unexpected turn of events.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, really,¡± he assured them, ¡°It¡¯s not as bad as it seems.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°It would have been worse without the help. I¡¯ll be okay. It¡¯s just weird.¡±


    Saara stepped back, patting her friend on the shoulder, ¡°Well, I guess if you need anything, you¡¯ll be able to contact us.¡±


    ~That is correct.~


    Bernard nodded, ¡°I¡¯ll let you know. Will we see you again this weekend?¡±


    Loren nodded, ¡°Yeah, we¡¯ve got to introduce ourselves to your parents.¡± He grinned, ¡°If you¡¯re gonna work for me, boy, I¡¯m gonna need your mother¡¯s clearance before I let you fly anything or operate any equipment. Everything else . . . well, we¡¯ll discuss it. It¡¯s going to be a little sticky.¡±


    ¡°No joke,¡± Bernard snorted, half to himself.


    The two of them walked back up to the counter as their breakfast was served, and Bernard leaned back, waiting, while Mireia fiddled around with her makeup as though it was the most important thing in the world. To make matters worse, everything she spoke, she stopped.


    ~Will those girls ever stop talking?~


    He barely suppressed a smile: they rarely ever did, although it seemed as though Mireia was doing most of the talking . . . something about wanting to find a new pair of sunglasses, which he knew too well meant they would probably backtrack more than a few times before she¡¯d made up her mind.


    For God¡¯s sake, just walk out the door, he thought fervently.


    The girls eventually arrived and ordered breakfast. The three of them sat quietly, enjoying the morning and listening to the radio above while he struggled to get his senses straightened.


    Toby came back about fifteen minutes later, still only speaking to him, ~Are we going somewhere or what? I am bored.~


    More accurately, he was bored with his partner.


    ~Come on! Before it gets too hot!~


    Bernard finished his soda and set the glass down, trying not to slam it, ¡°He¡¯s driving me crazy.¡±


    The girls looked at him in confusion.


    ¡°Our . . . new friend. He wants to get moving before it gets too hot out, even though he¡¯s already spent all morning running wild through the city. I didn¡¯t get nearly enough sleep for this.¡±


    Mireia smiled, ¡°We¡¯ll be ready as soon as we¡¯re finished eating.¡±


    ~You eat slower than you used to.~


    The thought was directed to all three of them, and they had to grin despite the surreal familiarity of the comment. Yes, adults were slower than children. He would have to get used to it.


    In the middle of Elton John¡¯s ¡°Can You Feel the Love Tonight,¡± just as Bernard was starting to think he¡¯d finally fall asleep, a pale hand quietly set a milky cup of coffee down in front of him.


    He looked up at a slender-framed stranger in khaki slacks and a finely pressed white shirt, donning a sleek dark gray felt fedora and expensive-looking sunglasses. The man shook their hands in turn with a firm but elegant grasp, quietly and very formally introducing himself¡ªDr. Zachary Maesera, whom Bernard remembered speaking to over the phone¡ªbefore addressing Mireia, ¡°How are you doing?¡±


    She stared at him, momentarily transfixed before she recovered and acknowledged him with a nod, ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good. I take it our friend¡¯s treatment is working out?¡± The doctor carried himself with the same well-spoken voice and mannerism that he¡¯d had on the phone. Then again, in this woozy sleep-deprived state, the lights on the man¡¯s white shirt and porcelain skin gave him a bit of an aura, so Bernard wasn¡¯t sure he trusted any of his senses right now. Except for Toby, because for some reason that was the only thing that felt real, other than the soda in his hands.


    Mireia nodded uncertainly, ¡°Yes, sir. He¡¯s good as new.¡±


    Dr. Maesera was thoughtful for a moment, and then shrugged it off, ¡°Must be important. None of my business, so I¡¯ll get to the point: should you ever need help again, any hour of the night or if it¡¯s a dire emergency, I¡¯m the one to contact. Your friend will have a directory at your disposal, and he should have my pager. I¡¯m typically available night hours.¡±


    Another man¡ªdressed down in dingy work clothes¡ªshot a dark glare as he walked by, started to say something, then walked out.


    A woman behind the counter remarked, ¡°He must not have ordered enough coffee!¡±


    The doctor shrugged and answered, ¡°Some people you just can¡¯t please.¡±


    She laughed, ¡°You got that right, Doctor! Just lemme know if y¡¯need anything else!¡±


    He smiled, ¡°Of course!¡± and turned back to their table, dropping his voice again, ¡°Alternatively, if you contact headquarters, ask for me by name. They¡¯ll know me. If they attempt to circumvent your request by supplying someone like the bitter farmer that just walked by, you should know I¡¯m the only real doctor in this region, with a diploma and credentials to prove it. It¡¯s fairly overkill for most situations, but I perceive these to be extenuating circumstances.¡±


    ¡°You could definitely say that,¡± Mireia said, and unless Bernard was mistaken, she was nervous.


    Dr. Maesera smiled, ¡°Can I offer you a word of advice?¡±


    Her brows rose, but she sucked in a breath and said, ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°Chamomile tea is a great calming agent, but it will make you drowsy.¡± He pushed the coffee closer to Bernard. ¡°And if you¡¯re going to keep a caffeine habit, you really don¡¯t want to know what that soda is made from. This is mocha¡ªa little more forgiving than coffee, since you don¡¯t seem like a fan.¡±


    Bernard reached for the mocha curiously, muttering a tired ¡°thanks.¡± He¡¯d never liked coffee, and had never ordered it.


    ¡°Valerian root is good for sleep,¡± Dr. Maesera added with a little smile on his lips, ¡°which you appear to need. I hate to be brief, but I have places to go this morning, so perhaps we¡¯ll meet again sometime, hopefully for more coffee and not another emergency,¡± he shook their hands in turn before strolling out the door.


    The worker behind the counter called out to their table, ¡°He comes in here about once a week, and he really knows his drinks! He mostly talks about tea, but he¡¯s got great taste in coffee, too! If he gives you advice, I¡¯d follow it!¡±


    Bernard smirked at the cup, ¡°I¡¯ve never really been into coffee.¡±


    ¡°Tell you what then: if you like that one I¡¯ll get you another on the house. My pleasure.¡±


    After drinking a second mocha and buying a third, Bernard was feeling possibly more energetic than he had in years¡ªnot alert by any means, but energized. He cradled the precious drink in his hands as they finally walked out the door.

 Fountain of Another Youth

    Jez Blackwood could walk marathons. This wasn¡¯t a problem for a track runner like Mireia. It was a huge problem for Bernard, whose hobbies mainly required sitting, and a minimum of cardio. The girls agreed to walk the entire peninsula, on the condition that they started on King Street rather than Meeting, then returned to their starting point via King so Mireia could go shopping, because Jez¡¯s original plan almost totally circumvented the business district. As they looked over a folded map, straining their eyes on the microscopic print and fighting to get a better look at it between them, they determined that Mireia¡¯s route was roughly the same mileage, so Jez finally gave in.


    The total loop promised to be around two hours, with the two of them dragging Bernard along. It would be closer to eight hours, by his estimate, if Mireia was going to have it her way. She was doggedly determined to buy at least five complete outfits over the course of the weekend, far greater than her original goal, and it took him until the fourth store before he realized she was doing it in part because it helped distract her from thinking about the Saurians.


    What he wasn¡¯t prepared for was when the girls started shopping for him, but he quickly realized he¡¯d been a fool to think he was going to spend the day watching them try on blouses and sandals without getting him involved. It was no secret that they wanted him to give up the t-shirt-and-jeans look.


    ¡°But this would look great on you!¡± Jez argued in one store, smiling as she held up a granite-gray textured polo with black bar accents, ¡°It¡¯d look even better by the end of the summer, if you used our pool.¡±


    Mireia snickered, ¡°He¡¯s got a license, now, so he¡¯s got no excuses.¡±


    ¡°Definitely.¡±


    Bernard rolled his eyes, ¡°Thanks for the self-esteem boost. . . .¡±


    Mireia set her hands on her hips, ¡°Oh, stop. You look fine. You just dress like a slacker.¡±


    ¡°And you act like one, too,¡± Jez added, ¡°If you just used it once in a while, you¡¯d see: you¡¯d be healthier and happier, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Maybe I don¡¯t want to stand out.¡±


    Mireia turned sharply on her heel, and strolled across the store, right for the men¡¯s slacks.


    Goddammit to hell, he thought bitterly, They¡¯re fucking serious.


    Jez elbowed him, ¡°Come on, Bern. Just listen to us, just this once, would you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m comfortable,¡± he grumbled, ¡°and happy that way.¡±


    ¡°Pleeeeaaaassssse??¡±


    He shot her a sidelong glare, his attention fixated on Mireia. ¡°Did you forget what happened last month?¡±


    Jez glared up at him, and hissed under her breath, ¡°Oh, fuck that bitch, Bernie. She was full of shit, and you know it.¡±


    ¡°She told the truth I¡¯ve been trying to tell you all along. Nothing less. She was just waiting until another boy came along, and that stupid waste of oxygen fit the bill. I¡¯m not even offended, Jez, just pissed that she let it go on this long, if that¡¯s how she felt about me.¡±


    Jez elbowed him again and walked away to join Mireia, whispering something conspiratorially. Mireia grimaced, and instead of looking up at him, resumed her quest with fervor.


    Confused, Bernard walked away. If they were so set on shopping for him, nothing he did would stop them.


    ~Care to share?~


    The telepathic voice came unexpectedly. Toby had become distant after the coffee shop, almost as though he¡¯d never been there, but now the child-like being was near, almost under his feet.


    You can¡¯t read my thoughts? he asked.


    ~Not quite, unless I am close, like I am right now. I only caught vague ideas.~


    For more than two years, Bernard had dated the same girl, until about a month ago. Prom night had rolled around, just a few blocks away at the Gaillard, and at some point she had gone missing. Her mother had driven them there. When no one returned to pick him up, he eventually found out she¡¯d left with another boy¡ªan air-headed jock off the swim team. He was lucky to find a few people who had seen her leave, before the end of the night, or he would never have known.


    It could only be assumed that she must have told her mother some lie to stop her from picking him up. His own infuriated mother later tried and failed several times over the next week to reach either of her parents, eager to know more about how her son got abandoned Downtown in the middle of the night.


    Mireia had stayed to help him, losing her own ride and her boyfriend in the process. It turned out he¡¯d never been comfortable with their lifelong friendship, and refused to change his plans so she could ¡°help another guy.¡± At two in the morning, they¡¯d finally found a bar that would let them use a phone to call her parents to come pick them up, and inform his frantic mother, staying the evening with her sister in West Ashley, that he was still alive and staying the night at the Durant¡¯s place on John¡¯s Island.


    Moved by pity, the owner had let them stay and wait while he closed up shop, and gave them sodas and leftover pizza on the house.


    As prom night tragedies went, he couldn¡¯t have asked for better than ending it with his best friend, many miles from civilization, camping out in the big treehouse his stepfather had built, overlooking the moonlit marsh. They fell asleep listening to a distant whip-poor-will finish its nightly serenade, somewhere deep within the dense woods it called home.


    The following Monday, he found out almost immediately that his former date had told the school he¡¯d broken up with her, and that her new boyfriend had ¡°saved¡± her¡ªa story soundly contradicted by everyone who had been there when he¡¯d figured out she was gone. Bernard confronted her, and in front of more than fifty other teenagers, she told him he was ¡°too weird,¡± and she felt awkward with him. Then she had the gall to suggest that he might think about going to college out of state, somewhere where he could date someone more his ¡°own kind.¡± Besides: the new lover had ¡°the nicest skin.¡±


    Until that final remark, he might have brushed it all off as disdain for his nerdiness.


    Then her new boyfriend inserted himself, armed with a number of slurs against Bernard¡¯s race and character, drawing a mix of shock and laughter from the rest the high school¡ªfrom a crowd that had doubled in size by the time Bernard lost his temper and punched the boy in the face.


    To be fair: the other boy had made first contact.


    That wasn¡¯t enough to save Bernard from his own mother.


    And it didn¡¯t fix the way he felt. Nothing would. Not even the knowledge that after the number of times he¡¯d been hit by other boys, he¡¯d finally landed a strike hard enough to break someone¡¯s nose¡ªsomeone he deeply disliked.


    Whether his Ex had used his own insecure narrative against him or had actually meant what she¡¯d said didn¡¯t matter. It had only been four weeks, and he still felt used and abused like some unwanted plaything.


    So, he was dead serious when he¡¯d told the girls he didn¡¯t feel like ¡°standing out¡± or ¡°looking better.¡±


    They were looking at men¡¯s shoes, now.


    He glanced out the window, considering the nearby stores. A Southern boutique. Another dress shop. Some tourist-trap gift shop. Another boutique. Nothing he could escape to.


    Dammit.


    Toby went quiet, sympathetic, but choosing to back away and watch from a distance.


    While Bernard was busy ignoring the girls, they finished whatever it was they¡¯d come for, and were finally ready to leave.


    The moment they were outside, Mireia pushed a printed paper shopping bag into his hands.


    ¡°What the hell is this?¡±


    ¡°Just look,¡± she said with a suspiciously smug expression about her.


    She didn¡¯t. He looked down, pushing aside the tissue paper. She did.


    She¡¯d bought the outfit for him.


    ¡°For God¡¯s sake, ¡®Rei, did you really have to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± she insisted.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    She looked up at the sky as they walked, took a deep breath, and said, ¡°Because you¡¯ve been on this self-deprecating kick since prom, and it¡¯s depressing to witness. Just try the outfit, okay? If you hate it that much, I won¡¯t do it again, but I really think it will help.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me.¡±


    Jez added, ¡°Thank you is also an appropriate response. That wasn¡¯t cheap.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± he said, ¡°That¡¯s why I think she¡¯s lost her mind. Thanks, I think?¡±


    Mireia sighed, ¡°Close enough.¡±


    At this point in his life, he wanted nothing more than to disappear¡ªand never see another mirror ever again. Dressing up in some bourgie polo suit was the last thing he wanted.


    After several minutes of walking in silence, Mireia said, ¡°You know she just said that stuff so you wouldn¡¯t chase after her. She was ready to break it up, and she did it with all the class and style of a middle school prep. She¡¯s always lacked as much wit.¡±


    Doesn¡¯t that make me a fool for dating her?


    ¡°Honestly,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯m kinda over her.¡± He wanted them to stop talking about it.


    Mireia rolled her eyes, ¡°I¡¯d believe you, Bern, if I didn¡¯t know you better.¡±


    Jez nudged him, ¡°You can¡¯t keep letting that shit get under your skin.¡±


    ¡°But she was¡ª¡°


    ¡°Wrong,¡± both girls insisted, overriding the word they both knew he was going to say.


    ¡°She was an idiot,¡± Jez said, ¡°I made fun of her when she was your girlfriend, and I¡¯m gonna tear her a new one, now that she¡¯s not. She¡¯s an airhead. She was always trying to get me and Miri to do her homework for her, always asking us questions about the books she didn¡¯t read, and she was a bad influence on you. Not only that, but any, any girl who ever claims to be ¡®embarrassed¡¯ by you or your heritage needs to grow up and get real, and any girl who even considers using that as a reason to break up, and in front of the whole school, needs to be thrown under a fucking bus.¡±


    He didn¡¯t respond, and neither of them asked him to.


    ¡°Here.¡± She grabbed his arm and pointed down the street. ¡°We¡¯ll chuck her under that one, and then that horse and carriage can trample her. Maybe it¡¯ll pee on her, too, and wash out the smell of that awful perfume.¡±


    That brought a smile to his face and a small laugh. If nothing else, at least his cousin was there to make him smile. As they approached Marion Square, Mireia stopped again to look at flip-flops. They were close to a grill, so as soon as she was satisfied with her perusal, he insisted on grabbing lunch: hamburgers, salads, and calamari.


    Mireia talked him into trying on the outfit after he¡¯d finished eating. He had no intention of wearing it on Jez¡¯s mad marathon around the peninsula, but she at least wanted to know what he thought of it, and couldn¡¯t wait until they got back to the hotel.


    It fit well, and she was right: it complemented his bulky, blocky figure, slenderizing a shape he had always considered formless. Deep down, he¡¯d known he could trust her to buy the right thing, but it still surprised him. Even though he still couldn¡¯t make eye contact with himself in the mirror, the outfit was nice. His mother would love it. He told Mireia she was right, and she accepted the comment as gratitude.


    After lunch, they ambled through the crowded artisan markets along the cool, shaded path around the perimeter of Marion Square, and then headed down Calhoun to East Bay Street, which ran all the way to the Battery Wall at the end of the peninsula.


    ¡°Hey, Bern?¡± Jez said after a while.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Is . . . um,¡± she hesitated, then asked, ¡°Is Toby still here?¡±


    ~I am.~ Toby said.


    Jez took a deep breath, as his voice resonated for all three of them. ¡°Okay. Well, I was just wondering . . . if you could tell us what this whole thing is about. You know, with Loren and stuff. Like, this is definitely going to be a lot of trouble, but what kind of trouble are we talking about?¡±


    They had silently agreed not to mention the Saurians all morning. Bernard realized that their trek so far must have done the trick, for her to initiate the subject she¡¯d been determined to forget.


    ~Lasoren¡¯s job is to locate rogue immigrants. Those who have broken the code of conduct and need to be deported back to the ETHICS headquarters on Refvrenzo for processing. In this case, the Agency does not have direct evidence, but rather is acting on suspected correlation. Many Agents have been killed on this case, which is why you will need all of the help you will be given. If anything were to happen to you, that would make our situation many times worse. The hope of ETHICS is that we will be able to gather enough data to know where he is and what he is up to, so that a more advanced team can take action. So far, his suspected activities have been totally random.~


    Bernard asked, ¡°That other name you used. Was that a planet?¡±


    ~Refvrenzo? Yes. That is the planet where ETHICS and Ryozae¡ªwhat Lasoren called Saurian¡ªrefugees are being hosted by the nation of Shonthera. Many Refvrish are deeply upset by the Shontherau people¡¯s willingness to take them in, because technically the planet is under Ilaysian control. Shonthera is knowingly taking terrible risks that could also endanger other nations.~


    ¡°And these people . . . they¡¯re not Saurians?¡±


    ~They are . . . something else. Lasoren has much to tell you. Saara, too, but the training is his job. She is here for the covert operation.~


    ¡°That was supposed to be covert??¡± In that outfit?


    ~If you had not known, would you have seen her as anything other than a tourist?~


    ¡°And this rogue,¡± Jez asked, ¡°Is there any way you can show us what it looks like?¡±


    Toby¡¯s cheerful demeanor turned dour. ~I can. Wait until we get to the park ahead. It is a nice place to  stop. You will need it.~


    Mireia cringed, ¡°I had my whole life ahead of me.¡±


    ~You still do. The Ryozaem deeply value education. You would typically be required to finish high school, but ETHICS does not feel they can wait. You are still required to complete your initial school, however, and you are encouraged to pursue at least a Bachelor¡¯s degree. It is extremely rare for an Agent to go any further than that, but they will certainly not argue if you desire a Master¡¯s or PhD. Your education is paid for, and your time will not be wasted.~


    Her jaw dropped, and she covered her mouth sharply, ¡°Really?¡±


    ~There are many such benefits to be had. ETHICS recognizes that their Agents sacrifice a great deal to be here¡ª in fact, your sacrifice is even more greatly appreciated, since yours must be made in secrecy. Traditionally, their cultures do not operate under the same economic system you are familiar with. You might even find their ways as alien as they see yours. Lasoren should have your contracts in hand by tomorrow afternoon, and he will explain everything.~


    At Queen Street and Vendue Range, they turned toward the Waterfront Park. The scenic detour from Jez¡¯s original plan led them to a broad flagstone plaza lined with water jets, shooting majestically into the air and meeting on a platform in the center. Children romped in the water while their parents looked on. In a month, Bernard would likely be back with his sister, and he¡¯d join her to escape the summer heat. For now, they headed out onto a long T-shaped pier, lined with shelters, picnic tables, stationary benches, and swing benches. They walked all the way down to the end, finding a quiet spot just off the ¡°T¡± junction.


    There, they leaned against the metal railing into the wind, gazing across the harbor. To the North, the aging skeletal Cooper River bridges crossed the channels where it met with the Wando River. The USS Yorktown aircraft carrier and naval museum was visible at Patriots Point, next to a large marina. On the Southeast horizon, past Shutes Folly island and the ruins of the fort known as Castle Pinkney, famous Fort Sumter was barely visible at the edge of the Harbor. Here and there, boats of every shape and size moved past them. Families walked the pier with their children. Various birds soared overhead or perched along the pier, some looking for human handouts, and others enjoying the sunshine at a distance.


    ¡°So this rogue,¡± Bernard said, turning against the wind so his voice wouldn¡¯t be lost in it. The change in Toby¡¯s upbeat tone had him worried.


    And he¡¯d been right.


    The briefest glimpse entered his thoughts, framed in snow¡ªreal snow, and not related to Toby¡¯s icy nature. A storm. An explosion. A flickering blaze. Fire. A bare hide, not scaly like a lizard, but in pebbled leather, well-weathered and wrinkled with scars. A narrow scaly face, and a long snout. A dinosaur, if he¡¯d ever seen one, with rows of small, sharp teeth and a low, rolling growl that rose from deep within its chest. Strange, pupilless eyes were filled with colors, shifting like oil on water, shimmering here and there with tiny, dancing lights.


    Then pain.


    And the image was gone.


    A sudden movement startled him, as Jez put her arms around his waist.


    They were silent for several minutes, leaning heavily against the edge of the pier.


    Mireia left first, as soon as a couple vacated the nearest swing. She flopped down on the slatted wooden bench and rocked slowly back and forth, staring at the rafters above her. Jez sniffed, drew a deep breath, and spoke in a small, shaky voice, ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s go sit down.¡±


    Nodding, he forced himself to move, and headed for the swing with her. He sat down between them, with his cousin still clinging to him. A small sparrow landed in front of them, its tiny, clawed feet hopping along in search of food before flying off again. It was almost hard to believe a creature like they¡¯d just seen could have been its ancestor. A couple of brownish-black cowbirds took its place.


    A few pedestrians walked past them, and he decided he needed to at least look like he was trying to console a distraught young woman, and not simply allowing her to cling to him because he didn¡¯t know what else to do. So he started rubbing her shoulder, in a methodical fashion that felt more absent than reassuring.


    ¡°Is this worse?¡± Jez finally asked, ¡°Than . . . the other two? From . . . last night.¡±


    He had to give that one thought. Was it worse than Nightmare and Dark? ¡°No. Dark was scarier by far. Like a . . . big, fleshy shadow with creepy, humanoid eyes.¡±


    ~Incorrect.~ Toby said, ~Dark seems worse because it took so long to figure out what we were dealing with. Both had the ability to become invisible, and Dark entered places that should have been impossible; but they were also very young, and not widely experienced.


    ~Our rogue is as old as the Ryozae people. He is one of the originals¡ªborn a true Terran dinosaur. There are very few like him, in terms of age, and none like him in any other terms. He is very talented, and very intelligent; but the matter is not so simple as ¡®being smarter.¡¯ He is also said to be insane.


    ~Not to reflect poorly on the Ancient Ones¡ªLasoren¡¯s parents are of the same generation. Of the few who remain, very few are socially active. Many are deeply withdrawn. Most are bored with their lives, and some have used periods of voluntary stasis as a way to escape the marching eons. No one bothers the Ancients, and they keep to themselves. This one is different. Violent. Known for random acts of chaos, from minor killings and demolitions to the takeover of large dynasties. Then he will vanish for hundreds, or even thousands of years by your count, and return to wreak havoc again. Always in the same places. Never . . . never anywhere like this. That is why he must be found. His mere presence here is the worst incident since Nightmare, and if it is true, and he is responsibility for the killings, then it could be many times worse.~


    ¡°What¡¯s his name?¡± Mireia asked.


    ~Zirol.~


    ¡°What is he?¡± Jez asked, ¡°I know what a dinosaur looks like, and that¡¯s a monster.¡±


    ¡°Dark was a monster,¡± Bernard said, ¡°Nightmare was more like a dragon. This one¡¯s a Coelophysis.¡±


    Both girls stared at him.


    Jez leaned away from him, glaring, ¡°Well! I¡¯m glad we have a nerd with us to tell us what¡¯s what! That¡¯s real helpful, Bernie! Thanks!¡±


    He shrugged, ¡°I¡¯m just telling you what I saw. The size and structure were correct for the species.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re all monsters,¡± she snapped, ¡°We¡¯re going to be killed doing this.¡±


    ~Again, it would be more than disastrous if you did, because of your age and extended families. We are hiding from your families in plain sight, and the scrutiny would be intense, perhaps even publicly so, should you come to harm.~


    Mireia asked tonelessly, ¡°And if we don¡¯t find him . . . are sure you can¡¯t tell us more about this . . . I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m saying this¡ª¡±


    ~ Galactic Patrol? It is safe to call them by name while I am around. I can detect Ilaysian presence, and will alert you if I should ever find them near.~


    ¡°Yes,¡± she breathed.


    ~The term you had in mind is a slight misnomer. Compared to the galaxy itself, Xal Enjhi is a very small nearby realm with only a handful of stars, although if they could master the entire gravity well you call The Milky Way, they would do so unflinchingly. I suppose I should be the one to tell you, so you understand fully and correctly. I do understand our greater adversary better than most people.


    ~As far as anyone knows¡ªas far as our knowledge of the galaxy extends¡ªthey are most likely the oldest . . . extant species. Thank you, Bernard. That is a good word. They are . . . how best to explain them? In the worst case scenario of a total exposure event, they will come for you, first: Ryozae immigrants and agents of ETHICS. They have a wide array of biological techniques by which to enter your heads to find out everything they can about you. Then they will punish you, wherever and however it hurts the most until you submit to them wholly. They may start with your voice, or vision. Maybe you are claustrophobic, or you have a lot of pride or personal insecurities. Maybe you are lucky enough to be particularly stubborn, and all of their efforts fail. Then they destroy you, neuron by neuron, until your brain ceases to function and you die.


    ~When that is over, they will move on to everyone else. Enslavement or death. Those are the only options they will provide.~


    The whole time Toby was speaking, Bernard could feel a prickling sensation sliding over his skin and down the back of his throat, slithering and probing through his head until Toby finally withdrew and it stopped. It took every ounce of willpower he had just to stay on the swing with the girls, and not throw himself off the opposite balcony into the harbor to rid himself of the awful feeling. When he glanced to either side of him, it didn¡¯t seem as though Jez or Mireia were having the same experience, though both were visibly disturbed. Mireia had drawn her legs up onto the bench, her arms wrapped around her knees and her face buried, tears sliding down her slender cheeks. Jez had gone silent, staring into space with the vacant expression that typically warned of an impending explosion.


    Toby continued.


    ~For now, you may count yourselves fortunate that Earth is too distant and too much beyond their control to be worth it, and they lack sufficient evidence of substantial Ryozae activity. We cannot allow what happened in 1949 to happen again. A Ryozae child was lost on Earth, and when his eventual recovery from a remote military base drew Ilaysian attention, everyone present was . . . purged is the best word. Their neural networks were shredded. The Patrol appears to have considered the matter resolved, and the humans decided there must have been a chemical accident. We will not be so lucky again.~


    ¡°So,¡± Bernard said, ¡°Our mission is to keep them from coming back.¡±


    ~Our mission is to keep from drawing their attention. They, too, have monitored the planet, though their main focus is on the area of Refrenzo¡¯s gravitational effect.~


    Mireia glanced up at the enormous sky above them. The periodic sunshine they had enjoyed all morning was long gone, replaced by dense, rolling cloud cover as the wind picked up. They had all seen the Milky Way that lay beyond it, startling and depthless, and more magnificent in quiet places away from the city¡¯s lights.


    She whimpered under her breath, ¡°Why don¡¯t you just get the CIA to take care of this? We¡¯re just kids.¡±


    Bernard corrected her, ¡°We are not kids. You¡¯re old enough to enlist.¡±


    ¡°In this case, yes, we are,¡± she said, ¡°Just because we¡¯re old enough to pay taxes doesn¡¯t make us remotely qualified for this. We shouldn¡¯t be here,¡± she tilted her head to look up at him, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Bern, but this,¡± she gestured at the sky, ¡°is why your dad left. This is what he was running from. This is what he was protecting you and your mom from. And we¡¯re walking right into it. We don¡¯t belong here.¡± She lowered her arm. ¡°Let the government handle it. They¡¯re grown-up professionals. They¡¯ll know what to do.¡±


    He nodded silently, thinking it over. Then answer came to him out of nowhere, like a memory, ¡°ETHICS doesn¡¯t want to risk dealing with Earth¡¯s unstable bureaucracies. Our alliances can shift too easily to establish reliable international relations, and our history of keeping promises is very poor. An agreement reached under one president can be too easily broken under the next one. Our leadership is too self-interested. Refvrenzo is different because its nations keep to themselves. Shonthera is especially wealthy and stable, and their relationship with ETHICS is reliable.¡±


    ~I¡¯m impressed your remembered that.~


    Jez finally spoke again, ¡°You remembered that? From where?¡±


    Bernard shrugged, ¡°I don¡¯t know. I just did.¡±


    She stood from the swing. ¡°I can¡¯t do this. I need to walk.¡±


    Mireia wiped her eyes and rose to her feet. ¡°Okay, Jez. Let¡¯s go walk.¡±


    Bernard pulled himself off the swing and quietly followed them.


    Back at the plaza, they had three options for exploring the park, all headed in the direction they¡¯d had in mind: follow a path along the harbor, lined with stately palmettoes, or pursue one of a pair of brick and stone-tiled walks through a tree-shaded grove rich with flowers. They chose the trees. Every now and then, they saw couples on benches, and families with children and dogs. The park was, without a doubt, one of the best decisions Mayor Joe Riley had ever made.


    As the trees gave way to another large plaza, they stopped to watch children play in streams of water from the enormous Pineapple Fountain, their parents sitting on the benches around it or standing nearby, happily unaware of anything going on in the galaxy.


    I used to be that innocent.


    In the life he¡¯d always known, he¡¯d been a pretty innocent kid.


    But that life had never happened. His innocence had been taken from him.


    Jez finally said softly, ¡°Those kids are like us. Same age we were when all of this began.¡±


    Mireia added in a similar undertone, ¡°If we don¡¯t do this, they won¡¯t stand a chance.¡±


    Bernard told them quietly, ¡°When we first moved here . . . I started having this dream. I¡¯d be lost in a big white labyrinth. Constantly trying to run from something. I remember, if I touched the floor, it burned me, so I couldn¡¯t take off my shoes, and I couldn¡¯t sit or lay down, and I could never backtrack because the walls kept changing, and then sometimes they¡¯d just suck me right in. I¡¯d suffocate in darkness, until I felt like I was about to die, and then there¡¯d be this blinding light, and I¡¯d be back in the maze. And there was that thing . . . there was this monster in the maze . . . I always thought it was kinda like Icarus and the Minotaur. Just a dream about a maze because of the move and all the changes. But . . . but it . . . wasn¡¯t,¡± he almost choked as the truth occurred to him.


    ¡°What was it?¡± Jez asked.


    ¡°It was Dark. . . . That Dark. One time when I had that dream, I broke both arms. I don¡¯t remember how, but I still remember the endless pain.¡±


    Mireia was watching him, now, ¡°You do remember, don¡¯t you. You said that a little too fast. . . . And . . . this dream sounds a little familiar.¡±


    ¡°No it doesn¡¯t,¡± Jez said, ¡°He did break both arms, but it was a car wreck. Spring 1989, he was in the hospital for three months. Don¡¯t tell me that was fake.¡±


    Toby volunteered, ~In 1989, the team tracked Bernard to a satellite station over Refvrenzo. It was the second worst incident, and the longest one. I met him soon after, while he was in recovery. At the time, he said that Nightmare had broken his arms. The idea, we believe, was to keep him from ever falling asleep. Remember: they were not human in any way. Human needs¡ªand human emotions¡ªwere subjects of curiosity to them. They ran numerous tests to see how those needs could be pushed or changed. We believe it is possible they thought his pain and fear were fun to watch. Zirol has displayed similar tendencies, except that he has been doing it for so long that he can be much more calculated and cruel.~


    Bernard stared past the girls at the fountain, wishing he¡¯d never mentioned it, ¡°Good to know these fucked up dreams are going to be a part of my life from now on. Our dog, Chester, used to wake me from that dream. I miss that big doofus.¡±


    Mireia cringed, ¡°Actually . . . Bern . . . the dog¡¯s name was Jester.¡±


    ¡°It was?¡± he had to think about it for a minute, ¡°Oh. I guess it was. For that big, dopey grin. Funny, because even after this supposedly all ended, we called him Chester, and he just rolled with it. Wish Mom would let me have another dog. It was a nice thing to wake up to, after a bad night.¡±


    Jez patted his arm, ¡°Good to know all three of us have had these dreams. I can¡¯t wait to see what¡¯s next.¡±


    ¡°Wait¡ªwhat? You¡ª?¡±


    She was walking away, headed for the next grove.


    Mireia sighed, ¡°Come on, Bernie. I know you¡¯re looking forward to that candy store.¡±

 The Worlds Finest Pralines

    The tree-lined paths eventually merged, and at the next plaza the marsh-side path also met with their course. At the end of the park, they met with Concord Street and followed it onto charming little South Adgers Warf, one of a few remaining streets still paved with the ballast stones once used to weigh down ships light on cargo. Then they turned left onto East Bay at the southern end of the famously colorful lane of houses known as Rainbow Row, and followed the outermost sidewalk, which eventually became the Battery Wall.


    The Battery seawall traveled nearly the entire length of the peninsula¡¯s curvature where a beach had once stood, protecting the city from the mighty Atlantic storms. Some of the largest, most opulent historic homes also stood here, normally a gleaming spectacle in the sunshine; but not today.


    Dense clouds rolled in from the South. Wind-whipped whitecaps dotted the harbor. Weather patterns always felt larger than life in the Lowcountry, and Bernard usually considered that to be part of its appeal. The sun was more colorful at dawn and dusk, and brighter at midday. The clouds were bigger, the sea air smelled better, the winds were wilder, and the rains fell amidst the palmetto fronds and dense woods with a tropical appeal. In summer, it was a reprieve from the incredible heat¡ªin a month, he¡¯d be praying for days like this.


    Right now it felt as though fate were sweeping down upon them, from the stars so far beyond the gloomy clouds; a gathering omen of things to come.


    Where East Bay turned right and became Murray Boulevard there stood a large statue dedicated to the Confederate soldiers who defended Charleston at the Battle of Fort Sumter, which was still faintly visible in the distance across the harbor. They turned before they reached the statue and strolled through the enticing shade of White Point Garden, sheltered by the wide, beautiful canopies of mature live oaks.


    It was a quiet day, with so much of the city¡¯s crowds gathered around the Market, shops, Marion Square, and live performance venues. They walked past other monuments dedicated to war heroes across the centuries, and one to Stede Bonnet and the other pirates who were hanged roughly on site. Mireia paused at the grand historic bandstand gazebo, drawing out a disposable camera from her purse to take pictures of them all. She briefly lamented that she¡¯d forgotten it back at the Waterfront Park, where she could get much better lighting on such a dreary day, but the majestic old trees of White Point were still a spectacular backdrop.


    As they neared the end of the path, they crossed back over Murray to the Battery.


    Where the Battery walk ended, they turned and headed North on Tradd Street. There, they had two options: the first was to continue on Tradd, which was quiet and residential¡ªpart of the neighborhood known as ¡°South of Broad.¡±


    The second option was to turn left onto Chisolm, follow it to Broad Street, and turn right to follow Broad past the waters of Colonial Lake to King Street, where the commercial district began, so Mireia could resume her shopping mission. It was a busy two-way street lined with historic architecture, which bisected the peninsula, separating its most famous residences from the rest of the city, and ended at the Old Exchange Building.


    They¡¯d never been here, and Jez was feeling adventurous. Bernard wanted to see the neighborhood. Mireia wanted to be somewhere meant for sightseeing, but she was outvoted. They continued on Tradd for just over half a mile to King.


    From King at Broad, they spent the rest of the afternoon following Mireia in and out of clothing stores, watching her try on clothes, fondle saccharine trinkets, and spend her savings. By the time they saw Market Street again, Bernard was dead on his feet and ready for dinner. He had his mind on a pub off South Market, where one of his classmates worked.


    Their families had given them the funds for something much nicer as part of Mireia¡¯s graduation gift, with her and Bernard¡¯s parents pitching in to help Jez, since her family wasn¡¯t as solvent for such an expensive occasion, but the teens preferred the homier atmosphere of smaller establishments. Bernard and Jez in particular shared little interest in fine dining experiences. They agreed to eat somewhere at least a little fancier tomorrow, however, for their parents¡¯ sakes. They would never live it down if, given the opportunity to go eat a high-class meal, they chose burgers and po¡¯ boys at bar & grill joints all weekend.


    After dinner, they headed back up to North Market to find dessert at Market Street Sweets.


    For once¡ªjust once that day¡ªBernard wished Toby had been paying attention, and not skipping around the harbor with the dolphins. Bernard himself had been window shopping until the last minute, when Mireia nudged his arm, saying, ¡°That looks like Loren, up ahead. Not sure who he¡¯s with.¡±


    Jez looked up, froze, and glanced up at Bernard. ¡°I¡¯m making this your rodeo if you want to talk to him, Bern. Looks like he¡¯s got some friends.¡±


    Loren, Saara, and three others were hanging around the entrance to the same store Bernard had intended to enter. Her couldn¡¯t be sure, but he thought one of them might be the same farmer who had glared at the doctor that morning in the coffee shop.


    Hoping he could just slip past them, Bernard quietly cut behind the group, heading right for the door, intent on seeing if there were any praline samples behind the counter. He could smell the crisp candied brown sugar patties from the street.


    The farmer grabbed his arm. ¡°Oh, hey kid¡ªsorry about this mornin¡¯.¡±


    Bernard pulled away. ¡°No skin off my back, man.¡±


    He stepped back, raising his hands defensively as he explained, ¡°Y¡¯see that fellow you was talkin¡¯ to  . . . I don¡¯t care if it¡¯s 3am on Christmas morning. You call one of us, wouldya? No good ever came of someone like that.¡±


    Bernard shrugged, intending to be on his way, ¡°He seemed alright to me.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯d have you thinkin¡¯ that,¡± a woman chimed in, ¡°But take another look at that proper-bred billionaire. Folks like him come from the wealthiest families in The Void. Frat-boy Prince could tell you anything he likes, ¡®cause he¡¯s got nothin¡¯ to lose if he¡¯s sent home. He¡¯s got no business usin¡¯ our resources, ¡®cause there ain¡¯t no way in hell he needs ¡®em¡ªand it¡¯s clear he ain¡¯t sharin¡¯.¡±


    The man added, ¡°You call HQ and tell ¡®em you need a non-emergency medic, and they¡¯ll know not to send him. The worst you¡¯re likely to get is a papercut, anyway.¡±


    Another man chimed in, ¡°Don¡¯t tell him that! He¡¯s Spec Op, y¡¯know.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± he said, ¡°That¡¯s right, I forgot.¡±


    ¡°I am?¡± Bernard asked.


    ¡°Do tell,¡± Mireia said, shooting a look at Loren, who, along with Saara, appeared alarmed with this turn of conversation.


    ¡°We¡¯re support for S.O.,¡± Saara corrected in an undertone, drawing their group further from the doorway before she quickly introduced herself to Mireia and Jez.


    Loren added, ¡°Yeah, don¡¯t go scaring my new hires, ¡®kay? We¡¯re research and support.¡±


    ¡°Riiiight,¡± the second man said, taking her cue and lowering his voice, ¡° ¡®Cause no one¡¯s ever gotten hurt on this case.¡±


    ¡°This is different,¡± Saara said firmly.


    The three of them looked concerned, and the woman put a hand on Saara¡¯s arm, saying quietly, ¡°Look, hun, I don¡¯t know what you¡¯ve been told, but around here nobody who knows anything believes that¡¯s the case.¡±


    ¡°Not if you keep talking about it!¡± Saara hissed at her.


    ¡°They have a right to be informed,¡± she argued.


    Saara put a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her to leave as she cast a meaningful glance to the others. ¡°Stop scaring our people.¡±


    Mireia leaned in, catching her eye, ¡°Oh, there¡¯s nothing you can tell us right now that¡¯s more terrifying than what we already know.¡±


    Loren and Saara both seemed confused for a moment, until the light dawned in their eyes, and Loren¡¯s jaw gaped, searching for words.


    ¡°So you know why we¡¯re here,¡± Saara said plainly, though her expression was sympathetic.


    Mireia nodded, ¡°Yes¡¯m, I¡¯d say we¡¯re pretty clear on that.¡±


    The first man smiled, ¡°Hey! ¡®Least they¡¯re all grown this time, right?¡±


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    ¡°Except for my sister,¡± Bernard said, ¡°I sure hope none of this follows me home.¡±


    Loren looked like he wanted to vanish.


    ¡°You have a sister?¡±


    ¡°You people have been following me for over a decade,¡± Bernard said, ¡°You mean to tell me you don¡¯t know? She¡¯s ten.¡±


    All three of them backed up a step or two.


    Loren turned to leave, ¡°I came here for candy.¡±


    Saara grabbed him by the shirt, ¡°And I said you¡¯re going to make yourself sick! Come on, let¡¯s grab a drink,¡± to the other three agents, she added, ¡°We¡¯re not even supposed to be having this conversation.¡±


    ¡°. . . Sugar . . . ,¡± Loren said wistfully, gazing at the door.


    The second man asked, ¡°What if this turns into . . . you know . . . last time?¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re worried, then stop talking about it,¡± Saara said again, ¡°And never mention it again. Understand?¡±


    They all nodded, and the woman said, ¡°Of course, Saara. Shadow Op.¡±


    ¡°Not one word of rumor.¡±


    The second man folded his hands in front of him. It seemed casual, but his voice was tight with an air of formality as he said, ¡°Of course. Not a word.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t hear nothin¡¯,¡± the first one said.


    Saara gave a nod, and the three of them resumed casual conversation as they said their farewells and departed¡ªall at different times, in separate directions. Bernard wouldn¡¯t have noticed it, but he could feel his new companion in the back of his mind, and he made a point of noticing.


    ~So they will not seem like they are together. Just a coincidental meeting of like-minded people.~


    Saara pulled Loren toward the hotel. Once they were gone, Bernard decided that after coming back from the dead and eating four helpings of peach cobbler, a few treats wouldn¡¯t hurt the Marasuchus. Though if he could recklessly put away food like that, it was likely that Loren wouldn¡¯t have had much self-control, had he gone in himself¡ªsomething that Saara also probably knew.


    They took their time in the store, perusing the vast, colorful selections of bulk candy filling wall-to-wall bins and heaped within the tops of large barrels. An assortment of sugary handmade treats beckoned from behind a glass display, filling the store with the delectable smells of an enormous variety of pralines, fudge, and chocolate-covered confections.


    Once they were done, they delivered a bag right to Loren¡¯s door (with help from Toby), where they were promptly assaulted with a barrage of heartfelt thanks and gleeful hugs. Genuine tears of happiness appeared in his eyes when he realized there was peanut butter fudge in the bag, and he immediately settled himself at the table with it. Bernard hadn¡¯t been sure if he should have chocolate, but he¡¯d been hoping peanut butter and a few others would be alright.


    ¡°Congratulations Sparky,¡± Mireia said, ¡°I think he might actually enjoy food more than you do.¡±


    Saara rolled her eyes, ¡°Well, you certainly found the shortest path to his heart. Right through his stomach. His metabolism has enough trouble supporting him. . . .¡±


    ¡°If you have any complaints about our choices,¡± Jez said, ¡°It was all on Bernard¡¯s advice.¡±


    Saara crossed her arms as she watched her partner settle back in a chair by the window with a lollipop full of mealworms in one hand, a chunk of peanut butter fudge in the other, and a smug look on his face. Beginning with the fudge, he cheerfully took his time to enjoy every moment of it.


    ¡°He actually did really well,¡± she quietly admitted, ¡°Even if I¡¯m still going to blame you all if my partner short-circuits.¡±


    Loren held up a portion of fudge, ¡°You have to try it, Saara. I¡¯m telling you, this stuff¡¯s worth its weight in solid gold.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± she asked.


    The teens stared at her, and Mireia asked, ¡°You¡¯ve never had fudge before?¡±


    She shook her head, ¡°What is it?¡±


    Loren called out, waving the piece in the air, ¡°Sugar, Saara. Pure, buttery sucrose. Just eat it.¡±


    She walked over, took it, turned it over with an air of wonder, tasted it, and her eyes widened, stunned.


    Loren explained to the teens, ¡°It takes a lot of energy to change forms, so we crave all the terrible things we¡¯re not supposed to have by the time we¡¯re done. We have two options at that point: eat the way we¡¯re supposed to, or give in to your human temptations. Since we don¡¯t generally taste things in the same way you do¡ªmany carnivores in particular have no native use for non-meat products¡ªas human beings we¡¯re especially fond of things like candy, ice cream, and pizza.¡±


    He finished off the fudge in his hand, licking his fingers in a state of bliss.


    Bernard held up a sugary praline, ¡°So this would be worth a fortune off-world?¡±


    ¡°Yes! Plenty of people will do almost anything just to taste it. Some folks with the right constitution would sell their souls for pure cut cane. Think of big herbivores with tough beaks that can handle grinding the stalk.¡± He handed Saara another piece of the fudge, in answer to a pleading look in her eyes, before he started on the lollipop.


    She took the fudge and sat down, mesmerized, before she looked up and asked, ¡°By the way: you said you¡¯d been told . . . why you¡¯re here?¡±


    The teens nodded, and Jez told her, ¡°More than we would have liked to know.¡±


    Mireia added, ¡°But everything we needed to know.¡±


    Loren lifted his free hand to the ceiling, ¡°I¡¯d complain that your friend did my job, but I guess this makes it easier, because there¡¯s plenty more we need to talk about. Where is he, anyway? Is he here?¡±


    Bernard shook his head, ¡°No, he¡¯s been out in the harbor since this afternoon. He says we¡¯re safe for now, and he¡¯ll let us know if anything changes.¡±


    Saara snatched the bag of candy before Loren could stop her, and asked, ¡°So, how do you feel?¡±


    ¡°Angry,¡± Mireia said, ¡°Terrified. Worried. I think those are all appropriate adjectives.¡±


    Jez nodded, ¡°Basically, yeah.¡±


    ¡°Overwhelmed,¡± Bernard said, as he started on the delicate praline, savoring it one little sugary bite at a time. It wasn¡¯t an antidote to their situation, but it made him feel a little better, nonetheless.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Saara said, digging through the bag curiously, ¡°Really. I am.¡±


    She meant it, genuinely, as odd as it was for her to say it while fishing through the bag for more sugar.


    ¡°It¡¯s a nice sentiment,¡± he said, ¡°but you¡¯re really not the one we need it from.¡±


    She nodded once¡ªand Bernard began to notice a pattern in the way her people performed the motion, ¡°I suppose that¡¯s true.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you also being dragged into this against your will?¡± he asked.


    ¡°We are, but we volunteered to be here, knowing the risks. You did not. If I wanted to back out, I think I would have done it after working with Loren, last year. The Everglades case was par for the course¡ª¡±


    ¡°The hell it was!¡± Loren snapped, lowering the lollipop to glare at her, ¡°That man was charged with poaching and terrorism! We could have been killed!¡±


    ¡°But the one in the Caymans was worse,¡± she argued, ¡°You didn¡¯t like the Everglades because you were almost eaten by a snake¡ª¡±


    ¡°And chased by alligators!¡± He shook the lollipop at her. ¡°Which is the last time I ever work a wilderness case in dog form!¡±


    ¡°That man in the Caymans kidnapped a Ryozae child! And he was trafficking cocaine, the rot-fleshed Naka! We were running a dual investigation around a human investigation, and we had to figure out how to get that man out of there once we knew he wasn¡¯t human! He was far more dangerous than the other one! And you and your cowardly ass won¡¯t get on a boat!¡±


    ¡°I was thrown off a cruiser, and I can¡¯t swim worth a shit!¡±


    ¡°You swam just fine.¡±


    ¡°The hell I did! And that¡¯s not what you said at the time!¡±


    She looked down at the bag, avoiding his eyes as she selected a piece of colorful handmade saltwater taffy.z ¡°At least we made it out, in the end, and that¡¯s what matters.¡±


    ¡°All I remember is I thought I was gonna die. And I almost drowned two nights ago . . . I think. I still can¡¯t remember a damn thing.¡±


    She dropped the taffy and stared at him, shocked. ¡°You . . . again? Two¡ªyou mean right before I got here?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s how I lost everything, Saara. I was walking back to my car in Beaufort, and the next thing I halfway remember with any clarity is waking up in the back of Mireia¡¯s car the next morning on Edisto. They said they found my sorry ass half-dead on the beach. In my real body. My wallet and my keys must be at the bottom of the Saint Helena Sound.¡±


    Bernard added, ¡°The vultures probably fished him out of the water. There¡¯s not much chance the waves carried him that far, unless someone dropped him nearby.¡±


    Saara¡¯s eyes turned watery as she looked between them, suddenly realizing what could have happened, until she finally set the bag of candy aside and said tearfully, ¡°Thank you. For saving him. I . . . I know I¡¯m hard on him, but that¡ªhe . . . he really means a lot to me. I keep a large extended family, but they¡¯re all human. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do if anything actually happened to him. I¡¯d¡ª¡± she swallowed, took a deep breath, and said, ¡°I¡¯d be alone on this planet.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t expecting the sudden emotional response, and didn¡¯t know how to respond to it.


    Mireia surprised him. ¡°Of course! We didn¡¯t know what we were getting ourselves into, but we couldn¡¯t just do nothing.¡±


    It was the truth, even if it glossed over and nigh omitted the entire part where she¡¯d been against keeping him in the car.


    ¡°But . . . how?¡± she asked, ¡°How could he have shifted, and not even remember it?¡±


    Loren shrugged, ¡°Even the doc had no answer for that.¡±


    She waved a hand, in a back-handed motion that Bernard realized was wing-like, now that he knew she had feathers. ¡°Oh, that doctor. You should have called a real medic¡ªsomeone who cares¡ªnot that arrogant leech.¡±


    ¡°We can argue about that later,¡± Loren said, ¡°The point is that something happened, and no one can explain it. The company would have done a forensics sweep, by now, and I still haven¡¯t gotten any results. The doc submitted a tissue sample for testing, because I haven¡¯t been the same since the Caymans. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on, but it¡¯s got me pretty worried.¡±


    Saara crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair, ¡°I wonder if it was him.¡±


    ¡°If it was, I really would be dead.¡±


    She squeezed her arms uncomfortably, ¡°Yes . . . I suppose you might be right, but that¡¯s a problem, too, if it was someone else.¡± She glanced up at the time, and looked over at Bernard and the girls. ¡°I believe it is getting late, for you? You may want to go to bed.¡±


    Bernard looked over at the clock. It was after ten. The weight of not sleeping the night before descended on him like a brick.


    ¡°If I can sleep normally, this time,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± she offered sincerely.


    ¡°Oh!¡± Loren stood suddenly, ¡°Speaking of sleep, I forgot to give you this¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± Saara suggested.


    Loren ignored her. ¡°That doctor left a package at the front desk, but the note inside is addressed to you, Bernard. It¡¯s just an over-the-counter sleep aid. Melatonin. Totally harmless.¡±


    He handed Bernard a brown paper bag, which contained a bottle of melatonin capsules, and a note written in impeccable script, wishing him well and warning him to take it ¡°in single doses only as needed,¡± and not every night. The doctor¡¯s signature was strikingly elegant.


    Loren added, ¡°The front desk said a man with his description came by just after midday. He must have delivered it on his lunch break.¡±


    Saara grumbled around a thick mouthful of taffy, ¡°What a hero.¡±


    Loren¡¯s expression soured. ¡°If you three will excuse us, we need to have a talk about this.¡±


    Saara turned indignant, and Jez said quickly, ¡°Well, we do need to get some sleep, anyway. It¡¯s been a busy day and we¡¯ve got so much to think about!¡±


    Bernard was dazed and numb with exhaustion, and grateful when the girls ushered him out of the room, and towards his bed.


    He took the supplement, and slept dreamlessly through the night.

 Just For Sport

    Daniel Kago lu¡¯Rizek collapsed into a patio chair, his bright, nova-like hazel eyes gazing wearily out past Palma de Mallorca¡¯s sparkling beaches, at the darkening Mediterranean Sea just south of Spain.


    Nothing on his homeworld could have prepared him for this place. Not its majesty, nor its complexity, nor the brilliance of the Terran sun reflected on its waters. That little star had been hard on his brass-toned Refvrish skin, rendering it a browner hue than usual. It worked to his benefit, though, since he had needed less makeup than usual to hide his alien skin tone. Nevertheless, he found himself welcoming nightfall more than usual, here on one of his favorite seas.


    On a normal day he was a marine biologist, monitoring Earth¡¯s microbial sea life for signs of extraterrestrial interference¡ªIlaysian or otherwise. He was one of only a few individuals doing the job, and by far the most readily mobile, so he covered the entire planet, and had supply stations on every continent. Some were small, like the apartment in Miami where he kept all his scuba gear. Some were larger, such as a cabin deep in the Yukon Territory. This one was his second in this part of the world, since he¡¯d purchased his old site in Heraklion, Greece for his wife, Samra, after he¡¯d fallen in love with all things Mediterranean.


    It was a large, lively, and diverse part of the world, but it had never been the sort of place where bad things happened to his people. Then, three days ago, a pair of Spanish agents for ETHICS had gone missing. The company sent Daniel and Algaeflame, the athletic and multi-talented agents who had handled the Nightmare case: a jack-of-many-trades, and his alien partner, one of only a handful of its kind ever to leave their distant homeworld. It helped that Daniel already had a place to stay here, and was familiar with the area.


    Julie, his supervisor, had come to him with the Zirol case a few months ago, but he ended up leaving the bulk of it to his wife and the team, and Julie was more than happy to have Sam on board. Daniel suspected she¡¯d been hoping for it. The work that needed to be done was too dangerous for him to handle without someone like Sam, and too emotionally charged for him to handle in his usual blunt and analytical way. After all, Bernard had hated working with him before¡ªhated it! The boy had found him tiresome and at times appalling, and that was unlikely to have changed. Sam would surely have the softer hand and social aptitude necessary for this situation.


    Instead, for the past two days, Daniel had worked with a fellow agent, questioning the locals, human and Ryozae alike, looking for any scrap of information they could dig up on whether Zirol might have been involved in the recent disappearance. So farm they hadn¡¯t caught even a whiff of Zirol, the missing agents, or any sign of anyone else being involved, and they were beginning to suspect that it might indeed have been him.


    Most agents were more than capable of working two straight days without sleep, but this . . .  this was exhausting. They had to move fast, and Daniel had terrible people skills. He leaned heavily on the other agent to do all the talking. That agent, Rex, was still out there now, conducting a few more interviews. They might already be too late. There was always a chance, though, so they had to try. He hoped Rex would remember to record all the data he¡¯d asked for.


    Hunting Nightmare and Dark in the ¡®80s had been like hunting a pair of ghosts. Zirol, as Daniel had been warned, was much harder to pin down. A hunter by birth and trade. It was widely assumed he¡¯d be human, but they didn¡¯t have a single lead on his appearance. Some agents believed that he might even have more than one form. If Zirol was an Immortal¡ªFriinirran-Osa, Sam had called him, or ¡°Grand Elder¡±¡ªthen it was reasonable to assume he¡¯d had plenty of time to acquire a stockpile.


    Rex was late. Daniel hoped that was a good sign. He stood and walked inside to pour himself a drink, reaching for the first bottle in sight: gin. Some said he had no sense of taste, but he thought of himself as uncomplicated. The drink wasn¡¯t going to do much, but it would take the edge off the anxiety that had built up over the past 48 hours, though the course of so many human interactions.


    The flat was as simple as his taste in alcohol: one bedroom, one bath, a few food items he and Rex had purchased, and whatever non-perishable ingredients he had cooked with the last time he¡¯d been here. Al, as he called his unusual partner, had gone to bed an hour ago. As mobile as he was, he¡¯d been busier than either Rex or Daniel, and staying hidden meant expending so much energy, and gaining back very little of it.


    Halfway back to the bedroom, Daniel stepped into the kitchen, idly looking for something to eat.


    As he reached for the refrigerator, however, a strong hand grabbed him from behind, forcing something into his mouth (a washrag, he realized), while the other arm wrapped around him tightly, pinning him in a vice-like inhuman grip, as he felt a hot breath against his ear. The rag was worked deeper, his jaw cracking, and he thought he was going to choke on it.


    A soft, sinister voice cooed sadistically in his ear, in the course, reptilian tones of the most ancient Ryozae tongue, ¡°Ite, ite rrunxagenni¡¯ri, magaahhlo¡¯adi lurrnh-aurna mahha¡¯izi. Rrehnnigehtz-aurna¡¯di uzhhoon, ssazaxxaa-ejjaana, kaii xal magaahlo-ssupurru xaydi-aurna hhaass yaal-zix`hl jjenim-Ilou¡¯ri. Magaahhlin-aurna rruxuniila!¡± (Poor, poor bastards, think you¡¯re onto something. You scramble about, vermin-like, with the ridiculous idea you can slither right behind Their backs. You know nothing!)


    Daniel realized his assailant could only be Zirol, with those words, in that dialect. He tried to cry out to his partner¡ªto make any sound at all¡ªbut Zirol¡¯s grip tightened on his jaw, cutting him off and sending waves of agony through his skull.


    The old Immortal went on in English. ¡°You do not have the brains, the nrinn-zahhai, to outwit Them.¡± The term he used was ¡°fire of flesh,¡± or literally ¡°flesh-fire.¡±


    ¡°And you think that you can find me? Poor, stupid vermin. All these eons, and still such primitive fools. You, your arrogant, lazy, ¡®Immortals,¡¯ who are too full of their own eons to offer contributions to any but themselves, and your Shonthera, with all your claimed strength. Someday, perhaps you will finally figure it out, and go home. From the mud-plains of Refvrenzo you came, and in the mud you still crawl. I¡¯m feeling generous, however, so I¡¯ll help you on your way.¡±


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    He felt a heavy boot drive itself into the back of his knee, forcing him to kneel down on the floor. The stranger¡¯s hands slid to his arms as he fell, and the boot connected with the center of his back. It should have pushed him to the floor, but Zirol held him fast, and instead the sheer, unbelievable force created a splitting pain in his back and both his shoulders, followed by a coursing, tingling sensation as he lost feeling and control in both arms.


    Zirol lowered him, face-down on the cream-colored tile floor, and kicked aside the already-forgotten gin glass as he walked around him. Any resistance would be utterly pointless, but Daniel drew his legs in anyway, bracing himself against the refrigerator as he tried to right himself into a sitting position.


    The tingling was spreading down his legs, and he was having trouble moving them.


    The cabinet under the sink was opened, and Zirol rifled around until he found the Bowie hunting knife magnetically suspended above the inside of one of the doors. Although he could see Zirol¡¯s motions, Daniel couldn¡¯t get a good view of the man¡¯s face. Not for the stabbing pains in his neck and spine, nor the blur of the tears in his eyes. Lean, gray hair, in his forties or fifties.


    Zirol came back around and grabbed Daniel¡¯s hair, jerking him painfully, then placing him back onto his face. Then the old Immortal hissed in his native tongue, <I was going to play with a few chemicals, but you¡¯ve made my day, Kago-child.>


    Slick, sharp, and combat-ready, the knife slid easily down his back, through his shirt. Zirol took a moment to remove it from his body.


    <Are you out of fighting spirit, already?> he asked, <Just going to lie down and let me do what I like? With your mate¡¯s reputation, I thought you¡¯d be made of better.> He pulled Daniels¡¯ arms back behind his back, just under his shoulder blades, and began to bind them with the ruined shirt. <Wise, really, but cowardly, just the same.> A cabinet opened briefly and shut again. <What would her pack have to say, if they knew she¡¯d married such a pathetic creature?>


    At that, Daniel glared back at him, despite the pain.


    The moment he did, a liquid substance hit his face. His eyes started to burn.


    Zirol made a humored sound, by way of a soft, course, animalistic warble. <No use in crying over it¡ªthat¡¯s your own fault. You made it far too easy.>


    He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but he was blinder than ever. His eyes felt as though they¡¯d been lit on fire, and he had a terrible suspicion that Zirol had found the chili oil.


    <And yet, you have no fear.>


    More liquid landed over his body.


    Zirol set the knife down on the floor, and whispered in his ear, <Your whimpering makes an ugly sound.> Then he drove the rag into the back of Daniel¡¯s throat, cutting off his ability to breathe.


    Silence followed as his eyes burned. His shoulders and arms ached and stung.


    Seconds ticked by.


    He couldn¡¯t breathe.


    He couldn¡¯t think.


    Something exploded, somewhere distant, and he felt the heat of fire lick across the floor and over his skin. Somewhere . . . in the back of his mind . . . he remembered buying a volatile liquor.


    A loud, persistent banging sound carried on, and on, and on.


    * * * * *


    Dawn was creeping into the sky by the time Rex finally brought his heartrate down. He leaned back against the hallway of the company¡¯s European HQ in Berlin, staring through the one-way mirrored windows at the slowly vanishing stars.


    Visions of a glistening, blood-soaked platform flitted through his head, far away on his distant homeworld. As fresh as though it were yesterday, he heard the stifled screams; coarse, warbling cries forced through loosely bound jaws, able to part just enough for that awful sound to resonate across the broad social plaza, clawing into the memories of an unwilling audience. Deep reds and exotic indigo violets spilled from bone-deep lacerations, pooling at scaly feet, slickening the reflective pavers. Fragments of flesh scattered through the air at the bidding of Zeronei razorwire.


    The mirrorstones of Ryozauggex, and the vistas of his memory were painted in the grisly remains of his fellow Ryozaem.


    He was going to need to call his counselor. A flashback like that could jeopardize his reliability as an agent.


    He¡¯d arrived just in time to save Daniel¡¯s life, though the real hero of the day had been Daniel¡¯s partner. Al stayed invisible, but Rex felt its wing beats in the air, felt its body expand to block the flames, and expand again to fly them both out. Rex had heard plenty of stories. Creatures like that one were so rare, they were practically the stuff of legends. They¡¯d been lucky to have one around.


    Still: Daniel needed immediate medical care. He was Refvrish, and they were a rugged people, but they were by no means invincible.


    Thankfully, he was in good hands, now.


    Rex had been nearby, and narrowly avoided taking significant injury from the blast.


    They¡¯d been lucky, indeed.


    A gentle hand on Rex¡¯s shoulder startled him.


    <Sorry,> one of the doctors said to him, speaking a familiar dialect of their native tongue, <Wanted to be sure you¡¯re okay.>


    The dialect was partially abbreviated¡ªless so than it had been when Rex and Al first arrived with Daniel. War era. The elder Ryozae vastly outranked him. Vowel-heavy syllables denoted a typical herbivore. Although he appeared almost fragile¡ªbony and pale, with thin dark hair¡ªRex knew better. The man¡¯s eyes bore the sharpness and depth he¡¯d come to expect from his warrior brethren.


    Rex shook his head quickly, answering in kind, <No injury, High Elder. Not badly.>


    The man reached into Rex¡¯s thick, feathery blonde hair, inspecting his scalp where they both knew he¡¯d taken a gash to the head.


    <Won¡¯t need much, but come along, anyway. I didn¡¯t miss the limp, either.>


    <I¡¯ll take care of it, later.>


    The man¡¯s dialect relaxed, his tone softly humored as he warbled, <You don¡¯t have to prove anything, but if you fall over because you were stubborn, I¡¯m going to leave you on the floor until I get back with a wheelchair. I might even take my time. Just ask my apprentice.>


    Smirking, Rex leaned away from the wall. His body protested the movement, but he straightened, and allowed the doctor to guide him down the hall.


    <Rmarrh was your name, wasn¡¯t it?>


    Rex leaned away, surprised by the sound of his pack name. <You recognized me?>


    <I expected you. Daniel is Samra Rizek¡¯s husband, so I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be far from her. Kasimir Adenauer¡¯s the name I use, here. Kadin At¡¯haonemouna is the name you¡¯d remember.>


    That took him further off guard. <You! You¡¯re here¡ªthen . . . Kadin-Commander . . . who¡¯s doing your job back home?>


    Kadin shrugged¡ªit was no surprise to Rex that he had taken so well to human gestures. Unlike their distant cousins on other worlds, adaptation was an expectation of the Ryozakkan, not an option. While Kadin would operate within limitations, at his age, those limits could prove difficult to detect. <It was never mine. There are others who will have filled the position by now. My profession is the best use of my skillset, but my family has always been my priority. And you, Captain? Here for the Rizek heiress?>


    <Wandering,> Rex said, <Not sure where I¡¯ll drift next. Anywhere but home. This Zirol business has got my interest. Reckon Samra could use some backup.>


    <Stick with it, then,> Kadin told him, <We could use a good Wind Listener. Not many of your kind, to begin with. But did you have to choose ¡®Rex?¡¯>


    The subtle compliment and humored question brought a smile to his face, <It amused me. It¡¯s what the humans call ¡®kingly.¡¯ Like the one they call ¡®Tyrant Lizard.¡¯>


    Kadin laughed out loud. <Still so damn cocky. That¡¯s good, as long as it¡¯s still tempered. You¡¯re going to need that confidence.>


    Rex couldn¡¯t help a happy sigh. It was good to speak to one of his own, again.

 Memories That Count

    Mireia spent half of Sunday shopping, dragging the others along on an intensified mission as she backtracked between Marion Square and the Market over two pairs of shoes, a blouse, a dress, a handbag, and a pair of sunglasses. Feeling just a little petty over the matter, Bernard made her and Jez wade back through the artisan stalls at the Square with him, after lunch. They had to wait for him, for once, until he came away with a new hand-carved wooden relief of a sailfish swimming freely beneath the waves. The emotionally-driven purchase had cost him a more significant portion of his savings than he was willing to admit, and the girls teased him over it all the way back to the Belmont.


    Their families met them over dinner¡ªand, to the trio¡¯s collective uncertainty, Loren and Saara.


    Contrary to the scene they had made last night, however, the pair was remarkably pleasant and formal all the way through the meal. Saara was even dressed more modestly, proving she could adjust her tastes when she needed to.


    Over a remarkably modest meal of fried flounder and grilled vegetables, Loren introduced himself as the son of a private aviator whose parents had moved overseas to care for his sister, who suffered from a long-term illness. He¡¯d been given charge of his father¡¯s small estate outside rural, remote Round O, SC near the town of Cottageville, and not far from the city of Walterboro. He went on at length about his father¡¯s pride and joy: a modified de Havilland DHC-6, a 19-passenger twin-piston amphibious plane. Currently, the craft was being loaned out to a trusted friend, leaving him with (only) a smaller amphibious Lake LA-4-180, a small AS350-B helicopter, and a slightly larger MD-600N he was borrowing in exchange for the de Havilland.


    Eager to spend some time with the aircraft, he was willing to pay the teens each $500.00 per week to come out and help with maintenance of the estate, along with the horses his parents had left behind. The slight twitch on his face felt genuine, as did Saara¡¯s soft smile.


    Saara introduced herself as a visiting friend who was spending the summer State-side, and was looking forward to being flown around the country to do some sightseeing.


    They invited everyone to come out and see the place the next day, to allow the parents a chance to see it before agreeing to let their children work for a total stranger in the middle of nowhere.


    Their cover was brilliantly flawless, and their offer enticing. If Bernard hadn¡¯t known any better, he¡¯d have thought half his weekend was some sort of fever dream; that is, if Toby hadn¡¯t told him that Sam¡¯s husband was borrowing the de Havilland for an investigation in the Balearic Islands, or that the story about Loren¡¯s family bore signatures of partial truth, as much as Saara¡¯s summer-long visitation.


    The whole ride home, Odessa talked about nothing but horses to the sound of her favorite tape¡ªan offensively obnoxious boyband mix she had spent hours compiling. It was, Bernard thought, a clever ruse to add the horses. His mother would be more inclined to let him hang around the place if she was bringing his sister around to visit.


    It also sounded like a problem, though Toby assured him it would be fine.


    Later, as he was changing into his pajamas and brushing his teeth, he decided he should set a few ground rules with Toby: Don¡¯t freeze his bedroom, because of his snake. His aquarium had a heater, but if anything happened to his snake, he¡¯d be pissed. Don¡¯t kill his mother¡¯s garden, be nice to the cats, and don¡¯t defrost the freezer or overheat the refrigerator. Stay out of the bathrooms and bedrooms, the latter especially any time people might be changing. Most importantly: don¡¯t draw attention.


    That was when Toby reminded him that this wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d been on Earth. Or the second.


    On that note, Bernard was done: it had been a strange, fucked up weekend, and it was going to be a strange, fucked up week, and he was exhausted.


    At long last, he was able to crawl into his bed, the mattress old and a little stiff, but comfortingly familiar. He fell asleep within minutes of closing his eyes.


    *  *  Lincoln, NE ¨C 1986  *  *


    He was sitting on a couch, watching television with his friend Silver, who was dressed in a sparkly white translucent shirt over a tie-dyed tank, with a rhinestone-bedazzled pair of jeans. A thin, dark-skinned Mongolian less than five feet tall, with spiky, extravagant, side-swept black hair framing his androgynous features, he appeared to be in his early thirties, although sometimes he seemed a great deal older. He could have passed for someone much younger at that moment, though, as he laughed along with the show they were watching.


    Bernard had stopped paying attention, and was looking down at a handgun, running his fingers over its smooth, black barrel.


    He was six years old.


    Silver reached over and rested his thin, fragile-looking fingers on the weapon, gaining Bernard¡¯s attention.


    ¡°I¡¯m sitting right here,¡± he promised, ¡°Nothing¡¯s going to happen without me being the first to know about it, right?¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Bernard said, ¡°I¡¯m just looking at it.¡±


    ¡°Remember what we talked about?¡± Silver answered gently, ¡°Only take it out when you have to. Enjoy the show. Relax for a while.¡±


    His fingers closed around the barrel. Bernard trusted him not to take it away, and made himself let it go. Silver set it on the couch between them.


    Bernard took a breath, then released it slowly, the way he¡¯d been taught.


    ¡°I¡¯m doing my best.¡±


    Silver grimaced. ¡°I know it¡¯s hard. Have you been sleeping any better?¡±


    Bernard shook his head. ¡°Uh, uh. I can¡¯t stop thinking about Them. Mommy bought a nightlight, but I can¡¯t stop watching the shadows, and if I take it out, I feel like they¡¯re standing over my shoulder,¡± he rubbed his arm, remembering that shadowy, terrible flesh, ¡°The Dragon hasn¡¯t been around much, but sometimes The Dark One comes around. I see it in the windows sometimes, and two nights ago, I heard it under the bed.¡±


    Silver muted the television, suddenly very serious. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°I keep my gun under my pillow, even though Mom told me not to, ¡®cause she¡¯s afraid something bad might happen on accident. I keep it holstered, though, and the safety¡¯s on, so I think it¡¯s okay. When I heard something move under the bed, I reached under my pillow really carefully and drew it, and I waited for it. I didn¡¯t hear anything for a while, but then I saw a shadow in the moonlight on my wall, and I sorta heard my window shut real soft. You could barely hear it, but I know I did. My windows are locked, so I don¡¯t know how it got in. Maybe the heating system?¡±


    ¡°Through the furnace, you mean?¡± Silver asked, his eyes wide and nervous, ¡°I hadn¡¯t thought of that,¡± and then he smiled, trying to hide the fear, and ruffled Bernard¡¯s hair, ¡°Well, they¡¯re not here, now. When Sam gets home, I¡¯ll talk to her about it, okay? We¡¯ll look around under the house with your mom, and see if we can find their points of entry so we can catch or kill them when they come back.¡±


    ¡°I wish you could use your magic,¡± Bernard muttered.


    ¡°So do I,¡± Silver agreed.


    *  *  Columbia, SC ¨C 1988  *  *


    The air was cool on Bernard¡¯s face.


    Under his hands, he could feel the familiar leather jacket as he clung to it, the rumble of a motorcycle vibrating against the modified cargo rack beneath him.


    He had just turned eight.


    Everything was a pale blur. It was an improvement from two weeks of total darkness. His mother would never have allowed him near a bike in the first place, much less blind, but the driver wasn¡¯t human. She trusted him, and there were far more terrifying things that could happen than a short trip down the road with a non-human driver¡ªone with unusual abilities, even if they were limited.


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    The bike slowed, turned, and puttered along at a parking lot speed. Then it stopped. The driver started to get off.


    Bernard tugged on the jacket, pulling his friend closer.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Silver¡¯s voice asked.


    ¡°Can I ask you something?¡±


    Silence greeted Bernard for the space of a heartbeat, and Silver answered, ¡°Sure. What is it?¡±


    Bernard pulled his helmet off, then put his arms back around his friend¡¯s waist. The weathered ¡°Indian¡± lettering across the back of the jacket rested against his cheek.


    ¡°Do you . . . like being one of us?¡±


    Silence again, as Silver drew a breath. His arms pulled away as he removed his own helmet. Then they lowered again, and he said, ¡°I don¡¯t mind it.¡±


    ¡°But do you like it? Which would you prefer?¡±


    ¡°To be myself, of course,¡± Silver said, ¡°My real self, but the way I see it, as long as my inner being is somewhat at peace, I¡¯m okay with whichever body I have.¡±


    They were definitely in a parking lot, probably at the record store. A few cars rolled by, and Bernard understood the need for them to be vague. It wouldn¡¯t do to go talking about alien dinosaurs outside the security of their homes unless someone like Silver said it was okay.


    ¡°But you¡¯re not at peace,¡± Bernard said, as a statement of fact.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Silver said softly, ¡°I¡¯m old, Bernard. Old enough to bear a lot of memories that no one should have to; in my case, memories of things my body has done against my will, and those are things my people cannot forgive me for.¡±


    Bernard was well aware of the price Silver had paid for his dalliances with ¡°sorcery¡±. The friends he had lost¡ªeven killed¡ªin the process, and the subsequent loss of access to his abilities. He could see and feel the world he once knew, but his ability to touch it amounted to occasionally useful parlor tricks, and he was constantly being monitored by higher beings.


    ¡°Well,¡± Bernard said cautiously, ¡°I guess what I wanted to know is . . . since you¡¯re here, and not there, is it better?¡±


    ¡°At the risk of sounding too melodramatic: it¡¯s living. But it¡¯s a little bit better, not to be reminded of the past all the time. Not to have to see those people every day, always apologizing for things I can¡¯t properly remember, and having to deal with it over and over again.¡±


    ¡°I guess that¡¯s what this feels like,¡± Bernard said, ¡°Being here with you. I wouldn¡¯t call these the best years of my life, but as long as I¡¯m here, I don¡¯t have to listen to anyone worrying about me like I¡¯m fragile or something. It¡¯s a relief, not to be reminded of it all the time.¡±


    More silence. Silver¡¯s fingers clasped his, and after a moment he said, ¡°I see what you¡¯re getting at. That¡¯s why I do this, you know. And it helps me, too, hanging out with you.¡±


    Bernard squeezed him. ¡°I¡¯m glad. I love it.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t control what¡¯s going on because we don¡¯t know what it is. I¡¯m trying to regain some of my more useful abilities, but that takes a lot of work, when you¡¯ve done the things I have. We can only do our best, and for what it¡¯s worth, your sight¡¯s coming back, and a certain someone is still missing an eye.¡±


    Bernard had shot Nightmare in the face, in a stunning but minor victory. In return, Dark had showed up in the middle of the night and stabbed him with a needle. For three of the most terrifying weeks of his life, he¡¯d been alone in a world of darkness every time someone walked away from him.


    ¡°What about you?¡± Silver asked him, ¡°Have you ever wished you were more like us?¡±


    That made Bernard laugh, though he sounded bitter, surprising himself. ¡°I don¡¯t even know what I am now. At least when I¡¯m with you, I feel like I belong somewhere, but mostly I just wanna be like other kids. I wish things didn''t have to be this way. I missed so much school, and now everyone thinks I''m a weirdo. Looking different already sucked, plus I stand out with the scars and stuff. I¡¯m not even sure I¡¯d be normal without all this stuff going on, but at least I¡¯d have a chance.¡±


    Another car pulled through the lot behind them, and after a moment Silver said softly, ¡°People like us . . . we never really seem to fit into other people¡¯s categories. We¡¯re always somewhere in the middle. Ambiguous. Male, but also female. Sorcerer, but without power. Saurian, but . . . also something else.¡±


    ¡°Asian, but white,¡± Bernard said, catching on, ¡°A kid, but not like other kids. I mean, still human, but . . . as you said: never really able to fit in. Especially now. Is there a word for people like us?¡±


    ¡°A few, yes, but labels can be tricky things. They can have different meanings to different people, and they can change over time. They can become boxes, and sometimes they can be used to hurt people. Truth be told, Bern, I¡¯d settle for being called a person. I''ve chosen how I want to express myself, and I''m lucky enough to have fathered a child with the finest female I could ever hope for. My failure as a father notwithstanding, nothing else really matters, does it? Certainly not some silly label designed to separate me from ¡®normal¡¯ people.¡±


    Bernard smiled. ¡°But you''re not really a person.¡±


    Silver turned toward him. ¡°Of course I am. Humans like to use that word to set themselves apart from every other living thing in the universe, but a person can be any entity, regardless of the form it takes. A tree is an individual living entity, technically deserving of personhood.¡±


    ¡°A tree!¡± Bernard laughed.


    ¡°By human definition it is born from an embryonic state, and goes through stages of infancy, youth, adulthood, and elder age. It has cellular and vascular systems only slightly different from your own. It breathes, drinks, consumes nutrients, and responds to environmental stimuli. It even has a reproductive cycle, occasionally requiring parts from other trees to reproduce, and it eventually dies. The Earth, too, as a complex organism composed of life-sustaining biological and geological systems, could be considered a living entity. My people know this because they¡¯ve made some of the same mistake humans have, and we have paid respectable tolls for our disrespect of other, far more violent, worlds. ¡®People¡¯ is a population, Bernard, not a species. Human is what you call your species, as well as your genus¡ªHomo sapiens.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Bernard said softly, subdued, ¡°I see. Sorry¡ª¡°


    ¡°There''s no need to apologize,¡± Silver interrupted him quickly, ¡°I just want to be sure you understand.¡±


    Bernard nodded. ¡°I get it, now!¡±


    ¡°It''s okay to be honest if you don''t. This is heavy stuff for a kid your age. Kind of unconventional, really . . . maybe don¡¯t tell your mom I told you all that.¡±


    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s fine! I get it!¡± Bernard insisted.


    There was a pause, but this time it was a silence Bernard knew all too well.


    ¡°It''s got nothing to do with Those Two,¡± he said, ¡°Danny''s already asking too many weird questions.¡±


    There were so many questions. Like: how did you feel when you were thinking about that? Any fever? Unsteadiness? Headaches before, during, or after? Other aches? Vision¡¯s okay? Hearing? Did you come up with that just now? If not, when did it start? And then Danny would record the time, the air temperature, Bernard¡¯s temperature, his heart rate, how long he¡¯d slept the night before, on and on and on.


    ¡°He''s your caseworker,¡± Silver reminded him gently, ¡°He needs to know if anything changes.¡±


    ¡°I know that!¡± Bernard cried, tugging on the jacket. ¡°But I''m really tired of it! Please don''t tell him, Silver. I just want to feel normal for a while, okay?¡±


    There was a sigh. Silver dismounted the bike.


    ¡°Please?¡±


    Silver¡¯s thin fingers rested on his left arm. ¡°You don¡¯t need to worry so much about being ¡®normal,¡¯ Bernard. Different kids learn stuff at different rates, and you¡¯re on track for a perfectly ordinary eight-year-old. We¡¯re not looking at what you¡¯re learning, we¡¯re studying sudden changes in your rate of progression¡ªthat¡¯s what the math and reading assessments are for. It¡¯s not something you need to think about, okay? All I meant was that if he asks you anything, you shouldn¡¯t fight him. I know it¡¯s exhausting¡ªwe¡¯ve all told him he¡¯s tiresome¡ªbut he¡¯s trying to help.¡±


    Bernard fell silent, pouting.


    A couple of people walked behind them. After they¡¯d moved on, Silver laughed, but there was no warmth in the sound. ¡°Be glad you don¡¯t have my hearing¡ªand I hope you never do.¡±


    ¡°Why, what happened?¡±


    Silver tried to shrug it off. ¡°Nothing to worry about¡ª¡±


    Bernard knew him better than that. ¡°They were rude, weren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°Only because they didn¡¯t think anyone could hear them. It''s best to leave such things alone if possible, and not draw attention. Some of these people get really uncomfortable when they see something they''re not used to. They take it as a personal attack.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Fear,¡± his friend answered, ¡°They''re afraid of any changes to their normal routine, as well as anything unfamiliar to them, and the only way they know to respond is fight or flight. So they avoid us, for now, until they feel their world is being threatened.¡±


    ¡°That''s crazy. We see new stuff all the time.¡±


    ¡°And we''re used to it. It¡¯s normal to us.¡±


    Bernard knitted his brows, trying to understand such people, and trying to think of how the situation could be improved. ¡°Can''t we make them used to it?¡±


    ¡°You can''t make people do anything,¡± Silver told him, ¡°That''s just not how things work. They have to choose it for themselves. Even if I could use magic, it would be immoral to rob someone else of their personal freedom¡ªeven if their free way involves being a jerk. You should always approach fearful people with caution. If you want to be persuasive, it¡¯s best to meet them where they are. Let them see that you¡¯re not so different as they think. The best thing I can tell for now is keep to yourself. Let them come around in their own way, if they choose to, and be ready to accept that some individuals never will.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be easier for everyone if we all just got along?¡±


    ¡°That would make things easier for you and me,¡± Silver agreed, ¡°but nothing in the Universe is ever so perfect. If anything, I¡¯d call the Universe perfectly imperfect.¡±


    Silver dismounted his bike and turned to help Bernard down, saying cheerfully, ¡°Y¡¯know, this stuff can really drag you down if you think about it too much, Bern. I seem to remember coming all this way to buy some music. Let¡¯s go see if this store has the new Loverboy album in stock.¡± He took his hand. ¡°Shall we?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll stay with me, right?¡±


    ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll be right next to you.¡±


    Even though he couldn¡¯t see the record store, Bernard had a good memory for where things were, and he simply followed along, running his fingers along the spines and covers, mentally counting the dividers between sections, his other hand clinging to Silver¡¯s leather sleeve. It wasn¡¯t perfect, but he lost himself nonetheless in the sounds of rock music and adult chatter, and enjoyed himself.


    Everything else in his life was insane, with no end in sight, so it was moments like this that he wanted to remember. The smell and feel of cardboard slipcovers and pine display racks, and Silver¡¯s melodic voice quietly considering the new releases; these were among the things he treasured most in life.

 The Steady Rhythm

    Bernard¡¯s room was pleasantly temperate when he woke the next morning to the familiar coastal dawn outside his window. A couple of ring-billed gulls called, and he lay there for a minute, picturing the sun as it glistened cheerfully off the waters of the nearby Atlantic. A few shorebirds made their morning journey from their woodland roosts to the rich coastal waters.


    Somewhere out there, the Town of Edisto Beach was already alive with early-morning Memorial Day vacationers roaming her beaches, along with the occasional blue-shirted conservation volunteer, out looking for the distinctive tractor-like tracks of sea turtles. One of them had offered to cover his section for the weekend. Now that he had a job, they would probably continue covering it¡ªthough he hoped he could remain open for hatchings and inventory.


    Slowly, as he stared sleepily out his bedroom window, the sun inched skyward through tall pines, twisted live oaks, bushy wax myrtles, and distinctively plumed palmettos. Soon, its rays would dry up the night¡¯s meager dew from the drought-afflicted fields across the island. The little rain they¡¯d had was no match for that burning radioactive ball in the sky.


    He closed his eyes, wanting to go back to sleep, but a thought kept pulling him back awake: Toby was bored. Very, very bored. It was time to get up and enjoy the morning before it got too hot! It was time to get up! Time to get up! Time to ¨C


    ¡°You gotta be shitting me,¡± he grumbled, stuffing his pillow over his head, as though it would help.


    ~Spoil-sport.~


    He could hear his mother out in the hall, calling to her husband with little regard for the fact that at least one of her children was still supposedly sleeping, ¡°The thermostat says it¡¯s set to seventy-six, Baby. It¡¯s sixty-two in here! Fifty-eight! Do you think it¡¯s broken?¡±


    Drestan¡¯s voice called back, ¡°There¡¯s no air coming out of the vents! Another night like this and the pipes will freeze. They¡¯re cold enough, as it is. ¡®Fridge is icing over, too. I¡¯m not sure what the deal is. I gotta run, Babe. Someone¡¯s using our work site as a parking lot. Shouldn¡¯t take long with the sheriff¡¯s help. If it¡¯s still a problem when I get back, we¡¯ll call Jamie to come look at it.¡±


    ¡°Tell them they¡¯re not the only ones trying to enjoy a holiday!¡±


    If you break those pipes . . . Bernard thought.


    ~I have not damaged anything.~ Toby murmured in his head, indignant. He could sense the spirit-like being huddled around the downstairs storage freezer and in the air vents.


    Drestan walked out the door, and Bernard sighed, trying to go back to sleep.


    He dozed on and off for a while until about ten-thirty, when he finally pulled himself to his feet and dragged a bucket of cleaning equipment out from under his 75-gallon soft water fish tank. He¡¯d meant to clean it last Thursday but hadn¡¯t gotten around to it. He left the bucket out to remind himself to do it later, and fed his Fire Eel.


    Reaching for the television, Bernard turned the Genesis on and picked up the controller, seeking its familiarity. He¡¯d put Sonic aside three weeks ago because he was sick of doing the same level over and over, but time had renewed his determination.


    The phone rang, and he heard his mother answer, ¡°Hello? Oh, good morning, Jess! Or afternoon, rather. Close enough. No, he¡¯s still asleep, but don¡¯t let that stop you! Alright, then, twelve will be just fine, if you¡¯re sure you¡¯re up to so much driving. Haha, I totally understand! Alright then! We¡¯ll see you then! Bye!¡±


    He was halfway through the level and was coming up on the part that usually gave him problems.


    There was a knock on his door.


    ¡°I¡¯m up.¡±


    His mother opened it, and leaned over the pet gate to give the television a critical look. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go outside, babe? It¡¯s a beautiful day. And how is your room so warm. . . .¡±


    It wasn¡¯t a request, but he chose to treat it like one. ¡°No thanks. I¡¯ve been outside all weekend, and I rather stay right here.¡±


    She frowned and chose not to argue with him, ¡°Well, Jez and Rubie are coming over. I want all four of you kids to do something with yourselves. Outside. ¡®Dessa¡¯s sitting around watching cartoons. As a matter of fact, why don¡¯t you go join her? Go spend some time with your sister, Bernie.¡±


    She must have been in a good mood, not to call him ¡°Max,¡± or any variation thereof.


    Still. ¡°And sit through all that garbage?¡±


    ¡°After all the crap you watched as a child, Maxwell Bernard. . . .¡±


    ~That was a less than glowing review,~ Toby remarked, amused.


    He smirked. ¡°What I watched was worth watching. At the very least, it was thought-provoking.¡±


    ¡°That was not thought-provoking.¡±


    ¡°The crap she¡¯s watching will rot your brain.¡±


    ¡°Lion-O rotted mine,¡± his mother snorted, trying not to laugh, as she was still less than amused with his attempt to remain in his room, playing video games.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you mean Snarf. . . .¡±


    ¡°Whatever, Max.¡±


    He laughed, ¡°No, it¡¯s not ¡®whatever.¡¯ There¡¯s a difference¡ª¡°


    She drew a breath, visibly torn between emotions, ¡°It was all crap, no matter what it was called. Whether it was Thundercats, He-Man, or Gi-Joe. Hours and hours of bullcrap.¡±


    ¡°Then why in the world did you spend so much time watching T.V. with me?¡±


    ¡°I am honestly not sure.¡±


    He raised his brows, but his eyes never left the screen, ¡°You seemed interested, to me.¡±


    ¡°Well, not all of it was bad, I guess. Some of your shows looked nice, anyway. Very . . . Frazetta. Very Vallejo. But you know what? If you want someone to talk to, it turns out Drestan remembers the Thundercats rather fondly.¡±


    ~Your mother has interesting tastes.~


    Bernard grinned, ¡°Well, of course. They were in style. Now everything looks like . . . whatever trash ¡®Dessa¡¯s watching. Come on: I¡¯m sitting here, engaged in a problem-solving exercise, and you want me to go out there and waste away on the couch? I¡¯m not a babysitter, Mom, and she¡¯s ten.¡±


    ¡°When you were her age¡ª¡± his mother began.


    ¡°When I was her age I was laying conduit, nailing drywall, and coding my own computer games.¡± A lot of things had changed about his life as he knew it, but that part was still true!


    ¡°You¡¯re her brother,¡± she said with a hand on her hip.


    ¡°I gotta do everything?¡±


    ¡°You sure wanted to wire the house!¡± she snapped.


    After his father had left, Bernard had dedicated himself to filling in the gap¡ªthough he¡¯d been to young to realize he was doing it. She, however, had taken the mantle of both mother and father onto herself, until one day they¡¯d clashed over it. At six years old he had a huge fight with his mother, until Drestan intervened and renegotiated Bernard¡¯s household responsibilities¡ªor rather, gave him new chores in terms his tiny little brain was willing to accept. To him, chores were part of keeping the house running, and the unspoken rule had always been: ¡°Don¡¯t make Mom do it,¡± followed immediately by, ¡°Stay out of Mom¡¯s way.¡±


    Now his mother was letting his ten-year-old sister spend the whole morning watching cartoons and expecting him to go look after her. That was one thing he was not willing to do!


    ¡°Sure it¡¯s not because she¡¯s a girl?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± his mother sneered, not missing his tone, meaning, or snarky humor for a second, ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s not because she¡¯s a girl. She¡¯s your sister, and you should be spending time with her¡ªespecially if you¡¯re going to be working all summer¡ªbut you know what? Fine, Max. You don¡¯t have to watch TV, but I do expect you to spend time with her when you¡¯re not at work. I guess I could use someone to come help shell all these crabs.¡±


    Sonic drowned, and Bernard swore under his breath as the level restarted. Though his mother frowned at him, she let it go. Instead, she nodded to the bucket by his fish tank. ¡°If you¡¯re going to clean that, do it soon, and don¡¯t you dare dump that nasty water on my garden!¡±


    He nodded vaguely. ¡°Right, right, I¡¯ll take care of it.¡± He couldn¡¯t believe he was doing the level over again. He¡¯d been so close, this time!


    She set her hands sternly on the pet gate in his door, ¡°I mean it, Maxwell! I don¡¯t want that shit in my vegetable garden! We eat those! And I don¡¯t want you to kill my flowers, either! So how about not dumping fish water on any of my plants?¡±


    ¡°Sure thing, Mom.¡±


    He sighed as the level started over again.


    She shook her head, ¡°What I am gonna do with you . . . , ¡± and she walked away.


    Toby moved underground, muttering, ~Is this really what you do all day?~


    Pretty much, he thought, It¡¯s blistering hot most of the year, and the woods are full of bloodsucking parasites and Lyme Disease. Not that it usually stops me, but I just spent my whole weekend remembering things I¡¯d just as soon forget, and I couldn¡¯t be happier to see my own room right now.


    ~If I told you I could keep you from breaking a sweat, and even protect you from most of the bugs, will you go get the bug spray and put on those hunting boots sitting in the back of your closet?~


    He sighed heavily. I don¡¯t know what it is with you and mornings, but we¡¯ll go when Jez and Ruben get here, okay?


    ~But the weather is so nice right now. . . .~


    With that, Toby fell silent and drifted off to the creek. A minute later, Bernard got fed up with Sonic, shut off the television and game system, and got up and take care of his fish.


    He swept the plastic vacuum hose around the tank, pulling debris up out of the gravel. He couldn¡¯t keep many live plants, because his fish would dig them up, but he had several Java Ferns and Anubias thriving, firmly rooted to rocks and driftwood. His Spotted Raphael Cat was hiding in a cave in the middle of the tank, and wouldn¡¯t come out until after dark, but the eel undulated lazily across the tank, out of his way.


    So, what exactly does the Agency want me to do? See through walls?


    ~¡­ Well . . . it is a bit more than that. I will tell you when you are ready,~ Toby answered, as though from far away. He was uncomfortable with the subject.


    But it¡¯s something only you and I can do.


    ~That is correct. Enjoy your normal routine while it lasts, although it could do with some improvement. It is times such as this that many Agents have learned to value the most. The calm, quiet, ordinary moments. It may not have seemed like it, but Saara and Loren greatly enjoyed themselves, this weekend, because they know at least somewhat what we have to do, and they know that this case is bigger and potentially more dangerous than anything the Agency has ever approached before, short of the Nightmare Case.~


    He pulled the vacuum out of the tank and stashed it in another bucket.


    As long as Zirol doesn¡¯t show up in my house.


    ~That would, indeed, be catastrophic.~


    Grunting under his breath, he hauled about seven gallons of water across the bedroom, over the pet gate, and down the hall. For now, the ordinary moments were just that: completely ordinary.


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    The sweet, mouthwatering smell of cooked blue crab wafted from the kitchen, filling the house. His mother was shelling them for meat. Most people chilled them until they stopped moving and then shelled them alive, but she¡¯d never had the heart for it. Intrigued by the smell, he set the bucket by the back door and started toward her.


    ¡°No!¡± she said sharply, lifting a commanding hand, dripping with crab juices, ¡°You take that nasty water outside and finish what you¡¯re doing, and you wash your hands really well before you set another foot in this kitchen!¡±


    He grimaced and grumbled, ¡°I¡¯m not going to touch anything.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± she snapped, turning back to a messy platter covered in newspaper and crab juices. She had two bowls set out: one for the innards and shells, and one for the meat.


    He watched her for a few seconds and asked, ¡°Soup or Salad?¡±


    ¡°Salad and crab cakes,¡± she declared, ¡°Pulled up eight of them this morning, and I thought, why not? If I have enough leftover, I¡¯ll freeze some, but I¡¯m not planning on it. Or, how about deviled crab for lunch, how does that sound?¡±


    ¡°Amazing.¡±


    He dragged the water outside and glanced over the edge of the rail, making sure he wasn¡¯t dumping it on anything, before he finally emptied it, and scooped a handful of fallen live oak leaves up off the deck and into the bucket before he walked back to the hall bathroom to refill it from the bathtub spigot. The tannins from the leaves kept the pH high and gave the water a nice, natural brown color.


    The phone rang again as he adding water to the tank, and he heard his mother pick it up. ¡°Hello? Oh, good morning! What can I do for you? Oh . . . well, that¡¯s very kind of you. He¡¯s doing just fine¡ªor as well as ever, anyway. Really?! He didn¡¯t mention it! How odd . . . , ¡± she laughed, ¡°Yes, well, he¡¯s fine, now. Is that so? Oh, you¡¯re more than welcome to! Yes, we¡¯d love to! Oh, that would be lovely! No, no, it¡¯s no trouble at all! I¡¯ll talk to Drestan when he gets back for lunch. You¡¯re free to join us if you¡¯d like! Oh, that¡¯s no problem, at all! We¡¯ll see you in a couple of hours, then! . . . Bye!¡±


    The phone clicked as she hung up, and then she walked down the hall. To his door.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me you were having problems sleeping.¡±


    He almost dropped the bucket of water. As it was, a little splashed over the side of the tank, and he swore again.


    ¡°Are you feeling well, sweetie?¡±


    He adjusted the bucket, ¡°Fine, Mom. Just had a bad dream the first night.¡±


    ¡°I just wanted to be sure, since you were also in bed all morning.¡± She walked away, calling back, ¡°We¡¯ll be going out to see the estate after we eat!¡±


    Odessa¡¯s voice piped up from the couch. ¡°Where are we going?¡±


    ¡°Your brother¡¯s new workplace, from the sound of it.¡±


    ¡°HORSES!¡±


    ¡°So I¡¯m gonna need your help after your show is over.¡±


    ¡°Awwww. . . .¡±


    Bernard smirked, and finished taking care of his fish. Then he put the bucket away, his mind wandering to other things: like last night¡¯s dreams.


    ~Memories.~


    About halfway down the hall, he stopped in his tracks, a single solitary thought rising from the too-familiar sounds, smells, and fears of a lifetime he¡¯d forgotten.


    The things we treasure most.


    ~Make memories that count, Bernard.~


    * * * * *


    From the look on his face, Ruben seemed to think something was out of place the moment he set foot on the property. He said nothing of it, however, and simply walked into the house with his mother, followed by his father and a luscious-smelling pecan pie. He quietly parted ways from the family after greeting everyone, and followed a pendulum down the hall.


    No one paid him any mind. Ruben was weird, and they were all getting used to it.


    Bernard was sure he was looking for Toby.


    Drestan had called to say he¡¯d be back for lunch in an hour, so Bernard and Jez grabbed a canoe and took off up the creek, rowing against the tide with Jez taking the helm and Bernard steering. The sun gleamed off the green summer marsh grasses, and a nice breeze whisked past them as they went. The familiar smell of silty pluff mudd hung in the wind. A few laughing gulls cried, and somewhere they heard a fish jump.


    In the distance, they watched a pair of snowy egrets stalking through the grass, their crested heads high and alert on slender necks, black bills tilting this way and that as they surveyed the marsh. Long, thin legs carried them with slow, cautious deliberation. Years ago, they had taught Bernard the value of slowing down once in a while.


    Many animals practiced patience in ways that the average human might find unnatural. It was possible that the Ryozaem were the same way. That doctor seemed like he might have that sort of patience. Though after watching Saara and Loren, Bernard doubted if it was a universal trait.


    An egret glanced down, slowly coiled its neck, and fired its bill into the reeds. From the way it jerked back, it had caught a fish.


    If Zirol had that kind of patience, they might be looking for him for a long time.


    After a while, Toby said, ~I have checked the area. You are alone if you wish to speak openly.~


    Jez said, ¡°You don¡¯t want me to speak my mind, dude. Trust me.¡±


    ~I am aware that you are feeling volatile.~


    Before she could answer him, Bernard asked, ¡°So, how long is this supposed to last? Are we basically just guaranteed jobs from here on out, or just until this Zirol thing is resolved? If it¡¯s ever resolved.¡±


    Jez added, ¡°If it¡¯s ever resolved in our lifetimes and we¡¯re not killed first.¡±


    ~That depends on what you want,~ Toby answered, ~As long as you choose to continue with ETHICS, you are guaranteed secure housing, reliable transportation, excellent healthcare¡ªoffworld, if you need it¡ªand anything else you may require. It may seem excessive compared to what you¡¯re used to, but remember that most employees are refugees who need those things, many of whom allocate a percentage of pay to have families housed and cared for by the Agency. Offering the same to you Terrans to whatever extent they can is not only policy, it makes the job worth your while. It is their way of thanking you for your service and sacrificing your time and your ordinary Terran lives for them.


    ~Should your cover be blown, however, the Agency will have to step in, and there is a chance you will have to relocate to Shonthera. Alternatively, being Terrans, you may choose relocate on Earth, so long as it does not bring you back here.~


    She grimaced. ¡°So as long as we don¡¯t blow cover or compromise ETHICS to their enemies. , and do as we¡¯re told, we¡¯ll be just fine.¡±


    ~You make it sound like a terrible thing! There are many, many positions you can take with ETHICS, particularly if you chose to work extraterrestrially! You may do whatever you like, in the service of our company, and the rewards are too great to ignore!~


    ¡°That¡¯s just wonderful.¡±


    Her paddle¡¯s strokes were becoming hard and erratic. Bernard realized that there was no guarantee that she might not throw the paddle out of frustration. So he asked, ¡°What kinds of safety measures does ETHICS have in place to make sure this whole plan doesn¡¯t get us all killed?¡±


    ~Oh! Several!~ Toby replied cheerfully, ~Myself, for one. Secrecy and discretion are key parts of our operation, as well. We have Sam with us, and she is both bred and trained for combat, and a single call to HQ will bring others like her to our aid. And you will have other help, as well. They shall hopefully be here in a few hours. Since I can only be where Bernard is, their aid will be necessary.~


    As Toby was speaking, Bernard began to notice something strange. He paused in mid stroke, slowly lowering his paddle back to the water when the canoe started drifting back.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Jez asked.


    He¡¯d felt something. Not physically, but in an unexplainable way he¡¯d suddenly become aware of a large, flat creature resting on the bottom of the creek, buried in the mud with only its two bulbous eyes showing above the silt. He started to reach for Drestan¡¯s fishing gig resting on the bottom of the boat. Then he hesitated.


    The flounder was one of the biggest Bernard had ever seen. Just the thought of that mild, tender flesh was enough to make his mouth water.


    Instead, he drew his hand back and made slow, gentle strokes with his paddle, just enough to keep the canoe in the same spot.


    It was no surprise that flounder was typically served thickly breaded and cooked to death. It didn¡¯t taste the same if it didn¡¯t come straight from the ocean. Getting it this fresh was a rare delight . . . but he really hadn¡¯t found this one fairly, and his family wasn¡¯t exactly wanting. Lunch was already being prepared, and his mother had enough crab and other goods to make several more meals. Stabbing such a strong, grown specimen for the sake thereof was a waste, especially one that could still go on to make more flounders, just as strong, juicy, and tender as this one.


    Jez broke into his thoughts, ¡°Are you going to tell me what¡¯s going on, Bern, or am I gonna spend the rest of my afternoon watching you stare at the water?¡±


    Something else much larger and more powerful cruised toward them, causing him to catch his breath.


    ¡°Come back to Earth, please,¡± Jez called, ¡°You¡¯re acting like Rubie, and it¡¯s freaking me out.¡±


    He let a long breath as the small shark, around two feet long, gave a wide berth to the shadow of his boat as his cousin¡¯s voice echoed from the hull, and it moved along on its way with the impressive speed and smoothness of a living torpedo.


    Blue crabs scuttled along the bottom of the creek. A school of minnows darted in and out of the reeds, feeding on grass shrimp and avoiding predators like the young shark. Further upstream, an impressive Spot Bass eyed another school, moved in slowly, and snapped, nabbing itself a quick bite.


    The marshlands breamed with the cycles life; the grass drinking in the sun and soaking up nutrients from the sediment, and the microscopic creatures which thrived on decay and passed their own rich nutrients up the food chain. Many of the living things that thrived here also depended upon the dense, cool woodlands. They, too, had cycles of their own, running deeper into the soil than he¡¯d imagined.


    Silver had been right: the Earth¡¯s cycles of growth and decay, expansion and contraction, were organ-like, both a slow and steady beating heart and an immense lung. She was very much alive.


    Seeing it this way took his breath away.


    The heart-pounding thrill of discovery was tempered by the knowledge that those same cycles that were dying by the acre every year, right here in his hometown.


    The grassy lawns of Western Man had no place here.


    But he had watched the bulldozers tear down the old palms and scalp the rich, healthy earth from the ground. Most of the woodlands on this island were less than a century old, but a century had given the ecosystem time to recover some of its pre-Colonial glory. Nowhere near what it had been, he was certain, but the foundation was laid, and it could become that place again.


    He¡¯d worked with Drestan on some of the new houses springing up, and he¡¯d met the owners. Few of them were planning to live in their houses, and they generally weren¡¯t the types of people who cared for the life that had been lost. The mere notion of adapting their vision to suit the world around them was an anathema to their cause. It was their right as paying property owners to do as they liked, and that was all that really mattered. It didn''t seem to matter them that if everybody wanted that same thing just as they did, some day there''d be nothing left of the beauty that had drawn them in the first place. Nothing to shelter them from the scorching sun.


    Although he¡¯d met countless tourists who were fine people, plenty of others shared the same philosophy: Their money had paid for a vacation, and they ought to have it exactly as they liked. Town rules, ecosystems, and human decency be damned.


    That growth had not yet reached his corner of the Island. Most of it was on the Beach side of the county line. Here, he could quietly enjoy the world around him without hitting a private dock every few minutes. It was a world in full growth, ready for summer to begin.


    ¡°For God¡¯s sake, Maxwell, just say something!¡± Jez cried, splashing him with her paddle.


    The saltwater hitting his face tore him from his reverie. ¡°Dammit, Jez!¡± He tilted his paddle and hauled the creek back at her. He was more comfortable in this element, and drenched her.


    ¡°I¡¯m not the one wandering off into space!¡± she shouted, scaring off the fish below them, ¡°What is wrong with you?¡±


    He took a breath, collected himself, and said, ¡°Jez, you don¡¯t understand. I can see everything that lives here. It¡¯s overwhelming. The whole thing¡ªeverything¡ªis alive, and I can feel it.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she said, ¡°That¡¯s great. It¡¯s something Rubie would say. Would you fucking stop it?¡±


    Until that moment, he hadn¡¯t realized how much his grip had tightened on the metal shaft of his paddle. He forced himself to loosen his grip, and began drawing slow, even breaths.


    He shook his head, ¡°It¡¯s not me, it¡¯s Toby. He likes the water because it¡¯s cool, but now I can see everything that moves. Or rather, I¡¯m aware of it. There¡¯s not much to see in these waters.¡± She didn¡¯t need to know he¡¯d gotten lost in thought.


    ~I was sharing because I wanted to show you what we can do. May I also say, you have a curious ability to empathize with the life in these waters. You are able to divorce yourself from your human instincts and relate with others different from yourself. You would do well in our Public Relations department. Better than your father, I dare suggest. You have¡ªand trust me when I say this, for I know something more of it than you do¡ªvaluable qualities, when it comes to the way you think of other lifeforms. It is an advantage that will serve you well. If life is discovered somewhere new, like on one of Jupiter¡¯s moons, or Saturn¡¯s, or one of the Kuai¡¯Nar planets, they¡¯re going to want us on the investigative team.~


    ¡°Sure,¡± Bernard laughed, ¡°Because I know how fish think.¡±


    ~And you pray over the things you kill.~


    Jez turned and stared at him. ¡°Really?¡±


    Bernard glared at the water. ¡°No one else was ever supposed to know that.¡±


    ~There is no shame in it,~ Toby said, ~It is an endearing trait~


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t make me that different from any other human being.¡±


    Then Toby said aloud, ¡°What about your relationship with me?¡±


    Bernard set his paddle to the water, powering them forward as though he could row his way out of this conversation. ¡°What about it? That was your choice, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    There was a moment of silence, as Bernard realized what he¡¯d just said.


    Toby resumed his telepathic speech. ~I never told you that, but yes. I did sense you . . . a child, not unlike myself, in some respects. Kind-spirited, and yet . . . so full of bitterness. Already so accomplished, as well. You had already shown a respectable regard for non-human life. Most humans¡ªand that is not to say all, but most of them¡ªno matter how much they respect non-human life, they will seek human qualities in it. They are continually astounded by the ways other creatures appear to resemble themselves, or the ways they think other creatures resemble themselves. You, on the other hand, are one of those who seeks the qualities we truly possess. You, unlike many humans¡ªmany creatures¡ªrespect that intelligence comes in many, many forms. That will prove critical to your future. Many Ryozae are still quite Terran, but there are others in this universe who are far less familiar¡ªmy own people included. I grew up in human company, so I have adapted. There are others who see the universe from a very different point of view.~


    Jez helped him, ¡°Bernard doesn¡¯t just look for a scientific understanding of a dog. He becomes the dog.¡± She jabbed her paddle at him, spraying water.


    ~Yes. In a sense. It is innate and fascinating. And to think, I agreed to part from you! Although I never truly detached myself. I could not bring myself to do it. Perhaps you¡¯ve felt it in recent years . . . a sensation of something missing, comfort in the touch of colder water than most people might dare to make everyday contact with . . . , ~ this last remark held a touch of humor, as he made a specific reference.


    One that Jez didn¡¯t miss. ¡°Yeah. Swimming in Mid-March. We thought you were trying to get in touch with your inner penguin.¡±


    ¡°Who says I wasn¡¯t?¡± Bernard laughed.


    Truthfully, he was only half-joking. The act was cathartic, for the same reason that he would sometimes go for a walk down their dirt road, beneath the shelter of the trees, and listen to the natural world around him. Moments like these were a release from the pressures of society¨Cfrom being ¡°civilized.¡± Alone, with himself, there was no ¡°in¡± crowd, and there were no outsiders. None of the racial isolation and insecurity that so pre-occupied him. Just the woods, and all the creatures in it. Or the pure emptiness of drifting free in ice-cold water.


    He glanced down at his watch, realizing how much time he''d spent doing just that, here on the creek. ¡°We should head back.¡±


    He pulled his paddle against their path of travel current to rotate the craft so they could ride the current back to the house. Then he smirked, and flicked it up out of the water, nailing his cousin again.


    Jez smacked her paddle back at him. They continued like this, scaring off every other animal around as they laughed and drenched each other.


    Their shocked family fussed over their soaking wet clothes, until they finally decided to move lunch out onto the deck. Crab cakes, butter beans, pasta salad, sweet tea, and pecan pie. The weather was nice, the view was beautiful, and everyone was in high spirits.


    It was such a simple thing, but it was a memory he wanted to keep for the rest of his life.

 A Question of Identity

    ¡°Shit!¡± Loren snatched his hand back as a large set of flat teeth nearly bit his fingers off.


    Saara wanted horses. This was her fault.


    ¡°Please take that thing back where you got it from,¡± he begged her.


    Her jaw dropped, ¡°This ¡®thing¡¯ was homeless! You don¡¯t know what kind of terrible place he might have come from before the sanctuary took him in!¡±


    ¡°Yes, but he had a sanctuary. Take him back. I don¡¯t do horses.¡±


    She gestured at the lead in Loren¡¯s other hand, ¡°You¡¯re handling that mare just fine,¡± and then she motioned to the barn around them, ¡°and what would we do with this beautiful building if we got rid of them?¡±


    Loren glared at the bay-coated Tennessee Walker in Saara¡¯s care¡ªa breed he¡¯d been told was a ¡°gentle giant.¡± It had come with the moniker of ¡°Shiner,¡± which supposedly referenced moonshiners, but Loren was certain that a different meaning was intended, and that it referenced that creature¡¯s deadly hooves. So far it had tried to kick him three times¡ªand now it had made a move for his fingers.


    ¡°Horses are big, dangerous, and unpredictable.¡±


    She laughed, ¡°And what am I?¡±


    ¡°Big, dangerous, and unpredictable,¡± he agreed, ¡°Okay, you know what? I don¡¯t want to argue about it, but I also don¡¯t want to be the one taking care of these animals.¡±


    At no point could he recall expressing an interest in doing anything other than keeping both of his feet on the ground, but if it wasn¡¯t boats it was planes, and if it wasn¡¯t planes . . . now it was horses. For bipeds without wings or tails, humans were remarkably hardwired to go everywhere they weren¡¯t made to. It was a perfect species for someone like Saara, whose therapod brain was appropriately flighty.


    She patted the Walker¡¯s nose, gazing into its eyes affectionately. ¡°You could use a few animals around . . . to remind you who you are.¡±


    He could hardly believe his own ears.


    ¡°I¡¯m not an animal,¡± he said, "Not like that."


    ¡°I can see that,¡± she said, ¡°Then what are you? Did you forget you¡¯re not human?¡±


    She pulled a sky blue card case out of her pocket. It was fake, and instead, with a single click of a button, it released a familiar sterilizing gas into the air.


    Rolling his eyes, he checked his watch, and waited the appropriate fifteen minutes.


    Saara continued petting the stallion¡¯s nose while she waited. Loren turned away to finish pulling tack off the Paint mare he¡¯d been riding.


    The first time he¡¯d asked about the horses, Saara had said it was good for the girls to learn the saddle. He¡¯d pointed out that it was the wrong kind of saddle for what they¡¯d be doing. The second time he¡¯d brought it up, she cited the virtues of hard work. He¡¯d reminded her that they¡¯d be working hard enough without the extra chores. The third time, she¡¯d pointed out the excellent and wholesome cover story they provided.


    The truth, he was finally understanding, was because Saara liked the companionship of animals. She was many times his age, and would never adapt as well as he had. She needed these animals around, and to be fair, he was glad she¡¯d gone for horses instead of ratites¡ªostriches, emu, and rhea¡ªall of which were popular with Ryozae farmers and consumers alike for their flesh and hides. The next most popular livestock were all fowl: geese and turkeys were sought after for eggs and meat. Peafowl and chickens were both loved for the males¡¯ bright, iridescent feathers, and chickens were also kept for meat. Brahmas and Jersey Giants were large enough to satisfy Ryozae appetites, with weights starting around ten pounds. He¡¯d once met a woman who kept flocks of fancy pigeons and stunningly beautiful iridescent Cayuga ducks for their feathers, meat, eggs, and company.


    He wished Saara had gone for chickens. Sure, a Brahma could get to be as big as his mother. Even as a human, he couldn¡¯t shake his instinctual trepidation towards such a huge bird that would likely view his real form as a predatory threat, but the eggs were good, and he could count on Saara to kill one for him every now and again.


    She was still petting the stallion, as she mused, ¡°Maybe he doesn¡¯t like you because you remind him of a bad owner.¡±


    ¡°Or he¡¯s just a bastard,¡± Loren said.


    ¡°I think you know better.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll know better if he never tries to kill me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not being fair,¡± she said, frowning.


    ¡°They tell me around here that life ain¡¯t fair.¡±


    That caused her turn and look at him. ¡°Do you believe that?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    She frowned again, and turned back to the horse. They waited for a few more minutes, and with a minute-and-a-half left on the clock, without looking at one, she said, ¡°I need you to tell me what you are.¡±


    ¡°A Ryozae, of course,¡± he said, ¡°I thought I made that clear the last time you asked me.¡±


    She leaned back from the stallion, gazing at the creature with a distinctly bird-like tilt to her head, and then she finally turned to Loren. ¡°But do you ever stop to listen to the way you talk? Your application of human idioms and colloquial speech is so natural, I can¡¯t ever hear the Ryozae. You don¡¯t even move like one of us.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s the point, isn¡¯t it? What about you? Did you adopt your human culture, or is it just a costume to you?¡±


    ¡°Of course I have!¡± she cried, injured, ¡°The people I work with are my family. Of all the questions, you dare ask me that!¡±


    ¡°Honestly, I figured you were just using Joburg as an airport. You always talk about hunting. I can''t see you with a gun or a spear, so do you have another one I should know about?¡±


    She crossed her arms, hugging her breasts, uncomfortably, ¡°I take my human form very seriously. You . . . you don¡¯t understand South Africa. I take pride in my human body, and my human lifestyle¡ªhow could I not? The region has such a long history, full of such colorful cultures, but also war, and deep division. I have fought alongside my human companions for their lands, their cultures, and their rights. They are not so different from us, sometimes.


    ¡°I originally chose Australian and South African genetics back in training because I chose to align myself with the oldest living bloodlines on Earth. I think they are magnificent people, and anyone whose family has been around that long ought to be proud of it. Besides: I did not want to live bound to the modern societies so culturally divorced from the Earth that gave them life, as though they believe they¡¯ve advanced beyond any need for its care. I enjoy working with indigenous people, as remotely as I can manage. I prefer the simplicity and the quiet open air. I left Australia because the company needed my linguistic talents in Southern Africa, but I do not regret the move.


    "I do also enjoy the hunting. Antelope is really amazing, and there is so much endless space to run and so many more animals to run as. I made a successful bid for a cheetah body. It is light on its feet, sees in the dark, and fast enough to cover more territory. I¡¯m old enough, however, that I know I will always be Nasu Aemarri at heart. I will never lose my identity. I worry that at your age, it may be too easy to lose yourself in your Terran lifestyle.¡±


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Terran dinosaurs were classically divided into two categories. Saurischia, or ¡°lizard-hipped,¡± included Therapoda¡ªCoelurosaurs, Carnosaurs, and the like. The famous carnivores were all saurisichian. But the Segnosaurs (or rather, Therizinosaurs, as they¡¯d come to be called) were herbivores, and the famous long-necked Sauropodomorpha were also considered members of Saurisichia.


    The other class was Ornithischia, or ¡°bird-hipped,¡± included armor-plated Thyreophora and the Cerapoda clades: the frill-necked, thick-headed Marginocephalia, and the Ornithopoda¡ªthe ¡°duckbills¡± and every other herbivore, including the small, scurrying beasts such as Heterodontosauridae.


    In the Ryozae world, they classed themselves culturally: The Aemarri were carnivores and the Eumonau were herbivores. The stalkers and the foragers.


    Loren¡¯s parents were precursors to Dinosauria¡ªDinosauriformes. They were considered Aemarri, but as with many Ancients, there were times when they barely considered themselves to be Ryozaem. They were the last of their kind . . . and he wished he had never shared that with Saara.


    He rolled his eyes, and caught himself as she stared down the human gesture.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a fucking baby," he said, "Don¡¯t give me that shit. I could change back to my old lifestyle tomorrow and be just fine. Just because I don¡¯t have the luxury of just switching bodies whenever I like doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t. I¡¯m an Aemarrim. An Immortal¡ªRaal-Osa¡ªat that.¡±


    The term he used best translated as ¡°high-blooded.¡± Those who bore a rare, enhanced variant of the symbiote they called Kaadour-kaima. The Sacred-Self Within.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± she argued, ¡°There aren¡¯t many Raal-Osa left, so you should take time to preserve your parent¡¯s ways. I don¡¯t want to see you lose yourself on this planet.¡±


    ¡°Give me a break. Why do you think I hunt roaches and lizards? I¡¯m no more human than you are, and I never intend to be. It would be an insult to my bloodline, and it would break my parents¡¯ hearts. The only difference between me and you feather-brains is that I prefer to think before I act.¡±


    ¡°You rarely do it before you speak,¡± she noted drily.


    She was right about his speech and mannerisms, but there was nothing he could do about it. Something wasn¡¯t right, but he didn¡¯t know how to explain that to her, and trying made his head hurt. ¡°Look . . . you don¡¯t understand what switching back and forth from this body does to me. I don¡¯t know how to explain it, but I¡¯m tired as hell, so would you leave it alone? I just want my family to live. That¡¯s what really matters, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    She looked away in reluctant agreement, but otherwise didn¡¯t respond. She didn¡¯t need to. They¡¯d had an unspoken agreement since they first met that they both knew what it was they were working for. Neither of them was under any obligation to explain themselves to the other. Their private lives were just that, and they had no interest in digging up each others¡¯ ghosts. Such dark memories could cause them to forget themselves, and potentially jeopardize everything they held so dear. When they did feel secure enough to talk of their ¡°real¡± lives, it was mostly shallow banter.


    Whenever the ghosts came back, they had a counseling department they could lean on for support.


    ~We¡¯re here.~


    The ¡°glow¡± of Toby¡¯s telepathic speech cut through their thoughts, startling them both.


    Moments later, they heard a car in the drive, and Loren sighed, ¡°I should go downstairs. I¡¯ve got stacks of files that those kids need to see. You want to take Odessa out with the horses? Show everyone around the property, or something?¡±


    She smirked, resuming her human mannerisms, ¡°I¡¯m not doing anything. It¡¯s your ¡®family estate.¡¯ I¡¯m just the visiting friend. This is part of the job, so you¡¯ll have to wait until their families leave. Have you thought of a cover story for that nasty kitchen pantry of yours?¡±


    He grinned, ¡°You mean the canned crickets? They¡¯re for fishing, of course.¡±


    ¡°So you keep the supplies in the kitchen?¡±


    He shrugged, ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s a little odd, I guess.¡±


    At least he wasn¡¯t stocking frozen rats or lizards . . . though it was sounding like a good idea, the more he thought it over.


    She shook her head, ¡°And I don¡¯t know anything about being human? Don¡¯t show them the kitchen until you put some food in it¡ªfor the Terrans. Just in case, I did stock some cans of tuna and SPAM.¡±


    He grimaced, even as he almost laughed, ¡°Meat-flavored salt-hash. Yeah, no one will question fifty cans of that. Wait¡ªdid you put it in front of my stuff?¡±


    She headed out of the barn, across an immense sheltered stone patio that led to the back door of the house, smiling pleasantly.


    ¡°Dammit Saara! I do have to eat!¡±


    ¡°Eat the SPAM and tuna!¡± she called back, ¡°It¡¯s not like you can¡¯t or don¡¯t enjoy it.¡±


    ¡°REAL FOOD!¡± he yelled, just before he heard a car door open.


    *     *     *


    This particular house was the last time Loren would accept anything so large or grandiose from his employers. Anything larger than a fallowed farm-turned-airstrip, hangar, pasture, barn, two-story home, and covered flagstone ¡°patio¡± (it was nearly as big across as the house) . . . even that was too much, without the tiki bar, basement rec room, and underground cavern¡ªfor their guests, of course. That¡¯s what this was really about: they didn¡¯t need all this for Toby. They just needed Bernard. No, they needed this for their two, sometimes three expected guests, and they needed the airstrip for everyone else. They did not need this much lawn¡ªby God, he was going to have trees planted over every inch before he left. More woodlands for him to hunt the things he liked to eat!


    All of that he could live with, however, if not for the upper-middle-class banter that was expected of this role. Drestan had offered (via his wife) to put in a pond, and Loren had to struggle to remain polite, as he turned them down; maybe a couple of fountains, but no ponds. Oh, yes, he ¡°enjoyed fishing,¡± but he could fly out to visit friends who had perfectly nice lakes and ponds for fishing in. No: he didn¡¯t need anyone to come spray pesticides; and yes, he would consider going fishing with their family (as much as it pained him to accept the offer).


    The horses were useful for traveling out to the hangar, but he was almost completely sure that an ATV would have done just fine¡ªor hell, a golf cart. What kind of rich man with this much land didn¡¯t own at least one golf cart? Automobiles were possibly the one human invention he might actually agree with.


    For that, Rhonna promised that they knew people who would be happy to sell him one¡ªpeople who would love to show him a few great golf courses. He had to grit his teeth on that one, as he politely turned down the offer to go golfing with her husband in Hilton Head¡ªthe height of Terran pretentiousness, in his private opinion, and he was terrible at it.


    By the time everyone left, with the promise that Loren and Saara would be happy to take Bernard and Jez home, he was done being human for the day. No more talk of parties, contractors, golf courses, horses, fishing, or other human foolishness. He¡¯d been playing the game of pretention for many years, but it didn¡¯t make it any easier. If anything, the fake lifestyle was starting to wear on his patience.


    The minute all of this came out of his mouth, it came out in his own language for Saara¡¯s benefit, and he¡¯d had to backtrack and explain himself to the humans.


    ¡°Well,¡± Mireia said, ¡°If you don¡¯t like doing anything of those things¡ªwhich, by the way, is all part of a lifestyle some humans would literally kill to have¡ªthen what do you like to do?¡±


    He sighed wistfully, ¡°I like sitting on the porch of my safehouse in Virginia, many miles from any and all bodies of water, listening to the bugs and the birds while the sun sets and the moon rises. I enjoy a good book every once in a while, but my ideal pastime is usually very simple. Sometimes I like gardening, so I might put some flowers in a window box. Hiking¡¯s okay, too. Simple, Mireia. None of this . . . fake stuff. And no more goddamn cruise ships. No more river tours, either, or boa constrictors. No lakes, no ponds, no streams, beaches¡ªno.¡±


    ¡°Okay, okay,¡± she said, ¡°We¡¯ll make sure you stay dry.¡±


    ¡°On the coast,¡± he said drily, ¡°.¡±


    The phone rang, and he grabbed it, expectant. ¡°Sanchez Residence, Loren speaking.¡±


    He didn¡¯t like what he heard.


    ¡°An hour or two for what?¡± he asked, ¡°Can¡¯t they fly?¡±


    He listened, and felt his stomach sink. Saara grimaced, muttering, ¡°Well, that¡¯s fantastic.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Loren sighed, ¡°Thanks for letting us know. Yeah, see you then.¡±


    He hung up the phone.


    ¡°I thought they were supposed to be here!¡± Saara protested, ¡°What the hell are they still doing in Canada?!¡±


    ¡°Well if you heard that part, you heard the rest of it,¡± Loren told her, then he addressed the rest of the room, ¡°There was an incident that the rest of our team had to take care of. Our North American headquarters is in Toronto, so they¡¯re having to fly all the way down the coast instead of coming over from Charleston.¡±


    ¡°What kind of incident?¡± Mireia asked.


    Saara said, ¡°Our direct supervisor, Daniel, is in the hospital.¡±


    ¡°Saara!¡± Loren exclaimed, ¡°Don¡¯t just say things like that!¡±


    She looked confused, ¡°Was I supposed to say anything different?¡±


    ¡°I guess not,¡± he grumbled, ¡°But you could be a little more sensitive about it,¡± he turned and addressed the others in the room, ¡°Daniel was aiding an investigation in Mallorca off the coast of Spain, and it sounds like it ended badly. He and the other person running it were flown to our European HQ in Berlin last night. The rest of our team flew his wife to Toronto, because she¡¯s from a high-profile family and everyone wants to make sure she¡¯s okay. They¡¯re just now leaving.¡±


    Mireia asked, ¡°And there¡¯s no chance we could end up like Daniel?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Loren said, ¡°Because I¡¯m gonna call Main, and I¡¯m going to make sure that doesn¡¯t happen. Other Ryozaem¡ªlike Daniel¡¯s wife Samra and possibly the other agent he was working with¡ªare born fighters. Others are trained for combat later on, but that¡¯s neither me, Saara, nor any of you. I don¡¯t want to die.¡±


    ¡°You almost did,¡± Saara pointed out.


    ¡°I¡¯m not dying for this, goddammit!¡± he shouted at her, unable to withhold his panic any longer, ¡°I don¡¯t know what they think I am, but if they wanna play cat-and-mouse with this guy, they can get somebody else! I¡¯m here to run an auxiliary investigation. Data collection! That¡¯s my job! That¡¯s always been my job!¡± He lowered his voice with a frustrated sigh, ¡°We¡¯ve got time. Let¡¯s show them the map.¡±

 More Than a Map

    When Loren led them down into the basement rec room, Bernard hadn¡¯t been sure what to expect. They¡¯d seen it on the initial tour with his family, and there wasn¡¯t much to it, unless something was hidden under the floor or behind the walls or bookcase.


    Still, it was an impressive space, lit by a wicker ceiling fan and a trio of small, rectangular windows. It smelled faintly of high-quality tobacco, and featured a pool table, dart board, mini bar, wine rack, and a caramel-colored ostrich leather couch. The concrete floor was covered in 1970s linoleum tile and graced with a black and white cowhide. A large television stood ready for the next big game, with a Carolina Panthers banner stretched across the cinderblock wall behind it. A dusty portable radiator stood in the corner.


    Everything had a gently worn appearance, as though someone had lived here, but had clearly cared for the place. It was hard to believe the whole thing was fake.


    Loren bent down next to large wooden bookcase, stretching across the wall beside the couch, and fumbled momentarily near the floor. There was an audible ¡°click,¡± and he straightened, pushing the bookcase. It slid aside silently.


    ¡°The latch is behind the rear foot,¡± he told them.


    Behind the bookcase was a small metal panel with a numeric pad.


    ¡°It¡¯s coded to the last six digits of your Agency ID,¡± he said, ¡°The first few digits can be changed. It just signifies where you¡¯re from, and some folks get it switched to their preferred home base. For instance: my original code said I was from a Shonetherau refugee camp, but I fell in love with Virginia and wanted it to reflect my new home. If you¡¯re off-world, a modified version of your full ID can be used like a phone number.¡±


    He keyed in his own number, and a large portion of the wall retracted, exposing cinderblock veneer over thick metal, and a layer of unfamiliar porous material. The section parted from the center, sliding away into the wall to reveal a doorway.


    ¡°The further underground we get, the less likely it is anyone is gonna pick up on energy signatures from our equipment, so as long as you¡¯re behind this door, you can use most of our technology freely. They¡¯ve reinforced it with starship paneling, too. There¡¯s some debate over whether all the caution is necessary, but since no one¡¯s really sure just how much our enemies can do, we¡¯d rather not take chances.


    ¡°There are emergency exits that lead to the barn and the hangar, so if anyone here is afraid of being trapped underground, there are other ways out. The worst part¡¯s just the airlocks.¡±


    It was an oblong space, cornerless and well-lit with a ceiling-width panel light featuring a blue sky and occasional clouds. Warm beige walls were textured in a striated twig-like pattern. The floor had the appearance of dirt, but was solid like concrete. It felt like a replica bird¡¯s nest.


    ¡°Again,¡± Loren said, ¡°If you¡¯re claustrophobic, many Ryozae¡¯ll side with you. This ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ fancy, but it¡¯s better than plain concrete and fluorescent lighting.¡±


    ¡°This is ¡®nothing fancy¡¯?¡± Mireia asked.


    Saara moved past her into the room and took her hand, beckoning. ¡°The airlocks need to be simple and anti-bacterial, but we become depressed in spare, sterile spaces. Even the illusion of confinement can cause most of us to panic. Just because it needs to be cleared of foreign impurities doesn¡¯t mean it can¡¯t serve as a welcome mat.¡±


    Loren added, ¡°Wait until you see the interior.¡±


    He shut the door behind them, and a soft hiss came from the ceiling.


    Perhaps it was imaginary, but Bernard felt that the air was becoming crisper and cleaner. The tobacco smell noticeably lifted, and in another minute, it was gone.


    A door appeared on the opposite wall, sank inward, and slid apart from the center like the first door.


    The room they entered was oval-shaped, warm, and wood-paneled, with arched gothic ceilings, wall-to-wall bookshelves, and ostrich-leather furnishings. As they entered, a warm, golden light began pouring from stained glass panels in small, arched windows around the room, and gleamed cheerfully from an intricately branched chandelier in the center. An oval table sat in below the chandelier, and across from it lay a huge oblong piece of furniture they had never seen before.


    It was bordered in wood, carved with fern-like patterns, and bore a wide, mostly concaved surface, raised toward the back, mounded in the center, and covered in some kind of long, lush, wavy gray and black fur.


    Bernard and the girls stood in the entry, shocked by the whole scene.


    ¡°Oh!¡± Saara moved right for the big fur-covered thing. ¡°Is that real wool?¡± She sat down on it. ¡°Oh, it is!¡±


    Loren stared up at the lights. ¡°They really didn¡¯t have t¡¯go to this much trouble.¡±


    ¡°It looks just like a headquarters lounge!¡± Saara said, flopping back on the long wool. ¡°Real Gotland. I¡¯m taking this couch with me when we¡¯re done with the site.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a couch?¡± Bernard asked.


    ¡°This is normal?¡± Jez asked.


    Saara stood abruptly. ¡°I¡¯m going to change! I can¡¯t let this go to waste!¡±


    ¡°Hurry up, would you?¡± Loren called as she walked away towards a large door on the other side of the room, which slid apart from the center at a touch. As she left, he gestured around the room, explaining, ¡°On the whole, our people love intricacy, fine details, and anything that reminds us of the natural spaces our ancestors roamed in. On Earth, we¡¯ve found it in the soaring columns, arched ceilings, and lacelike geometries of Gothic architecture. It needs little modification to turn columns and arches into trees and branches. This room represents the sort of style we would use for a private lounge. I came down here last night, but I still can¡¯t get over it.¡±


    Mireia had walked away, scanning the bookshelves. ¡°These are all culture and geography. History. Art.¡± She pulled one down. ¡°Incredible. The attention to detail is immaculate. If you wanted to find someone hiding on Earth,¡± she glanced around, ¡°we have all the information we¡¯re going to need for wherever we plan on going.¡±


    Jez walked over to a large globe and turned it gently. ¡°But this guy could be anywhere. . . . Anywhere on Earth.¡±


    He pointed across the room, at the door Saara had left through. ¡°There¡¯s a walkway over a cavern on the other side of that door. It¡¯s not for us, but I¡¯ll show you the other exits when we¡¯re done, here.¡±


    To the looks they gave him, he added, ¡°Just trust me. You¡¯ll have your answers soon.¡±


    The door opened again, and a large creature entered the room.


    At first glance, it was reminiscent of a Utahraptor, or another large raptor. Thick layers of fine feathers covered the entire body in mottled beiges and browns, and long reddish-brown wing and tail feathers bore spots and bars in jet black. The long, plush feathers over its belly were a rich off-white shade like aged ivory.


    The animal moved on two legs with a feline grace as it crossed the room towards the strange couch.


    ¡°Whenever Saara¡¯s ready,¡± Loren said, shoving his hands in his pockets impatiently, ¡°Or Sekirrandr, if she prefers.¡±


    The animal¡ªSaara¡ªsettled on the couch, nestling into the mounded center contentedly, and regarded them all with feathers raised over her head and down the back of her neck in an unfamiliar expression. She spoke in a low, warbling voice, ¡°Saara or Seki is fine. If you were expecting a six-foot-tall killer Velociraptor, you had best go back to watching T.V. This body was made for two purposes: to bear a nest, and raise its children. To birth, provide, and protect.¡±


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± Mireia whispered in awe, slipping a rare swear word, and beating Jez only by a narrow margin.


    ¡°I wish they had left something for me to wear. We do normally have at least some form of . . . I guess you¡¯d say jewelry. Not clothing, necessarily. I don¡¯t expect a full costume, but we do have some lovely things.¡± She flashed a wing indicatively, then waved it at Loren, ¡°You may continue, my friend.¡±


    Loren shook his head, and said, ¡°I knew you were a big girl, but I didn¡¯t think you were big enough to swallow me whole.¡±


    She made an odd warbling sound, which gave her an air of amusement. Bernard realized she must be laughing, as she told him, ¡°Yours is very cute.¡±


    He frowned, looking away from her as he cleared his throat, ¡°Anyhow: the map. Let¡¯s get started. You three can choose to sit down if ye¡¯d like.¡±


    He slid open a drawer in the table, and pulled out a clear tablet, lit with images and unfamiliar script. Then he tapped a circular piece of wood inlay in the center of the table.


    The room darkened and filled with stars, expanding out, and out, and out, until they were surrounded by a three-dimensional image of a galaxy.


    Bernard stumbled backwards along with the girls, and sat down between them.


    ¡°Dammit to hell,¡± Loren muttered, ¡°Well, now you know what our galaxy looks like. I don¡¯t know why it started out this far. ¡®Scuse me a moment, y¡¯all.¡±


    Jez whispered, ¡°But it¡¯s so cool.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s also inconvenient.¡± He tapped the tablet, and the galaxy began to zoom back in, becoming inconceivably immense as it expanded away from them, until slowly but surely it started to focus on a single area, then a single star came into view, amidst a number of other pinpricks of light. It zoomed in until one of the pinpricks slowly turned into Earth.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna adjustment this thing,¡± he grumbled, ¡°That took too damn long.¡±


    He tapped it a few more times. ¡°That should do it. So: We all know what Earth looks like. From here, we¡¯ll be able to record mission data and view other agents¡¯ related data, so we don¡¯t backtrack over someone else¡¯s work unnecessarily, or in case we need to revisit something because we now have Bernard, who should be able to work with Toby far more efficiently than anyone else can.¡±


    He tapped the tablet again. The image zoomed out, more quickly than before, and panned through space until it arrived in another spot on the same arm, but this time it looked . . . empty. Whatever he was about to show them, there was nothing there.


    Loren zoomed in, unperturbed, until several stars appeared¡ªand not gradually, like Earth¡¯s sun, but very suddenly and all at once. A slight shimmer surrounded the whole group, stronger towards the far end and weakening as it reached the side facing Earth.


    ¡°This is Xuri lu¡¯Xal Enjhi,¡± Loren explained, ¡°Or that¡¯s its most archaic name, from which all other dialectal names and abbreviations are derived. It means ¡®Our Shadow Realm,¡¯ or ¡®Void Realm,¡¯ if you prefer. The word Enhji usually refers to anything dark-colored or hidden¡ªin shadow, or in the absence of light. If you called it ¡®The Void,¡¯ folks¡¯ll know what you mean.


    ¡°It¡¯s reasonably close to Earth. With modern star drives, you can make it from here to most of our planets within a few days. The biggest dilemma woulda been finding it in the first place, followed by the unfortunate fact that, until recently, if you travelled to the other end of Xal Enjhi, you¡¯d live, but you¡¯d never be seen again.


    ¡°We call it a shadow because Xal Enjhi exists within a warped anomaly, which masks it from the outside, and until recently¡ªin universal terms¡ªit affected the way time travelled across the realm. Thing is: we didn¡¯t understand that until about sixty Terran years ago . . . when someone came back. Until then, we just assumed that flying out there was a terrible idea, and left it at that.


    ¡°As to how the Ryozae came about in the first place, I don¡¯t know the whole story. It happened more than seventy-to-a-hundred twenty million years ago¡ªwhich is a long time no matter how you bend it. My parents and many others¡ªmostly dinosaurs¡ªare said to have been taken from this planet by an ancient race of Ilaysians. The time span¡¯s not too unreasonable if you understand anything about relativity. It was more than likely a series of missions that arrived at different time periods.


    ¡°I¡¯m told they were usually killed for lab uses, a few were saved here and there over time. These Ilaysians¡ªThe Bringers, we call them¡ªaltered their victims and dropped them off here on Refvrenzo,¡± he zoomed in on an Earth-like world on the weakest edge of the shimmering field, closest to Earth, ¡°We¡¯re not sure why they did it, but the most likely cause may be simple as the notion that our people were no longer needed for our original intent. We might just be an abandoned experiment.


    ¡°Very few of us were ever given the procedure for near-eternal life, but no amount of supposed immortality or specialized alteration was enough to save us from the initial die-offs. My parents don¡¯t remember much, but they do remember the death. Anything and everything could kill a Terran being back in those days. Lack of food, malnutrition, accidental poisoning, environmental exposures, other species, or even each other. It took ages for us to come together and cooperate.¡±


    He panned over to indicate an icy planet within the same system, ¡°The planet¡¯s closest neighbor is the Ilaysian homeworld. . . . Note that Ilaysian is a borrowed generic word. We have no way of knowing if The Bringers and the modern Ilaysians are the same species, though our modern overlords would like us to think so.¡±


    ¡°What little we do know, we know because a few Immortals who survived, like the Queen of Dormnasar and the Rizek Family of Zeron, have maintained detailed records. Which takes us further into the interior of Xal Enjhi.¡±


    The starfield panned over until it settled on a watery world with a few scattered continents and smaller islands. ¡°Most of the Ryozae you¡¯re going to encounter with ETHICS will be either the Nasouryozae of Dormnasar, like Saara and the others that you met outside that candy store, or the Nakaryozae of Ilaenakar. You¡¯ll often hear them called Nasu and Naka. If it helps you remember the difference, the softer name belongs to nicer people, and the harsher name . . . well they ain¡¯t known for being pleasant.¡±


    ¡°Dormnasar¡¯s solar rotation is slow and elliptical, so along with various geological conditions, the planet is known for its extreme seasons, and for swinging erratically through long eras of ice and flood. When its frozen solid, it has a fair amount of landmass, but it¡¯s in a melting phase right now, so the landmasses are shrinking, which has led to the revival of an old lottery-style culling program. Nasu refugees are those who escaped the lottery, and most of us here have lost family.¡±


    Saara spoke softly, in a low growl from somewhere deep within her, ¡°The lottery targets entire families. My brother and I are all that¡¯s left of the Hhuarosso-urrgaao.¡± The name sounded more like part hiss and part growl than a word. ¡°He is . . . er . . . difficult and expensive to care for, so ETHICS covers his needs in exchange for my service.¡±


    Loren nodded, clearing his throat as he focused on the map, ¡°I was born after my family escaped, but my service covers my parents and my remaining sister. They¡¯re pretty conflicted about me being here. That word she used, by the way, ¡®urr-gaao,¡¯ means ¡®family.¡¯ And that¡¯s the closest enunciation you¡¯re going to get from me in this body, right now. If you can¡¯t make fancy sounds, just draw out the syllables. Our language, Moehni, has a wide range of speakers of vastly different capabilities, so I¡¯m going to teach you a standardized form that will be the most broadly intelligible.¡±


    The field zoomed out, and focused in on a planet in a nearby star system, desolate and rocky, with a thin, whispy atmosphere and a surface dominated by small lights. ¡°This is Ilaenakar, inhabited by the Naka. It has a long history with Dormnasar due to their proximity, so even though the planets and their people are polar opposites, they are closely connected in many ways, both socially and biologically.


    ¡°The Naka are scavengers. They crafted the surface and atmosphere of their own planet out of the barren rock it sits on, over long eons that have forged some of the most unusual and highly specialized Ryozae you will see between the two worlds. Their territorial alliances have been known to clash violently, and the planet has produced more than its fair share of space-bound pirates, so if you happen to hear someone say something that sounds particularly cold and cruel, don¡¯t take it too personally. They¡¯re probably Naka. I¡¯m still convinced the whole reason you¡¯re here is because of some sort of cold-blooded Naka-logic. Oh, and they don¡¯t natively speak Moehni like the rest of us. They call it Naka-Moehni, but it sounds like something else entirely.¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Jez asked him, ¡°Did I hear that right about space pirates?¡±


    Loren laughed bitterly, ¡°Yeah, but don¡¯t expect to see any swashbuckling Ryozae Errol Flynns flying around. That honor might go to the warrior races of Zeron. Which is where this gets fucking strange.¡±


    Mireia laughed, ¡°Strange? This isn¡¯t already strange?¡±


    ¡°This is normal,¡± Loren muttered, zooming back out, ¡°Normal, everyday, standard mode of operations.¡±


    He pointed at another star system, ¡°Before we get to that, I just want to briefly cover Rokane,¡± he pointed near the center of the warp field, ¡°We can go over the Kuai¡¯Nar group some other time. There¡¯s not much you need to know about unless you¡¯re Naka,¡± he gestured vaguely toward the fringes of the field, past Ilaenakar, ¡°but Rokane is known for its brief relationship with our origins. The planet is high in lead and sulfur, but it¡¯s one of the reasons so many of us died, and so many are now able to survive a wide variety of otherwise toxic environments. It¡¯s also known to have been the launch point for a group of Ryozae ancestors who set off for the deepest regions of Xal Enjhi, never to be seen again . . . as I said . . . until about sixty years ago.¡±


    Something occurred to Bernard, ¡°You mean the incident in 1949.¡±


    Loren nodded, ¡°Samra did mention it.¡±


    ¡°Toby said the Patrol wiped out an Airforce base over the recovery of a lost child. I just . . . feel like I¡¯ve heard that story before. And you said the Rizek family was from Zeron, and that¡¯s Samra¡¯s family.¡±


    Saara said, ¡°It¡¯s possible she¡¯s told you the story before. The child was her father.¡±


    Loren whipped around to face her. ¡°What did you say?¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know that? You¡¯re so young¡ª¡±


    ¡°Then you tell them,¡± Loren snapped.


    Saara made that strange, amused warbling sound again and spoke with a trill in her voice, ¡°There¡¯s no need to get upset. It¡¯s just that I was around when it happened. I don¡¯t know much more than that, though. Her family was divided over some matter or other, around the late 1930s, and had lost a child in the conflict. L¡¯mauz lu¡¯Rizek came looking for his son, and that¡¯s how we found out about Zeron. The boy was eventually found, and no one heard from them again for a long time, until the Ryozakkan began asking for refuge with ETHICS in the late 70s.


    ¡°They haven¡¯t been integrating well, though. They¡¯re rude, won¡¯t orders from anyone other than their own, and always do things their own way. They have their own cultures, history, and languages. They even have their own specialized types, just like the Naka, and they¡¯ve learned to create hybrids, which of course is so unnatural, and they have the sorcerers too, and . . . that doctor is also from their world, but he¡¯s from a different group. A very wealthy isolationist clan, with nothing to offer us but their arrogance.


    ¡°What¡¯s more: the people of Zeron have only been out there for a million years, or so, because it lies at the source of the time distortion in the Xal Enjhi field. As a result, they¡¯ve had less time to develop than the rest of us. They abuse our resources, they don¡¯t always give back equitably, and they¡¯re known for taking too many risks. If you ask my people, we believe they are a critical security breach waiting to happen.¡±


    The map had been moving at Loren¡¯s command, soaring until it reached a small, isolated planet, orbiting a distant blue star. It was an Earth-like world, but all the colors were wrong. The seas sparkled in shades of amethyst, and the crimson continents seemed to contain every other color but green. It was mostly water, like Dormnasar, but where the other planet was drab at first glance, this one was so colorful that it was hard to imagine why anyone would want to leave. It was beautiful, and visibly rich with life.


    Then again, Bernard thought, perhaps the competition for space was too stiff.


    Something stirred in the back of his mind.


    War. There was too much war.


    Mireia said, ¡°Sam told me her people were better equipped to fight a war than to start one.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t trust her,¡± Saara said simply.


    ¡°I don¡¯t trust your Naka space pirates and scavengers. I¡¯ll take my chances with the warriors.¡±


    Saara drew a course breath, making a crude sound, and rumbled irritably, ¡°You¡¯re better off with the Nasu, really¡ª¡±


    Loren cut her off, ¡°See, this is why I¡¯m the trainer, because you have to give your opinion on everybody.¡±


    Saara leaned her head back, gazing down her long nose at him critically. ¡°You know this organization could not exist without fair and reasonable Nasu policies and people holding it together.¡±


    ¡°And yet I have never been called to investigate Ryozakkan activities.¡± He turned away from her before he rolled his eyes. ¡°I still have another planet left to cover.¡±


    ¡°You know I¡¯m right,¡± she said.


    Loren panned out so the teens could see him better, and asked them, ¡°Do you want to take a break?¡±


    Mireia shook her head, ¡°We¡¯re here, now, you might as well get it over with.¡±


    ¡°You asked for it. So: This last part is a bit of a doozy, so if that¡¯s a problem, you can take it up with Bernard, because we wouldn¡¯t have known about it if not for him.¡±


    Bernard blinked, bewildered, and braced himself for the worst as he asked, ¡°What the fuck did I do?¡±


    Loren panned over, out to a distant star, and zoomed in on what looked like a yellow gas giant, ¡°Son, you struck an alliance with a new species.¡±


    ¡°Come again?¡±


    ¡°Maybe not intentionally, and not to your own knowledge, but behind the scenes at HQ our leadership team has been working on this thing ever since. The current Drorg emperor credits you, and he makes most of his decisions based on whatever he thinks you would do.¡±


    ¡°Why me?¡±


    ¡°Because you made first contact, and cared for one of their lost children, and that¡¯s good enough for them. And because Emperor Arlo, formerly known as Johnathan, was that child. Drorgs form close attachments, and their children often take personality cues from their bonded partners.¡±


    ¡°Whatever Toby is, he¡¯s been very secretive with us, but that wasn¡¯t the case with the Drorgs. They were very relieved to see their child alive and well in good hands.¡±


    Saara¡¯s low voice cooed softly, ¡°Why don¡¯t you put the map away, Loren? I heard the back door open. We¡¯ll show them.¡±


    Loren nodded, lowering the map. The lights came back on. He glanced around, and then turned back to Bernard. ¡°You and Toby will be working with me. I¡¯m going to teach you to fly a plane, and that¡¯s how we¡¯re going to get most of our work done. The girls will have other arrangements.¡±


    Two shimmering forms, glistening like heat waves, appeared over the coffee table. The shimmer dissipated, and a pair of odd, winged creatures stood before them.


    One was silver, with a copper sheen as it turned in the light, and the other was pure white, with a shining accent like moonlight on snow. Smooth and eel-like, they each stood around the size of small cats. They had slender heads with pairs of small, rounded horns, and large eyes under protective lenses, held in place by thin black masks that covered the upper parts of their faces. The silver one had wide copper lenses, and the white one¡¯s were topaz blue. Bernard suspected their eyes might match, but he couldn¡¯t be sure. They had short forearms, and large, powerful hind limbs.


    Delicate membranous webbing spread over dragon-like wings, from the base of each sinuous neck past the base of each long, whiplash tail. Each tail ended in a broad lateral rudder. They were perfectly aerodynamic.


    Each wore a small harness and a tiny saddle, as though meant to be ridden.


    Loren told them, ¡°At one point, ETHICS had five Drorgs in its care. Empress Lightfire¡¯s partner was a Terran girl who worked with you for a short time, but chose to leave soon after, so her memory was erased in the traditional way. Lightfire had no desire to stay on Earth, after that, so she left, and Arlo went with her. I was told Bernard encouraged it, since the two were very close. The pair later went on to take over a significantly large faction on their homeworld, where they became our political allies. Falcon and Winter,¡± he indicated the two on the table, ¡°were assigned to Jez and Mireia, and have been working for ETHICS since 1990. Our direct supervisor, Danny, has the care of the fifth one.¡±


    Jez reached forward cautiously, and yelped as the snowy white Drorg leapt up her arm, coiling around the back of her neck, snakelike, and came back down to rest in her lap, clear blue lenses gazing straight into her eyes. Its sinuous movements were as fascinating as they were eerie, evoking a strange memory of something Bernard was sure he¡¯d never seen before.


    Mireia remained staring at the silver one, which was staring right back, as she asked, ¡°So, obviously, Johnathan is a boy¡¯s name¡ª¡±


    Loren shook his head, ¡°I¡¯m told he still answers to the name on occasion, but he goes by his birth name, Arlo. The others use the only names they¡¯ve ever had, but he was older when he met Bernard. We try to stick to ungendered names because the Drorgs are born hermaphrodites. They can choose their genders as they get older, and they can change as they like or need to, after the fact. So as far as I know, those two either don¡¯t have a specific gender, or they¡¯ll let you know when they¡¯re ready.¡±


    Jez stroked the white one¡¯s head cautiously. ¡°How?¡±


    A light buzzing sound came from the silver one, as it began to fiddle with its harness, and then a small, stilted electronic sound came from it. ¡°We speak. This method not convenient. Functional.¡±


    Bernard noticed, however, that they never stopped moving. At all times, one or both of them was fidgeting, fluttering, or . . . gesturing.


    ¡°Sign language,¡± he said, ¡°They¡¯re speaking in sign language, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    The white one¡¯s head undulated on its long neck in an affirmative motion. A tiny, frog-like trill chimed from somewhere along its throat.


    Mireia extended a hand to the other, Falcon, and it flew into her lap, rubbing catlike against her stomach, before resting its neck between her breasts, and its head against her heart.


    The white one, Winter, made a lower trill call, getting its attention. Whatever gesture Winter made, Falcon turned its face away to ignore it, lifting its wing with its claws arced in a familiar human gesture as it gave its companion a brief middle finger.


    Mireia¡¯s brows rose. ¡°I hope your friend deserved that.¡±


    This time, Bernard could see its small fingers working a device on its harness, near its chest. ¡°Needs to mind their own. I miss vibrations.¡±


    ¡°Vibrations?¡± Mireia asked.


    Falcon leaned back, and thumped its hands against her breastbone meaningfully, gazing into her eyes.


    ¡°You mean, like the sound of my body?¡±


    It rubbed against her again, resuming its previous position. Its tail whipped out, and she gasped in shock as the rudder gripped her wrist and drew her hand in to rest against its back, coaxing her to pet it.


    ¡°It¡¯s so strong,¡± she whispered in awe, obliging its request with a slow, hesitant stroke.


    Bernard reached out to Winter, curious, and the white one flipped its tail over, letting him see the silky ventral side. When he touched it, he could feel the soft surface grasping his fingers with a shockingly powerful grip, and releasing him apparently at will. With the aid of their long, thin toes and strong hind legs, they were well-equipped to live arboreally.


    Loren handed Bernard the tablet. ¡°Look, here: if you¡¯re familiar with how starfish move, they have hundreds of weird little tentacle-looking tube feet that end in suckers. So it¡¯s sorta like that. It¡¯s just hard to see them at this size.¡±


    Jez and Mireia both leaned over to see the screen, and Jez asked, ¡°Well, how big do they get?¡±


    Loren nodded back towards the cavern he had mentioned, ¡°About the size of small passenger jets. They can show you later. That¡¯s why there¡¯s so much underground space back there.¡±


    ¡°They can do that NOW?¡± Mireia cried, snatching the screen and staring at it.


    ¡°It¡¯s a touch screen,¡± Loren said, ¡°Slide the display with your fingers.¡±


    ¡°Weird,¡± she muttered, her eyes scanning the text intently, ¡°So weird. So we can ride these guys?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the plan. So are you ready to see your contracts?¡±


    She glared at him, ¡°You mean the ones we don¡¯t have a choice in?¡±


    ¡°You actually do have a few choices you get to make, but yes: the ones we¡¯re making you sign.¡±


    Jez held her hand out, ¡°Get it over with, dude.¡±


    He walked over to the bookshelves, opened one of the lower cabinets, and came back with an immense black folder, a stack of thick spiral-bound books, and a stack of folders.


    Then he dropped the black folder on the table. ¡°This is the core case file for Nightmare, if any of you want to read it.¡±


    Bernard felt his eyes widen as his body grew numb and cold.


    ¡°If you¡¯re having dreams about it, then I wouldn¡¯t recommend diving too deep, but you have a right to see it. None of this stuff leaves this room, and especially not that. Treat this place like a security vault, because that¡¯s where these files are supposed to be.¡±


    Loren handed them each a folder and book. ¡°This covers everything I just discussed, and more.¡±


    He had to wave the book in Bernard¡¯s face to break his gaze, and Bernard took it gladly, willing to forget the ominous black file on the table, for now.


    ¡°There¡¯s one for each of you, and room to take notes if you need to. It also contains a primer on our language, written and spoken, and an introduction to International Sign Language. It never occurred to our founding members that your people would not expect hearing people to understand or use a language developed so that the hearing impaired could communicate, so they just assumed it was standard. It¡¯s proven useful to know, so they¡¯ve kept it in our training program. If you don¡¯t know it, the option is open. ISL is a bit different from ASL, but we¡¯re an interplanetary organization and you have hundreds of sign languages¡ªhaha, you didn¡¯t know that, did you?¡±


    Bernard glanced at the girls, who glanced back and shook their heads. As far as any of them knew, there was only one sign language.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to learn everything immediately, since you won¡¯t be able to take the books out of this room for security reasons.¡±


    Mireia glanced back down at the booklet, and asked him, ¡°If you have archivists keeping track of things, why does so much of your early history consist of, ¡®we don¡¯t know¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Because we don¡¯t,¡± he said, shrugging, ¡°The Bringers and the Rokanians and the Refvrish didn¡¯t spring up out of nowhere overnight. We don¡¯t know where the hell any of them came from, or when or where their technologies were developed. We do know that the Refvrish came close to extinction during our time.¡±


    Bernard had opened his folder, and was staring at the first page of the contract, under the ¡°applicable parties¡± statement.


    ¡°Loren . . . what¡¯s a ¡®Non-Terran Human¡¯?¡±


    Jez said, ¡°I guess someone who moved from Earth, right?¡±


    Loren¡¯s eyes widened, and he glanced back at Saara. ¡°I didn¡¯t cover that?¡±


    ¡°You skipped the Refvrish,¡± she said.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t correct me?!¡±


    She tilted her head and answered in an, unreadable warble, ¡°You¡¯re the trainer, like you said. I thought you had a plan.¡±


    Loren grimaced and shoved his hands in his pockets, turning back to the teenagers uncomfortably as he explained, ¡°Refrenzo¡¯s dominant population consists of three distinct species of human, genetically separate from those found on Earth.¡±


    Silence followed his words. Mireia flipped frantically through her book. Bernard leaned over to look with her. Jez opened her contract, and said, ¡°You¡¯re joking, right?¡±


    ¡°So,¡± Mireia asked, ¡°You¡¯re saying humans developed on another planet?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know,¡± Loren said again, ¡°All archeological evidence points to the development of humans on Earth in geologically recent times, but there¡¯s no evidence for the evolution of humans on Refvrenzo, or anywhere else. No related species, and no evolutionary fossil record. They¡¯re just there, and that¡¯s it. They pre-date your humans, too. It¡¯s one of Xal Enjhi¡¯s greatest mysteries, next to shapeshifting, bioscanners, and the Ilaysians.¡±


    Bernard began flipping through his own book, ¡°Is it possible that the Ilaysians picked them up from Earth?¡±


    ¡°Not without successful time travel,¡± Loren said, ¡°And that would be pretty extreme travel to and from Xal Enjhi. Remember: the humans were there before the Ryozae.¡±


    ¡°Are you fucking serious, right now?¡±


    Loren took a breath and said, ¡°You can time travel in one direction, and only one, and that ain¡¯t time travel, that¡¯s just how relativity works. On the highly unlikely chance that you found a stray wormhole, you still can¡¯t travel to a time when you didn¡¯t exist to begin with. You¡¯d still be traveling forward, with the ability to go back where you began.


    ¡°And say you found a way to travel backwards: how the would you even be able to test it to be sure you went back to the right place and time? And on the slimmest possible miracle chance that you made a reliable loop, you would risk . . . I don¡¯t know. I guess you¡¯d break reality. You¡¯d have to be stupid to try it. We can view the past by looking up at the sky at night, but traveling? There¡¯s just no way even the most advanced species in the galaxy could have done it. That doesn¡¯t tell us where the humans came from, but it tells us where they didn¡¯t come from.¡±


    Bernard studied the book, thinking hard, and said, ¡°What if, by some chance the humans are from our future, then, and happened on such a wormhole that successfully took them backwards?¡±


    ¡°I suppose it could be possible,¡± Loren said, ¡°Especially if they landed in an anomaly like Xal Enjhi. But I ain¡¯t a physicist. I really cain¡¯t say.¡±


    ¡°If their future descendants created the reason their ancestors left Earth without the knowledge of doing it, it would theoretically be a closed loop.¡±


    Jez shook her head, ¡°It sounds even crazier when you say it. Where the hell did you even get an idea like that?¡±


    He shrugged, ¡°I don¡¯t know, Jez. I couldn¡¯t tell you if I thought of it, or Toby thought of it, or I remembered it from somewhere else. I don¡¯t know anything anymore. I¡¯m just rolling with it.¡±


    She put a hand on his head. ¡°I haven¡¯t ruled out getting you checked for food poisoning.¡±


    Toby¡¯s voice broke in, ¡°It sounds like something Silver would have said. He trained you last time.¡±


    Loren gave a bitter, humorless laugh, ¡°If that¡¯s the case, son, you¡¯re more than welcome to stop remembering things he told you. That one, there, makes my head spin.¡± Then he pointed at the contracts. ¡°Toby tells me you¡¯ve already covered most of the benefits. We¡¯re all Class 1-B, so we should all be making top pay in that category, even though I can¡¯t send you home with more than $40,000 net pay.¡±


    Jez flipped through her contract, and froze, gawking at it. ¡°Fucking hell! $120,000 a year!¡±


    Bernard opened his. ¡°So they¡¯re just . . . what? Dropping $80,000 a year into a savings account we can¡¯t use?¡±


    ¡°Unless you designate another purpose for the money,¡± Loren said, ¡°There¡¯s a section for that. That¡¯s why it¡¯s a sixty-page document. You can tack it onto you transportation voucher and buy a nicer car, if you want. Here in the US, it¡¯s recommended you finance the car. Just remember you still need to pay insurance and maintenance costs. You¡¯re not going to qualify for any exemptions, there.¡±


    Mireia¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°Counselors start at $160,000?¡±


    Loren grinned, ¡°Yes, but it¡¯s rare that anyone ever takes home six figures. Still, I realize that¡¯s an unexpected figure. Our organization was essentially founded by our Mental Health Department. Our counselors have a lot of sway. Whoever put this team together had to get it cleared through Counseling before it could proceed. There should be a copy of the approval page in your packet with Glenda Vern¡¯s name on it. She¡¯s the head of the department for the whole organization. Remember: we¡¯re all refugees in hiding, and many of us have experienced intense trauma¡ªno one just packs up and leaves their homeland for no reason, much less their home planet. A counselor has to approve your mental health status before you can apply for immigration, and if you don¡¯t check in with your assigned counselor once a month, they¡¯ll call¡ªand that goes for you, as well. Glenda is also your personal counselor, so you should call her soon, but if you don¡¯t, she¡¯ll probably call me, since you still live with your families.


    ¡°While you¡¯re at it, be sure to check your personal profiles and submit any changes you¡¯d like to make. They¡¯re seven years out of date. I¡¯m gonna run to Walterboro to pick up some barbeque for dinner¡ªassuming that Seki plans to stay where she¡¯s at.¡±


    Saara gave a low, contented rumble as she pulled her tail up against her body and settled her head against her feathers. ¡°Go. I will watch.¡±


    He set a few pens on the coffee table, and walked out.


    It took a long time to get through the whole document, and Bernard froze when he reached the section near the end labeled ¡°Death, Dismemberment, or Permanent Injury.¡± It was long, and most of it seemed like reasonable legal statements regarding ETHICS¡¯ assumed liability for most damages with few exceptions, but it stated that if anything happened to him in the line of duty, his family would never know the truth. In the interest of security, in line with their opening statement, ¡°ETHICS Security is Terran Security¡± and the Non-Disclosure Agreement, they would never reveal their existence. Even if it meant having to lie to his mother.


    By the time Loren returned, he still hadn¡¯t signed it.


    Throughout dinner, he ate in silence, while Jez and Mireia weighed the pros and cons of the contract, as though they had a choice. It took Bernard a while to figure out that they were choosing to view it obbjectively, rather than sign it blindly because they didn¡¯t have a choice.


    A strange d¨¦j¨¤ vu hit him while they were talking: a scene like this, at his mother¡¯s dining room table. Samra explaining the options they had. They could flee the planet, but the problem might just transfer to someone else.


    Nightmare would just find a new victim.


    Zirol would still exist, whether he signed it or not.


    If they backed out now, they would lose their memories of the past three or four days, and this time they would have to go through the standard procedure, with unknown consequences from whatever damage might be caused. And Zirol would still exist.


    As soon as they were done eating, he signed the form.

 Rain Watch

    At 480 million years old, the majestic soft, rolling blue-green peaks and valleys of the Appalachian Mountains held many mysteries in the darkness below their dense canopies. Formed at the center of the great supercontinent Pangaea, these hills were among the great elders of Mother Earth. They had witnessed every major mass extinction, and saw their first human beings around an estimated 16,000 years ago. From that point on, the ancient lands would sustain indigenous populations until their forced removal in recent centuries.


    The Southern Appalachians alone had seen their share of blood-soaked American history. 19<sup>th</sup> Century indigenous removals East of the Mississippi River in all cost the lives of hundreds of thousands of human beings, to say nothing of the centuries before. Numerous military battles and skirmishes had also been fought in Appalachia in the late 18<sup>th</sup> Century during the American Revolution, as well as the 1860s during the American Civil War. In the early 20<sup>th</sup> Century, the famous Coal Wars were fought in West Virginia between labor unions and coal companies, reaching a dark pitch in 1921 when the US government dropped gas and bombs against the miners during the Battle of Blair Mountain.


    Yet, having seen such destruction, the Appalachians remained unmoved. Unchanged. They were the steadfast guardians of life and death on the land that birthed them. The rich resources of the ancient lands between the hills created self-sustaining communities by providing healthy soil for small farms, as well as rich deposits of natural resources, rocks, and minerals. Appalachia had forged sturdy, hard-working people through the years, and a rich history of art, music, and culture.


    It was this blend of nature, culture, and history that had compelled Samra to lead Saara, Mireia, and Jez on a tour of Asheville, then due West the next day through a charming little town called Black Mountain. The plan was to eventually meet with Bernard and Loren, though there was no rush, since Loren had business of his own that morning.


    It gave Falcon and Winter time to fly freely. Appalachia was among the wild places both had been itching to see again, since returning to Earth. Even though Earth was not their true mother, neither had any memory of their birthplace, and they regarded Earth as the surrogate who had raised them under her watchful skies. Something about these ancient lands had always drawn them in, inviting them to rest in the cool, dense shade, and they were more than happy to oblige.


    The two Drorgs drifted Northeast amid the pillowy summer green hills, drinking the cool, damp, oxygen-rich breath of their mother through their skins, roughly following the Blue Ridge Parkway towards a set of coordinates that marked the team¡¯s rendezvous point.


    Had they transferred from their birthplace without acclimating, the deadly change in atmosphere would have killed them, but their bodies were adaptable. Their organs reformed, and the gills nestled behind their head crests helped filter any heavier toxins.


    As six-limbed sub-adults, they no longer had need of the complete set of retractable toxic spines along their dorsal ridge which once protected them as four-limbed juveniles. A few less-toxic spines remained just below their hides, from the base of their tails to the backs of their rudder-shaped grippers, where the spines fanned out, boldly-colored like those of a sea urchin when exposed.


    Where the upper spines had been, their dorsal ridges were now particularly sensitive to the sweet summer air. They had other organs here, which would further develop as they approached mating conditions, should they decide to take on mating roles.


    Unlike Lightfire and Arlo, who had maintained their roles since they first became adolescents, Falcon and Winter chose to remain neutral; neither Giver nor Bearer, but simply to Be. Unlike humans, they had no need of gender constructs like male or female, mother or father. For the most part they tolerated the associated Terran pronouns because it made the humans comfortable, but they encouraged the distinction between cultural lexicons: a Giver was not a Father. A Giver was a Giver, and a Bearer was a Bearer. Both were nest-makers, and a Bearer was not a Mother. A partnership did not require the acceptance of a role. Neither Falcon nor Winter desired a role, nor were they required to take one. They simply desired to Be, and be together with their respective partners¡ªtheir family.


    Winter glanced around, realizing that their speedster companion had lagged behind. The watery cloaked image they recognized as Falcon was fading away into the misty clouds. Falcon¡¯s body language had been drooping since that morning, but had become especially noticeable since Black Mountain.


    Winter banked and turned about to find them, before all sight could be lost.


    [Worry not,] they signed, dropping in front of Falcon¡¯s face. [Partners are safe.]


    Falcon steered around them, signing reluctantly. [Seems . . . happy without me.]


    Winter loop a vertical arc around their friend reassuringly, [Overwhelmed. Give time. Too much, too fast. Give time.]


    [You are not worried?]


    [I . . . well . . . ,] Winter darted ahead. [Of course! Give time.]


    Jez had been irritable all morning. It was off-putting, but the best thing to do was wait and let her walk it off.


    [Will be fine,] Winter insisted, wings beating in a gesture of emphasis. [Humans need time to adjust or they will burn out. Except for Bernard. (he) Always seems fine.]


    [No. Too private, that one.]


    [Oh. I forgot. Never understood. Why hide?]


    [So others not worry.]


    Falcon darted ahead, leaving their friend straining to keep up.


    As the clouds darkened and gathered around them, the pressure dropped and the humidity rose. A pop-up shower, typical of the region. It would obscure visibility, but thankfully they were already near their destination. They dove down into the trees, Falcon living up to their namesake until the branches finally slowed down them down, but Winter was agile enough to wind their own way through the branches and, at last, keep pace.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The rain picked up. The two of them rested on the branch of a tree with broad, protective leaves. Winter leaned back against the trunk. Falcon sat further out.


    [An hour,] Winter suggested, [(if) Still raining, (we) scout perimeter anyway.]


    [(I¡¯ll take) Far watch,] Falcon answered, by way of concession.


    [Fine. (I¡¯ll take) Near.]


    As the rain pattered through the leaves, Falcon gestured into the woods. [Hope they(are) still same as before.]


    Winter had had enough, and reached forward to lightly nip their friend¡¯s tail gripper with a jawless maw full of tiny needle-like teeth. Falcon suppressed a sharp trill and whipped around.


    Winter angrily incorporated a rude human gesture, [Trying not to think about it! (Fuck off!)]


    Their friend shuffled uncomfortably, [So . . . you, too?]


    [Of course. You have patient one. Mine has shit mood swings.]


    Both fell still, keenly attending to any changes in the pattern of the rain as the storm rolled through the hills.


    They¡¯d been training hard for their reunion, flying with dummies and body sensors. Their partners hadn¡¯t developed the muscles they¡¯d need for full-powered flight, nor did they have all of the proper gear here on Earth. Aviation gear would offer elemental protection, but if the Drorgs were too enthusiastic, their actions could permanently injure the girls, ripping joints from sockets, causing untold spinal damage, or even killing them. And no one wanted that. Least of all the two Drorgs, or the Ryozae who would be held accountable for the loss.


    The thrill of being reunited with their partners in the air was one that made the Drorgs vibrate to their very cores. They would need all the self-control they could muster.


    [We¡¯ve practiced so much,] Falcon went on. [but still . . . we haven¡¯t tried it.]


    Somewhere in the forest, Winter heard a different sound from the rain, and glanced around to confirm a squirrel springing through the trees, looking for shelter.


    [Don¡¯t know what I¡¯ll do (if) something happens to her.]


    Winter trilled low, losing their patience. [What is your problem? Happy thoughts! For the rest of the day! Happy thoughts for the rest of your life! Please!]


    That appeared to amuse their friend. [You¡¯re usually the pessimist.]


    [Enough on my own. Don¡¯t need your help. Happy thoughts, or sit still.]


    Falcon¡¯s wings folded tensely, and they went back to listening to the rain. The steady patter against the broad green canopy helped soothe Winter¡¯s nerves. It dripped down through the branches in a constant rhythm, broken only by the occasional skitter and flutter of wildlife.


    A bear in a distant tree posed no threat.


    A deer passed slowly below them, sniffing the underbrush for food. It ate slowly and quietly, listening just as they did.


    A light whistling was all the warning either of them had. Both reacted instantaneously as one, dropping onto the far side of the branch as something metallic shot past, moving forward to get away from the area while staying hidden. Even invisible, it was an instinctual habit they¡¯d picked up from chasing reapers out of starships. Reaper lines were nothing to hang around for, and neither was razorwire¡ª


    Something bit into Winter¡¯s tail, drawing a sharp trill. Trembling, they repressed the sound, and looked back.


    Speaking of Zeronei razorwire.


    [Sit still,] Falcon gestured, [Let me take care of it.]


    Winter switched to an audible language, chirping and trilling rapidly, ¡°Go! Find source!¡±


    Falcon only hesitated for the briefest, most precious moment, and shot off into the trees. If one of them didn¡¯t search now, they¡¯d never find it.


    It was a wonder that the wire hadn¡¯t taken Winter¡¯s tail off yet, or sliced right through the tree branch. It had caught them, just well enough to pin them painfully, but not enough to amputate them.


    But it doesn¡¯t fully amputate, does it? they thought, struggling to think through the bitter pain, It strips flesh off the bone . . . I don¡¯t have those kinds of bones . . . so it would, wouldn¡¯t it? Drorg bodies were denser at this size, so that could prove to be their saving grace! The best thing to do was remain absolutely still.


    They dug their claws into the branch.


    How had either of them been seen? Someone had to have been there, watching them long enough to see the rain disappear where they sat, dripping in odd patterns from the spot, off their tiny sinuous bodies. It would take a great deal of time and patience to see that, and to line up such an accurate shot. How had they not seen or heard anything?


    Something landed against Winter¡¯s head, talons crushing their jawless, boneless maw into the branch. A second set of talons pinned the nearest wing against their body. A large, sharp, vice-like beak tightened around their neck, attempting to tear through it. It dug into the sensitive doral ridge and complex system of vocal sacs, growling softly as serrations grew along the edges of the vice. Winter could do little more than scratch at the branch helplessly. Trying to strike with the other wing was too difficult without the use of their tail. It hurt too much. Unable to cry for help, they finally managed a series of ultrasonic squeals, loud enough to resonate through their neck.


    As quickly as it had appeared, it flew off into the rain, leaving them gasping, squeaking weakly as they looked for the assailant.


    A watery mass shot past¡ªFalcon was on the animal¡¯s tail, hunting it down through the storm. Winter remained quiet and alert, fresh throbbing now blooming along their neck and where their face mask had been pressed against their eyes.


    The sights and sounds of the rainy mountain forest continued as before. The deer had bolted during the attack. Everything hurt. The tiny flames that leapt from the bleeding wound in their tail mixed with the rain and dripped harmlessly from the branch, dissipating quickly as the blood diluted. Winter started to dig their claws deeper into the branch, then realized that those hurt, as well.


    Something fluttered onto the branch near Winter¡¯s tail. They whipped around, terrified.


    Falcon¡¯s image hesitated. [It¡¯s me. Going to see if I can undo this thing.]


    Winter relaxed.


    [Are you okay?]


    From the other side of the branch, Falcon fiddled with the metal controller, expecting an audible response. So Winter managed to creak, ¡°I¡¯m in pain.¡±


    Falcon darted around to inspect their face. The masks were only used for data reads and long distance communication, particularly with headquarters, so their friend took it off and stowed it away to get a better look at the injuries. Then it was back to figuring out the device.


    Several minutes went by before Falcon issued a call through their harness system, using Morse Code. It was translated and sounded out through the speakers: ¡°Samra. Something out here. Enemy. Can¡¯t find. Need you for razorwire. . . . Yes. Different. Can¡¯t leave. You fix?¡±


    Then they came back to the front of the branch. [Samra will come. She will call HQ. They¡¯ll send experts. 3 hours.]


    ¡°THREE HOURS?!¡±


    Falcon touched their crests together gently, softly chirping, ¡°Peace, friend. Have care.¡±


    Winter let them rest there for a moment, comforted despite the pain. ¡°Did you . . . see what it was?¡±


    ¡°Vulture or raven.¡±


    The answer was baffling.


    ¡°Did you see it?¡± Falcon asked.


    ¡°No. Big talons. Sharp teeth. Growled . . . like a different animal.¡±


    Falcon leaned back, cradling Winter¡¯s head in their forefeet, gently re-inspecting each injury.


    ¡°Then it was Ryozae.¡±


    They called Samra back, letting her know.


    Winter shuddered, then drew their wings in against the cold rain.


    Falcon wrapped Winter¡¯s tail¡ªbranch and all¡ªand then the rest of their body, using both available emergency blankets. Then they settled in with a wing extending over Winter¡¯s head and neck. The fabric was breathable, but still uncomfortable. The head and neck were by far more important organs for respiration, but Winter still felt half-suffocated. It was better than being injured and cold, at this size.


    Falcon grew pale and still with the cold, but remained in place, keeping a watchful, terrified eye on the woods around them.

 Field Test

    The dense green walls of the Appalachian woodlands rolled by, looming large above the Blue Ridge Parkway. The midday sun gleamed off lush foliage. Cool, dark shadows peeked out from behind, inviting the adventurous. Bernard was normally that sort of adventurer, but not today. He needed to see an open field. His dreams had not been pleasant, and Loren had insisted on seeing caverns, of all things. Dark, damp, narrow caverns.


    The same close walls of stone that gave Loren a sense of comfort and security were full of the same dreadful shadows Bernard had been seeing in his sleep all week.


    As far as he knew, Loren had an ulterior motive for seeing the caves, and Bernard was sure it had to do with a young man he¡¯d spent twenty minutes talking to.


    ¡°You¡¯ve sure been quiet,¡± Loren noted. ¡°Y¡¯ain¡¯t hardly spoke since Emerald Village.¡±


    Bernard remained silent, offering no more than a shrug as he pondered a souvenir tumbled emerald in his hand, set in a matrix of quartz with inclusions of black tourmaline. It was a smooth, palm-sized stone with a nice weight that felt good in his hand.


    ¡°Look, I can¡¯t promise that¡¯ll be the last cave, but I¡¯ll try to avoid ¡®em, okay? I really just needed to wrap up a few things from an old case. It was a convenient place to meet, and I didn¡¯t think¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Bernard said.


    ¡°You sure, son? ¡®Cause you¡¯ve been real tense ever since.¡±


    ¡°I mean, that¡¯s part of it, but it¡¯s really not that big of a deal.¡±


    ¡°You want tell me what¡¯s on your mind, then?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± he said irritably, ¡°It¡¯s fine, Loren, really.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t pin the source of his moodiness¡ªand he didn¡¯t feel like talking about it. He was seventeen, after all. He could handle his own business without getting all touchy-feely about it like some little kid.


    ¡°Right,¡± Loren said, ¡°So I guess we can expect to do this again sometime¡ª¡±


    ¡°Jesus Christ, can we not just ride in silence?¡± Bernard snapped, ¡°Turn on some music or something if you¡¯re bored, man.¡±


    ¡°This ain¡¯t about me,¡± Loren said, unmoved by his outburst, ¡°You wanna know where I think it started? When that lady asked where you were from.¡±


    ¡°Been tryin¡¯ real hard all morning to let that go,¡± he grumbled at the window.


    ¡°Ahh, then we¡¯re getting¡¯ somewhere. But do you blame her for being curious?¡±


    ¡°No. There were people from all over the place. Granted, they were all white, but¡ªhell, man, it was part of the conversation. I¡¯m not gonna be mad at her for asking. She was bein¡¯ friendly. I just wish she hadn¡¯t been so surprised.¡± His fist closed around the emerald. ¡°I just can¡¯t wait to get out of the Southeast.¡±


    ¡°There are white people in other places too, you know.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but at least I¡¯ll be a real foreigner and not an alien in my own backyard.¡± Then he realized what he¡¯d said and backtracked. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.¡±


    ¡°It was honest. You wanna travel more, we can definitely manage that. Boss lady sent Danny a list for us to get started on. Sites in Ireland, Japan, Honduras, and India. After I check a site near Bishopville, east of Columbia, we can get started.¡±


    Bernard blinked, drawn from his thoughts, ¡°The hell¡¯s in Bishopville?¡± Then it dawned on him. ¡°Oh, no way. Really? Don¡¯t you think those people have had enough?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not interviewing anyone. Saara¡¯s gonna run a pheromone scan, and then we¡¯re gonna leave.¡±


    ¡°A what?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s gonna sniff out a couple of areas for suspicious activity.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t believe what he was hearing. ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as Lizard Man. You¡¯ve got to be kidding me.¡±


    Anything but Lizard Man.


    ¡°You should see our files on Mothman, Bigfoot, and The Jersey Devil.¡±


    ¡°It was probably some wacko on drugs or a hoax just to scare people. Mothman was more believable than that¡ªnot that it was believable in the first place!¡ªand besides: that was, what, nine years ago? What does she expect to find?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about finding anything, at this point, it¡¯s just a routine check of Scape Ore Swamp to make sure none of our kind use the story as cover to cause trouble, especially since it was probably Zirol that I met in Beaufort.¡±


    ¡°So we¡¯re roaming the world chasing cryptids?¡±


    ¡°Actually, we are gonna be ghost-hunting with Toby.¡±


    Bernard stared at him. ¡°Are you fucking with me?!¡±


    Loren laughed and said, ¡°What we¡¯re doing is we¡¯re investigating the kinds of sites that have the potential to attract meddlesome rogues. Some Ryozaem will take advantage of a few strange or scary stories like that. We keep multiple agents stationed in large urban areas for that reason. Others specialize in unique cultural sites like New Orleans. Most of Zirol¡¯s activity is suspected to have occurred around sites high in electromagnetism, so we¡¯re ghost hunting. Thankfully someone¡¯s already covered New Orleans more thoroughly than we could ever hope to.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve . . . got to be joking.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s where Toby comes in handy, because he can scan a site faster than we can, and provide more information about it than a simple hand scanner can do. And you¡¯re a reliable interpreter for him¡ªor you were.¡±


    They slowed to pull up a steep driveway, almost straight uphill, and followed a rocky winding path through the trees. If Loren hadn¡¯t taken the route, Bernard would never have known it was there.


    Loren tapped on a small GPS system mounted on the dash, displaying a coordinate series in gray. ¡°You¡¯ll learn to depend on these things. Once you¡¯re familiar with the coordinate grid, you¡¯ll wonder how you ever got by without it.¡±


    A structure came into view. At one point it might have passed for a house, but now the roof was sunken in and missing in patches, and the weathered, gray siding looked as though it might drop off the frame in the next major storm.


    Loren parked the car just down the hill from the house and handed Bernard a strange, clunky device. Someone had mounted an electromagnetism detector to a PDA, and a small series of tiny colored lightbulbs flashed across the top in red, orange, yellow, green, and blue. There were two of each color, and they seemed to be lighting up in a patterned way, but there were no instructions to indicated their meaning.


    To the look Bernard was giving it, Loren shrugged and said, ¡°Leave it to the Naka to cobble something like that together.¡±


    ¡°I thought they were professionals?¡±


    Loren held up a second monstrosity, made from a Game Boy. ¡°They are, but Terran electronics are like toys to them. Even if a more elegant solution exists, sometimes they¡¯ll mash up existing devices just for fun. They probably only needed the internal hardware.¡±


    ¡°What are the lights for?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a code language. I¡¯ve never been good at reading it. This version is truncated, sorta like your shorthand or abbreviations. They developed it for long distance communication between buildings and spaceships, and they often use a static form to label things and transmit information. It¡¯s more beneficial to whoever interprets the data we collect, so don¡¯t worry about it.¡±


    ¡°They write in colors?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I guess you could say that. They can do it in millions of colors, some outside the human visible spectrum. Like any other Ryozae language, it can be expanded or reduced in complexity to accommodate for those who don¡¯t have the same finely-tuned abilities. I¡¯m naturally dichromatic, for example. I typically see in yellows and blues, but I can also see in ultraviolet, so an abbreviated system would best suit me in patterns of blue-to-violet spectrum light instead of colors.¡±


    It was brilliant, once Bernard thought about it, and made sense. It meant that their ancestors were more likely to recognize information in terms of color and pattern, such as knowing that another creature was dangerous, or being able to find and recognize mates. For a semi-unified visual system like this to exist was a testament to the intelligence and willpower of the early Nakaryozaem, who took the time to make sure the system could be understood by multiple species under multiple circumstances. It had no doubted evolved, as well, seeing countless modifications over time.


    Bernard turned the device over, and glanced up at the dark woods around them.


    Ghost-hunting, huh?


    Suddenly, he could see it: the incredible age of this place. He thought he¡¯d understood the cycles of life in the richness of his own backyard, but the web of life that depended on and supported these trees was less like an orb-weaver¡¯s web and more like an intricate mesh, denser than his untrained mind could comprehend. And wherever walked life, walked death as well. The eons of death, decay, and rebirth which supported this ecosystem, layer upon layer. And for the briefest moment, he thought he caught a glimmer of something almost human, moving between the trees.


    Then it was gone.


    ~Nothing to worry about,~ Toby said.


    That¡¯s ¡®nothing?¡¯


    ~Normal. You did not see them that morning in Charleston?~


    He thought back for a moment. No. I saw people, but¡ª


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    Then he remembered something: there had been a woman standing in a window, near-faceless as she gazed at the street in a Victorian dressing gown. It was her home, and she was never planning to leave.


    There was a man in a graveyard, dressed in a soldier¡¯s uniform from the late 1700s. He was waiting. Perhaps for a lover. Perhaps something else. He was difficult to make out, but the buttons and bars on his coat stood out clearly.


    There was another man, dragging himself wearily home, unkempt in casual attire from perhaps the 1920s or 30s. All he wanted was to go home. He was gone as quickly as he appeared.


    And there were others. Some, like a little girl looking for pranks to pull in a public park, just wanted to be noticed. Others were either too indistinct to make out, or else Toby had simply not chosen to make a note of them, either in favor of observing the living or because it was safer not to draw the attention of every spirit that could not accept its own mortality. Much like living people, not all were benign.


    Whatever Bernard had seen in the trees just now, Toby saw no relation to their purpose here.


    More concerning was that the house itself had a vibrancy unlike the usual abandoned home, but without a source that Toby could trace. It wasn¡¯t life and it wasn¡¯t death. Something else was going on.


    A hand on Bernard¡¯s arm made him jump.


    It was Loren.


    ¡°You okay, son?¡±


    Bernard drew a deep breath, trying to bring himself back to some measure of normalcy. ¡°Sure. Toby¡¯s just . . . checking out the house. The place feels weird.¡± He forced a smile, trying to pretend nothing had happened. Then he raised the device in his hand. ¡°Let¡¯s go ¡®ghost hunting.¡¯ ¡±


    Loren raised a brow. ¡° ¡®Weird¡¯ how?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not sure. Do you know if ETHICS would have rigged the house for the occasion?¡±


    ¡°They didn¡¯t say anything about it, but that doesn¡¯t mean they didn¡¯t. This is a training exercise, after all. They picked the house based on a loose rumor that the place is haunted.¡± Loren glanced from Bernard to the house and back. ¡°You¡¯re sure it¡¯s okay?¡±


    Bernard shrugged, a little unnerved. ¡°This is different than anything I experienced back home. So I guess the only thing to do is find out.¡±


    Loren glanced back at the car, and went to pull a gun from the glove compartment.


    ¡°That¡¯s not going to save you,¡± Bernard said, ¡°Also: why don¡¯t I have one?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got that great big hunting knife, and I have all the permits I need to carry across state lines. It¡¯s not going to save me from the otherworldly, but I¡¯m no good with a knife and it makes me feel better.¡±


    Bernard rolled his eyes. ¡°If you say so, man. Let¡¯s do this.¡±


    The house slouched atop an overgrown grassy hill. Grasshoppers and various other insects scattered as they trudged through the tall stems. Loren swatted a few of them away, but his eyes lingered on the largest ones.


    ¡°We¡¯re not here to eat,¡± Bernard said, having no desire to watch him do it.


    Sighing, Loren refocused his gaze on the house.


    Anole lizards and several five-lined skinks fled as they walked up the creaking, dry-rotted steps, bright blue tails flashing into every crevice. An enormous melanistic king snake lay semi-coiled near the door, watching the newcomers warily.


    Bernard slowed and came to a stop. He crouched down so he wouldn¡¯t be so threatening, and waited for it to make a move, half hoping the beautiful animal would come closer.


    Slowly it unfurled, tongue flicking as it tasted the air, investigating the strangers to its domain. It started towards them, ventral muscles rippling, pulling its body in an undulating motion across the deck.


    Loren started to back away. Bernard grabbed the leg of his jeans, doing his best not to make any sudden motions. ¡°Don¡¯t move.¡±


    The snake slid closer, tasting the air again as it wavered between Bernard and the edge of the porch, studying him closely. Then it seemed to make up its mind and turned to slither off the side, thudding softly somewhere in the tall grass.


    Bernard stood.


    Loren patted his shoulder. ¡°Watching you charm a Black Snake was not on my Bingo card.¡±


    ¡°Hearing you make a Bingo reference wasn¡¯t on mine,¡± Bernard said, ¡°I didn¡¯t charm it. I just showed it some patience and it left. Anyway, it was a King Snake. There¡¯s no such thing as a Black Snake. Black Racers would have darted off, and Black Rat Snakes have different markings.¡± He glanced up at the house. ¡°It¡¯s hornets I¡¯m worried about.¡±


    ¡°That much has hopefully been taken care of,¡± Loren said, ¡°This is a field test, so the site has already been scouted for obvious hazards like wasps and hornets, and we own the place, so no one¡¯s going to be up here running us off with a shotgun. I was told to stay downstairs, away from the attic. I wouldn¡¯t put that much faith in the steps, anyway. I don¡¯t know about you, but this body of mine will go right through a rotten board.¡±


    That just leaves spiders.


    Gritting his teeth, Bernard opened the door. A few spiders scurried away, but to his relief nothing huge. The largest spiders in the Southeast were the immense female golden orb weavers in his own backyard, and they usually maintained their territory through late summer and fall. The next largest he knew of were Southern House Spiders, and also not known to travel far from their webs, and Common House Spiders, which he had bad memories of encountering in the middle of the night.


    This was uncharted territory for him, and he didn¡¯t know the species, here.


    They entered a narrow kitchen full of old cobwebs. A few dusty plates sat abandoned here and there, and a row of mason jars containing long-decayed substances were lined up under the window sill.


    The house creaked and groaned, but that was normal for an old home.


    Toby moved ahead, drifted upstairs, and moved back out into the surrounding yard.


    Their EMF readers were going wild.


    Something wasn¡¯t right. Something was in the trees, other than the earlier apparition, watching them. Toby was looking into it, but he didn¡¯t think it was related to the readers.


    ~Focus on the house. I will take care of this.~


    Loren frowned at his reader. ¡°I don¡¯t like this assignment, right now. What did they do? Hide a giant battery?¡±


    Bernard shook his. ¡°More like the whole house is a giant battery.¡±


    That was the feeling he¡¯d gotten from Toby. An immense battery with no discernable source.


    They stepped through the kitchen door into the main living area. Both readers flashed wildly.


    ¡°I¡¯m done,¡± Loren said, ¡°Cute game MHQ¡¯s come up with, but I¡¯m not playing. This is so unrealistic.¡±


    ¡°Maybe these¡¯re broken?¡± Bernard suggested, tapping and shaking his reader again. That didn¡¯t explain the way the place felt, but this was a bit much. The thing was going haywire.


    ¡°Don¡¯t insult the Naka, son. They¡¯re slow to forgive it. This is some stupid fucking game they¡¯re set up. You can play.¡± He turned and patted Bernard¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m gonna go wait in . . . in . . . .¡±


    His fingers tightened. Bernard glanced up, and saw that he¡¯d gone stock still, blue eyes like china saucers as he stared.


    Bernard turned . . . and froze.


    At first, he wasn¡¯t even sure what it was.


    Seven feet tall, it rose above them. Writhing, slithering, wormlike ropes pulled, stitched, and wove flesh and fabric together over a long, bony frame. A skeletal form took shape, bearing a distinctly dinosaurian face and form The remains of its own flesh still stuck in places, draping its frame along with a random assortment of materials wherever flesh could not be found. Thin cords of sinew loosely drew its jaw into place, winding and cutting into grooves in its rotting remains where they must have been bound it in its final hours. Ghastly, needle-like teeth stretched outward from its long, thin face. A pair of dead eyes appeared in its sockets, each moving independently, coated in an oily, iridescent film and lit from within with a ghostly white light.


    This is . . . a game?


    Bernard¡¯s mind was racing. What was it? Where did it come from? Was it meant to be h¡ª


    ~RUN!~


    Toby¡¯s voice broke him from his trance. He grabbed Loren¡¯s arm, ¡°Run! Back door!¡±


    He could see it through Toby¡¯s eyes.


    Loren jolted from his horrified gaze, startled for a brief, precious moment, then bolted for the other side of the house.


    The thing moved towards them, swaying as though barely able to support itself, but moving much too quickly just the same. The floor around them writhed with serpentine cables, seeming to come from every direction, each woven from a different assortment of materials. Fabrics, vines, metal cables, ropes, and more had been assembled together, much like the thing that now pursued them.


    Toby! Do something!


    ~I cannot reveal my position.~


    Are you fucking serious, right now?


    Halfway across the living area, Loren¡¯s heavy body hit the floor and began sliding backwards.


    ¡°GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!¡±


    One of the ropelike tendrils had grabbed him, and was pulling him back.


    Ice crystals formed over every part of the creature, and it slowed. Bernard took advantage of the moment to stab at it, driving his hunting knife into its right eye. A thin cable shot from the socket and wrapped around his hand, covered in tiny hairs that grabbed onto his skin like some kind of vine.


    He pulled back, screaming involuntarily, and went to free Loren instead.


    There has to be a source. Toby, we¡¯ve got to find its source.


    ~Unknown. It appears to move of its own accord.~


    Then it did something even worse.


    A dry, rasping sound left its body: ¡°Is that you, Springer?¡±


    Without a source? Really?!


    ~It IS a source.~ Toby insisted, ~Every part.~


    Bernard managed to cut Loren loose, and they started running again.


    You can¡¯t trace the flow of energy?


    ~Too many. Too many flows. I cannot hold it. I do not have the capacity in this weather. I am not strong enough to work against it. I cannot . . . Bernard, there is nothing to kill.~


    What about the Drorgs? They¡¯re supposed to be here.


    A brief flash was all he needed: One was trapped, and the other was keeping watch for an unknown enemy.


    THERE ARE TWO ENEMIES?!


    ~Unknown. Just run! I will find Samra.~


    Then Toby was gone.


    The back door, which had stood ajar, slammed shut, cables growing over it like large, hairy vines.


    Loren turned and began shooting at the creature while Bernard tried to cut the cables loose. There was too much metal in them, however, and he abandoned the idea, hoping to open a window instead.


    Something grabbed his leg, jerking him off his feet and halfway back across the room, back to the creature.


    A bony foot landed hard on his chest, talons digging into his skin. He slashed his knife across the gap between its tibia and tarsal bones, and a tendril of the assemblage snatched the knife from his hand, deftly flipped it around and drove it into the floor, next to his face.


    Before he could fully register his own brush with death, the cable around his leg jerked him back across the room.


    An impact jarred his senses.


    Everything went numb.


    He couldn¡¯t think.


    He couldn¡¯t move.


    Somewhere far away, he heard Loren screaming. Shouting his name. Screaming again: Get off me. Get off me.


    It all seemed so faint.


    Then the feeling in his body began to return, as a dull, throbbing pain. Something was sliding over his skin, winding, pulling . . . constricting. He was trapped. Tendrils of cord wound around him, tighter and tighter, slowly crushing him. Much as his pet snake would do to a rat, the coils tightened with each breath that left his body, making it harder to draw the next.


    He had to slow down . . . draw shorter breaths . . . or he would die.


    Loren lay on the other side of the room, spread-eagle, vinelike tendrils wound around his arms and legs, slowly pulling them taut.


    ¡°How long. . . ?¡± the creature rasped, ¡°How long has it been . . . since I had such a good hunt? Tiny Springer, child of Raal-Osa, what joy it gives me. I had hoped you would survive our last hunt. I had to assist, of course, or you would still be at the bottom of the sea, but there was no guarantee. . . . To see you back in this . . . curious body, however.¡± It set a foot on his chest, and leaned down until its rotted, sunken nasal ridge brushed Loren¡¯s quivering nose. Then it whispered, ¡°I wonder . . . if I split it open, will I find you inside?¡±


    The cables pulled on his limbs, and Loren screamed, ¡°Stop! Please! Let me go!¡± Over and over.


    The creature¡¯s head reared back, its posture unimpressed.


    The pulling stopped.


    ¡°Humans make such ugly sounds.¡±


    The screaming was suddenly silenced, muffled by a rope across Loren¡¯s mouth, winding as tight as the rest, reducing him to quiet, terrified whimpering.


    ¡°Better.¡±


    One clawed foot lifted his shirt, pulling it up to his chest and exposing his broad, pale stomach.


    ¡°You do not need your human voice to sing. Do you know how long it has been since I had a snack like you? It takes me back. The rich smell of ancient forests, and the flesh of tiny Springers between my teeth. I have missed the sound of you for so long, I barely remembered it.¡±


    The creature lowered its bony snout, tracing a line from Loren¡¯s belt to his chest, pausing as it pushed his shirt aside further to lower an ear against his pounding breast. Loren squeaked and squealed uncontrollably at every provocation, which only caused it to linger with each rising pitch.


    Then it lifted its head, hissing softly as its jaws stretched their bindings, teeth looming above Loren¡¯s face. Slowly, it drew its talons over Loren¡¯s wide, soft stomach, producing a shrill, terrified squeal from its gagged prey, along with thin lines of bright red blood. Its whole body shivered in delight at the sound.


    Bernard¡¯s vision began to blur. He wasn¡¯t sure how much longer he could hold out like this. Even slow, shallow breaths were becoming difficult. His chest hurt. His head hurt.


    Black spots were appearing in his vision. A shadow seemed to drift over one of the thicker cables.


    He was starting to have delusions. That one cable. It was the one, wasn¡¯t it? If he could sever it, this would end.


    Thunder shook the air.


    And again.


    And again.


    He couldn¡¯t breath.


    ~Hold on, Bernard!~


    The cable.


    . . . Something about a cable.


    The burning pain in his head began to fade.

 Only Children

    ¡°Come back! Bernard! Please come back!¡±


    Jez had managed to free her cousin. At Toby¡¯s insistence, she had used Bernard¡¯s hunting knife to cut one of the cables, causing the whole creature to collapse, ending the nightmare. Sam had shot it several times, although the effect had been negligible, serving only to distract it from tormenting Loren.


    Bernard began breathing immediately, hacking and coughing as the cables slackened and she was able to pull them off his chest. His skin was a pale, bluish color, and a distant, glazed look filled his bloodshot eyes. If only he would say something!


    Sam had asked Saara and Mireia to go rescue the Drorgs, so it was just the two of them, and she was barely doing anything to help Loren, after loosening the cables holding his body. Instead, she was bent over the dino-like corpse monster.


    ¡°I can¡¯t help both boys at one time,¡± Jez called out.


    Sam had a phone in one hand. Jez wasn¡¯t sure if it was a cellular or satellite phone; but either way, it was amazing that Sam had a signal.


    ¡°Hello? Yes, I¡ªTed, please, not now. I need Forensics and Combat out here. No, no immediate threat. Send a Tracker. Preferably one that can fly. Yes, I still think you¡¯re lame. Put me through to Julie.¡±


    Jez stood, reluctantly leaving her cousin¡¯s side, and walked over to Loren. Sam had ungagged him, but left him lying there, staring at the ceiling, panting and wide-eyed.


    ¡°Hey.¡± She snapped her fingers, getting his attention. ¡°Can you move?¡±


    He didn¡¯t seem to hear her at first. Then he grimaced, and whispered, ¡°Not really.¡±


    Sam was still on the phone. ¡°Julie. I found Aitana. What¡¯s left of her. The rest is some kind of assemblage. Mostly found objects woven into continuous lines. I¡¯m saving a sample. Danny will take care of it. The team is fine¡ª¡±


    ¡°This is fine?!¡± Jez shouted.


    Sam straightened, moving away from her. ¡°I¡¯ll have them rendezvous with Danny as soon as possible. Can you have a medic on site? That will be perfect. Sam, out.¡±


    She sighed, lowering the phone, and looked at Jez. ¡°I hate that woman enough without having you yell over me. Yes, everyone is alive and recoverable, except for my poor neighbor, here.¡± She gestured at the corpse-thing.


    ¡°Your . . . neighbor?¡±


    ¡°Danny and I live in a private community along with many other agents. A few weeks ago, Aitana and her husband Jon¨¢s went missing while on duty in Mallorca. Danny went out there looking for them, and Zirol injured him badly. Thankfully, an old friend of mine was there to help him. Jon¨¢s turned up in pieces this morning at MHQ, in a package addressed to Julie. We know they were both Noasaurs[1]</a>, which is rare among us and even moreso in your fossil record, but I¡¯d know those teeth anywhere. . . . This is her. This is¡ªwas¡ªAitana. It will be up to her supervisor to track down any remaining family so she can be laid to rest properly. That¡¯s of course if she hasn¡¯t broken contact.¡±


    She didn¡¯t just look upset. She looked ill.


    Bernard groaned, ¡°We need to get the fuck outta here.¡±


    Jez and Sam both looked around at the sound of his voice, hoarse and quiet between coughing fits. He¡¯d drawn himself into a sitting position.


    ¡°That thing is still out there,¡± he said. ¡°Zirol is still out there.¡±


    Sam nodded, understanding, and looked to Jez. ¡°Help him get to the car. I¡¯ll take care of Loren. He¡¯s not going to heal properly until he eats. Head due south and you should be able to find something in Marion. Keep a phone on hand and wait for further instructions. I¡¯ll send the Drorgs your way as soon as possible, and they¡¯ll take you to Danny.¡±


    Bernard was stubborn as ever, and insisted on moving without Jez¡¯s help. Loren, on the other hand, was nearly unresponsive. Sam drew him up, until he sat staring into space wide-eyed and detached.


    She spoke to him in Moehni, slowly gaining his attention until he finally responded. Then she said in English, ¡°We¡¯ve got to get you into the car before the enemy comes back.¡±


    ¡°You mean Zirol,¡± Loren said quietly.


    She looked over at Bernard and back and Loren. ¡°Are you boys sure?¡±


    ¡°Was him the other night, too,¡± Loren confirmed. ¡°Beaufort. Been watching me.¡±


    Sam tensed, but gave no other outward reaction as she said, ¡°Then it¡¯s a good thing we¡¯re getting you out of here.¡±


    He stared down at the floor in front of him. ¡°My legs hurt. Arms hurt. Pretty sure I¡¯ve pissed myself.¡±


    ¡°At least you can feel your body.¡±


    ¡°Feels like shit. Got a change of clothes in the car.¡±


    Jez glanced between Loren and her bullheaded cousin, who was already at the door, and said, ¡°Wait here. I¡¯ll take care of it.¡±


    Bernard stumbled down the slope towards the car, where Jez guided him sternly into the passenger seat. She took Loren¡¯s clothes and a plastic bag back up to the house to help Sam, and by the time she and Sam got back to the car with Loren, Bernard had moved to the driver¡¯s side and started the engine. He wouldn¡¯t be moved, and he was too big for Jez to manhandle.


    ¡°I know where we¡¯re going,¡± he said, ¡°And I want to get there as soon as possible. If I don¡¯t think I can make it, I promise I¡¯ll pull over and switch with you.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    She didn¡¯t trust him to do that, but he wasn¡¯t leaving her with a choice. She got in the passenger seat, and was privately glad that he was the one maneuvering the car back down the steep driveway.


    * * * * *


    It was with a tinge of guilt that Bernard was so eager to put the beauty of the Blue Ridge Parkway behind him. A glance in his rearview was all he needed to encourage him, though. Hollow-eyed, with an unnervingly sickly pallor, Loren gazed silently, miserably, out the window. His chest heaved with every wheezing breath.


    ¡°This ain¡¯t like you, man. You wanna talk about it?¡± Bernard asked, hoping to lighten the mood.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll be in Marion before you know it. Sam¡¯s right. Food¡¯ll have you back to normal in no time.¡±


    ¡°Might just make me sick.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine.¡± The statement was closer to wishful thinking than any form of assurance.


    Silence followed. The trees continued to roll by. Bernard struggled to maintain his speed around the tight mountain curves without throwing them off the side.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Loren¡¯s voice creaked quietly from the back seat, nearly lost in the rumbling of his car as it careened through the switchbacks.


    Bernard and Jez exchanged glances at the unexpected apology, and he asked, ¡°Um . . . for what?¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be here. I shouldn¡¯t be here. I don¡¯t know what I was thinking, coming to Earth. I don¡¯t belong here. This. . . ,¡± Loren¡¯s voice broke. He sniffed and said, ¡°This body is killing me. If Zirol doesn¡¯t kill me¡ªkill us all¡ªfirst. And . . . and I don¡¯t want to die. I¡¯m too young for this. Saara¡¯s right. I¡¯m too young to die.¡±


    ¡°No, no, you don¡¯t understand. I feel trapped in this body. Like it¡¯s eating itself inside out and I¡¯m just wearing it while it slowly kills me. I. . . .¡±


    He broke. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he wept. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. . . . I . . . I¡¯m so sorry. I can¡¯t do this. I don¡¯t wanna do this anymore. I wanna go home.¡±


    ¡°Loren,¡± Jez began cautiously, ¡°How old are you? Really?¡±


    At first Bernard wasn¡¯t sure he heard Loren correctly.


    Jez said, ¡°Well, sixteen¡¯s not bad. I¡¯m sixtee¡ª¡±


    ¡°I said six.¡±


    She spun around in her seat. ¡°Are you for real?¡±


    Bernard nearly turned around, himself, and barely kept the car on the road. ¡°Are you serious? My baby sister is older than you!¡±


    ¡°I know that!¡± Loren croaked, ¡°I¡¯m very aware, thank you! But I¡¯ve been doin¡¯ this my whole life. Since I was old enough to leave my parent¡¯s den¡ªbarely two, by your count. I thought I could make a difference. Get ''em a better home and find medical help for my sister. Stand up to a cultural system that forgets small folk like us exist unless it¡¯s convenient to remember us. They laughed the day I walked into that office, wanting to be an agent, and I knew the worst thing I could do was to back down. But what good is this going to do if it fucking kills me? I . . . this . . . my body feels like a shell, right now. Like a great, big, heavy shell. It¡¯s so . . . empty. And now it hurts. And the whole time all of that was going on back there, I thought . . . for the first time in days, I felt like I was back in my own body. Just a tiny little stringy, pathetic . . . worthless excuse for a Ryozae . . . trapped inside the useless body of another species . . . finding out that he¡¯s being hunted like his ancestors for fun. The word he used, ¡®Springer,¡¯ is an archaic slur for small prey. All that training so my instincts can take over and turn me into a fucking animal in the face of my own mortality.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not worthless,¡± Bernard said. He wasn¡¯t sure what to say, but he couldn¡¯t let Loren continue down a depressive spiral like this.


    ¡°Then what am I worth? I can¡¯t do anything.¡±


    Bernard pointed at the glove compartment, ¡°Jez, there¡¯s five granola bars and a bottle of water in there. Would you help him?¡± Then he sighed, contemplating the road while she handed Loren the whole set of granola bars and the water. He took them eagerly, while Bernard said, ¡°Loren, I¡¯m seventeen and until last weekend my greatest accomplishments included book reports, science fair projects, and that time I caught a tarpon on a fishing trip with Drestan. Since then, I¡¯ve learned that my greatest achievements include getting my ass beat by mutant space monsters and making friends with every sentient being that hasn¡¯t tried to kill me. As someone who has no idea what the fuck we¡¯ve gotten ourselves into, I don¡¯t think anyone is suited to get involved with this case, except maybe Sam and the Drorgs. But you say they¡¯ve got the whole Agency on board with this thing. People are losing their lives. So I wouldn¡¯t go judging my worth¡ªor yours¡ªbased on what just happened back there. You¡¯ve accomplished more than you think you have. I can¡¯t even begin to imagine what you went through just to be here.¡±


    ¡°But what if it¡¯s all for nothing?¡±


    Jez turned in her seat again. ¡°Standing up for yourself when everyone else is willing to leave you behind is never ¡®for nothing.¡¯ Especially when they¡¯re all gigantor-sized and you¡¯re, like, smaller than a backpack.¡±


    Loren sniffed again, but this time he sounded more embarrassed and humored than scared when he said, ¡°Yeah. I guess. But . . . please don¡¯t tell Saara I said that. She takes it personally and she gets really upset. It¡¯s kind of exhausting to argue about with someone who¡¯s as big as she is.¡±


    Bernard glanced back in the mirror, raising a brow. ¡°Is there anything you two don¡¯t argue about?¡±


    A tiny smile played across Loren¡¯s features. ¡°No, but most of it¡¯s really just in fun. We have very different experiences of Ryozae culture, though, and she doesn¡¯t want to believe that her own could possibly be wrong. She doesn¡¯t understand that despite everything she¡¯s been through, she has an inherently privileged position in most situations. It¡¯s a universal truth that our cultures¡ªand even our languages¡ªfavor the Aemarrim. All but the very smallest and largest of them have always set the standard. They¡¯re faster in every way, they typically flock together, and we couldn¡¯t even survive as a common whole if they hadn¡¯t agreed not to hunt the rest of us in the first place. Saara¡¯s so used to things being a way that works for her that she can¡¯t imagine why it wouldn¡¯t work for someone else. How or why she manages to understand that with human cultures when she can¡¯t do the same with her own is beyond me.¡±


    Jez suggested, ¡°Maybe because human cultures are outside her natural experience, and not her own.¡±


    Loren¡¯s expression changed to something more thoughtful, and he said, ¡°You know? I hadn''t thought of that. And it¡¯s not as though she¡¯s never struggled¡ªdon¡¯t get me wrong. She has. I know she has. But I wish she¡¯d understand that she¡¯s doing the same thing to others that¡¯s been done to her.¡± He shrugged. ¡°But remember what I said about flocking together. Remember that any time you deal with our people. Especially the Aemarrim.¡±


    Bernard gazed back at the road as he said, ¡°They find safety in numbers, but it turns into an echo chamber. If you want to change one mind, you have to change the pack mind.¡±


    ¡°You catch on fast,¡± Loren said. ¡°It¡¯s sorta scary.¡±


    Bernard shrugged. ¡°Apparently I don¡¯t have a choice.¡±


    Loren shook his head. ¡°You have a talent for it. Just don¡¯t get cocky about it, okay?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never really been¡ª¡±


    Jez cut him off, ¡°What he means is don¡¯t be reckless, Bernie. You know exactly what I mean. Don¡¯t go jumping into shit and saying things you¡¯re going to regret later.¡±


    Loren¡¯s eyes widened, as she appeared to suggest something he hadn¡¯t considered. ¡°Yes. If that¡¯s a habit of yours, please don¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do the best I can.¡± Bernard promised. ¡°That¡¯s all we can do, right?¡±


    Loren looked down at his lap. ¡°If all I can do is cry and eat granola bars, I¡¯m not going to survive this.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in the back seat of a car in the middle of nowhere and you need a doctor. No one expects anything of you in that position, and that¡¯s okay. The only thing I can do right now is keep this car on the road. Enjoy the snack. We¡¯ll worry about the rest later.¡±


    Loren went quiet, then muttered softly, ¡°Sure thing. . . . Thanks.¡± He didn¡¯t speak again until they started to see signs of civilization, and talked about nothing but chicken nuggets until they found a drive through.


    <hr>


    [1]</a> Masiakasaurus knopfleri, 2001

 Sacred Friend Within

    ¡°You!¡±


    At first, Bernard thought Dr. Maesera meant him, but the young doctor approached Loren, nearly breaking his usual steadfast composure as he took Loren¡¯s arm and steered him towards a gurney.


    Loren stared at it, baffled. ¡°It¡¯s not that bad, is it Doc?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s worse,¡± Dr. Maesera told him, ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be moving.¡± Then he addressed Bernard, ¡°If you would have a seat, please, Mr. Sparker, I¡¯ll be with you shortly.¡±


    That was fine with Bernard. After a 2.5 hour flight, sitting down was all any of their group wanted to do, except for Samra, who remained in motion, taking care of things.


    About 3 hours ago, Falcon had caught up with the car in Marion, NC, leaving Mireia behind to explain what had happened to the Drorgs and to direct them to a countryside lot where the Drorgs could pick them up, using their tail grippers to stealthily lift everyone to their saddles without landing. Even though they were invisible to anyone passing by, the illusion would fade once they were close. Mireia and Falcon took Loren, since he was in such poor condition and terrified by the prospect of Drorg flight, and Falcon was a faster, smoother flier. Winter took Sam, Bernard, and Jez. Each Drorg carried full sets of gear for everyone, including jackets, gloves, and flight helmets. Sam showed Bernard how to use the weblike strap system to secure himself to the saddle. In an emergency, the Drorgs could secure their own passengers, and carried thermal blankets and other supplies.


    They had planned to be gone an extra day, just in case they needed it, but Saara still had them call their families once they landed, to recount all the nice, normal things they¡¯d done that day, and let them know that they¡¯d be staying in a hotel in Greenville, South Carolina.


    Night had fallen by the time they reached the yacht, off the coast of St. Augustine, Florida. By Bernard¡¯s estimate, it was around 9 o¡¯clock. Once he was able to extricate his death grip on Winter¡¯s saddle straps, he was able to check his watch and confirm it.


    Dr. Maesera had been waiting on the deck, along with a slightly taller man with sunken, angular features and dark, lank hair. As the doctor walked away with Loren, the other man called out in a thick, unfamiliar accent, ¡°I will attend him, Zicuar. Take your time with the Raal-Osa boy. Let me know what you find.¡±


    Dr. Maesera paused, offered a quick, ¡°Yes, sir. Of course,¡± and took Loren away.


    The other man extended a hand to Bernard. ¡°You may call me Kadin. No one uses my human name, so there¡¯s no point giving it. Zic¡ªer, Dr. Maesera is my . . . I guess you would say protog¨¦. Do you speak Moehni or German?¡±


    Bernard shook his hand. ¡°I don¡¯t, sir.¡±


    ¡°Pity. I don¡¯t like English.¡± Then he shrugged. ¡°But I am curious to know more about the boy that is so precious to the Rizek family.¡±


    ¡°You know them?¡±


    ¡°Know them?¡± There was that humored warble, similar to the sound Saara had made in her real body. ¡°Served under them my whole life, and my parents and generations before me. You will not see any of the Naka or Nasu, tonight. The Ryozakkan are here for the each other, just as we always have been.¡±


    Kadin took him below into a private room and conducted a battery of general physical health exams, checking Bernard¡¯s vital signs and inspecting the scratches and bruises on his arms and torso where he¡¯d been attacked and crushed. Then he passed a green light over the areas, and to Bernard¡¯s surprise the injuries vanished¡ªalthough the areas still hurt.


    ¡°The pain will pass,¡± Kadin said. ¡°It is not real.¡± He gestured over Bernard¡¯s body with the thin, wand-like device that made the light. ¡°We don¡¯t normally go to this length for such minor injuries, but you have to return to your family, and it would raise suspicions. Otherwise, you are recovering well.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°In your language, you would call it a bioscanner. This is the only human-grade device we have. I am told that Silver developed it during the Nightmare case.¡± Kadin tilted his head, seeming to see Bernard in a different light. ¡°I thought you would have more scars, to prompt such efforts. Silver¡ªor Nerasa, as I reluctantly know him¡ªis the only person left who can make a bioscanner, and there are rules he has to follow. He must have been desperate. Even when younger and more foolish, he knew better. To create one for a human, one that neither requires Kaadour-ka¡¯ima to function nor burns your human flesh . . . that is unheard of. It should be impossible.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t Ka¡¯adour already do the job for you?¡±


    ¡°Not instantly the way it can with a bioscanner. Seeing it in action . . . I understand he has changed, but still . . . this is remarkable.¡± He pondered it only briefly, however, then spared Bernard having to come up with a response when he shrugged. ¡°Whatever Silver has done, it is best to mind my own business. The important part is that you are well.¡±


    He released Bernard to go find dinner in the galley. Loren and Dr. Maesera were taking a break so Loren could eat, but the doctor was still watching him very closely, as though eating were part of the exam. Loren didn¡¯t seem to mind the scrutiny any more than he minded the electric wheelchair he''d been given. In his usual fashion, he was more concerned with eating.


    Sam and the others joined them in the living area, followed by her husband, Daniel, also in an electric wheelchair, as he had suffered a recent back injury.


    Bernard had seen Danny in his dreams, but the man was shorter than he remembered. Well-built and thick-boned with heavy features and thick dark hair and brows, he had a rugged, vaguely Neanderthal look about him. According to Toby, it was an endemic look for humans from the northern parts of Refrvrenzo¡ªa build for energy conservation, endurance, and raw physical power in a cold, harsh environment.


    With everyone present, Dr. Maesera said, ¡°I could be making an impossible request, but Loren¡¯s activity levels need to be kept at a minimum. He can¡¯t persist the way he has been. His Kaadour won¡¯t sustain it.¡±


    Saara frowned. ¡°He¡¯s Immortal. He doesn¡¯t even have the same type of Kaadour as the rest of us.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s correct,¡± Dr. Maesera said, ¡°But if it isn¡¯t doing what it¡¯s supposed to, he might as well be as mortal as any human. And not a healthy human, either.¡± He looked at Loren. ¡°Remember that headache you suffered when you shifted the last time?¡±


    Loren nodded. ¡°Yeah. When I felt like my head was splitting open. I knew Ka¡¯adour had something to do with it, but that just seems . . . kinda crazy. Ka¡¯adour is a healer.¡±


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    Kadin''s response came close to growling with frustration. ¡°I don¡¯t know what they teach you on the other worlds, but that¡¯s only a function of Kaadour-ka¡¯ima. It¡¯s so much more.¡± He looked to Dr. Maesera. ¡°I¡¯m sure they don¡¯t know, so do you want to explain it, or shall I?¡±


    ¡°I know you dislike English, but you¡¯ve always done it better,¡± the younger doctor deferred.


    Kadin addressed the room promptly. ¡°Kaadour-ka¡¯ima is more than just a means of healing and adaptation. The Sacred Ones within us are libraries. No mechanical computer will ever be able to manage or store information the way a biological one can. Kaadour is what makes it possible for us to function as you humans do, or we would never have made this far. Our brains have gotten a little bigger, our skulls thinner to accommodate, but not by much. Without Kaadour, we¡¯d be lucky to have the intellects of crocodiles, or monitor lizards, at best.¡± He pointed at Saara. ¡°You remember what it felt like the first time you became human? You were told to take a few days rest, and during that time your head felt empty. Like a . . . slowly filling vessel. It was gathering information about you from your symbiotes. And it hurts, too, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    Saara blinked, staring at him in surprise. ¡°It did. Like a headache that wouldn¡¯t end. And my whole life and everything flashing before my eyes. It was disorienting¡ªI understood why I was required to see my counselor every day, but I didn¡¯t know the underlying cause.¡±


    Kadin gave a sharp nod. ¡°And don¡¯t let anyone tell you they didn¡¯t go through that. They did. There¡¯s no biological way they didn¡¯t. Zicuar,¡± he indicated Dr. Maesera, ¡°was already a medical professional when he shifted. I was born during the Ryozae War, and I¡¯ve been a medical technician my whole life. That¡¯s a lot to take in. And when you change back, everything you are is stored by your personal library, so you can still recall it. After a while, your bodies integrate and it becomes easier to switch from human to Ryozae and back, all thanks to Kaadour. Sometimes we forget things, but that¡¯s normal. Like a computer, there are limitations. Sometimes, if you don¡¯t use information, your library dumps it, or recall may be take longer, but a genetic library is still nigh limitless. For you humans, there is a reason we call it The Sacred Friend. ¡®Kaao¡¯ comes from the word ¡®gaao,¡¯ meaning someone close or personal to you. ¡®Dour¡¯ from the old Refvrish word ¡®dourm,¡¯ meaning something sacred. Kaadour on its own can also mean a precious friend.¡±


    Loren interrupted, ¡°So ¡®Dormnasar¡¯ most likely translates as ¡®Sacred Breath.¡¯ ¡±


    Kadin tilted his head again, ¡°Interesting observation. Probable, since it was the first planet we colonized. You wouldn¡¯t have been able to store or draw information from your real body in order to do that without Kaadour. In your case, however, your limitations are greater than average. The tissue samples I tested and Zicuar¡¯s previous and existing examinations indicate that your Kaadour is not only struggling to transfer information both ways, it¡¯s transferring precious nutrients to support your human form. You are greatly malnourished. And Zicuar reported a marked difference in mannerism once you had shifted, suggesting you were less sluggish and more coherent.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re saying my human body is eating my real one?¡±


    ¡°As our findings suggest . . . yes. I¡¯m very upset, because whoever designed that body must have done so knowing it would, knowing that you¡¯re Raal-Osa and leaning on that fact to sustain their little experiment. And it seems they''ve done it without your complete knowledge or consent. Someone took advantage of you, and you are, as the humans might say, paying the price.¡±


    Loren¡¯s expression became stony, and then he said stiffly, ¡°It ain¡¯t surprising.¡±


    Dr. Maesera asked, ¡°Since you have a dog form, would it be possible for you to shift out of this body until you can acquire a new one?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Loren took a deep breath, and explained in a tightly level voice, ¡°My team¡¯s families are already acquainted with me. It would be too suspicious if I suddenly disappeared or another face took my place. I can reduce my activities, if Bernard doesn¡¯t mind covering for me.¡±


    ¡°Why would I mind?¡± Bernard asked, ¡°It¡¯s not like you¡¯re asking out of laziness.¡±


    Maesera said, ¡°That¡¯s not going to be enough, but it will have to suffice. Do find an excuse as soon as possible.¡±


    Kadin nudged his prot¨¦g¨¦¡¯s arm and said in Moehni, ¡°Finish your examination. I want to have a look at this Drorg.¡± Bernard only caught parts of it, but understood the rest through Toby.


    Dr. Maesera consented and stepped forward to take Loren to the elevator. Kadin joined the Drorgs on the other side of the room, where Algaeflame, Danny¡¯s elegant blue-green partner, was examining Winter.


    Danny turned to Sam. ¡°You said you had a sample of that thing that attacked them.¡±


    ¡°Yes! In my coat.¡± She strode purposefully out of the room.


    Bernard walked out onto the deck, looking for a hammock he had seen as they were landing. There, he lost himself in deep meditation, watching the stars go by. The girls came out and sat at a nearby table, talking quietly. He would have fallen asleep, rocking to the motion of the hammock and sea, until Mireia eventually reminded him that he would pay for it once the sun came up, and he reluctantly took himself to a room, where he realized for the first time that Sam had not only had the foresight to bring their luggage, she had taken their dirty clothes to clean them.


    That¡¯s incredible. She¡¯s not even human. All of this stuff must be foreign to her. I barely remember to put my own stuff in the laundry.


    Toby¡¯s response was humored, ~She has learned from experience . . . from babysitting all of you.~


    Sometimes being around her felt natural, sure, but he¡¯d forgotten just how much time he¡¯d really spent around her.


    ~Too much ¡®weird¡¯ for one day?~


    ¡°I got assaulted by a Frankensteined eldritch zombie-dino, today. Yeah. I¡¯m going to bed.¡± Then something occurred to him. ¡°But I just have to know: How did Sam stop it?¡±


    ~You told me to cut one of the cables.~


    ¡°I did?¡±


    ~We may have had help.~


    Through Toby¡¯s eyes, he caught a glimpse of a transparent figure hovering near him as he gasped for breath in the aftermath of their rescue. Just the slightest hint of a blue coat and the glint of metal buttons, and then it vanished, leaving behind a peaceful feeling he couldn¡¯t place.


    ~I believe it was gratitude, but I am still not sure what happened.~


    ¡°I¡¯d think anybody¡¯d be glad to see that thing gone.¡±


    ~It speaks to an odd trend. I will need more information.~


    ¡°You do that. I just hope I get to sleep through the night.¡±


    He opened his suitcase, looking for his pajamas.


    Something shot out, latching onto his face before clinging and crawling around his neck like some kind of centipede. It was the same as before, winding around his throat. Tightening over his windpipe.


    Danny and Sam both showed up immediately, thanks to Toby. Danny pried it off with his thick, strong fingers, and shoved it into what looked like a glass vial, where it continued thrashing. Bernard sat down on the bed heavily, gasping.


    ¡°You are . . . fucking kidding me,¡± he finally said.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± Sam said, ¡°We¡¯ve been looking everywhere for it. I thought it was dead without the rest of the monster. I don¡¯t know why it went for you.¡±


    ¡°Must¡¯ve used the last command it received,¡± Bernard suggested, ¡°That¡¯s the only thing that makes sense. Not that anything makes sense, right now. Like why it¡¯s suddenly moving on its own. Are you sure that glass is going to hold it?¡±


    Danny lifted the vial. ¡°This is diamond. I keep these in Al¡¯s saddlebags in case I pull anything suspicious from the ocean. How do you feel?¡±


    Bernard leaned away from the thrashing monstrosity. ¡°Like I wanna go to bed.¡±


    ¡°Like you¡¯re going to pass out, or¡ª¡±


    Sam put a hand to Danny¡¯s shoulder. ¡°He¡¯s emotionally exhausted, Love.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bernard remembered that Danny had no sense of time; or at least not a Terran one, so he added, ¡°Also, it¡¯s late and it¡¯s been a long day.¡±


    Danny reached for his neck worriedly. ¡°You¡¯re sure you don¡¯t want my help?¡±


    Bernard pushed his hand away. ¡°Yeah. Just . . . get that thing away from me, would you? I¡¯m already gonna have nightmares.¡±


    ¡°We probably have something to help with that.¡±


    ¡°I just want to sleep.¡±


    ¡°At least let me do something about those scratches.¡±


    He had a gut feeling that if he let Danny do that, the man would be here all night, and he would never get to sleep.


    Sam¡¯s hand pulled on Danny¡¯s shoulder, and he leaned back, listening while she whispered something in his ear. He gave in, wished Bernard a good night, and left to go analyze the fresh curiosity in his other hand.


    Shortly after he left, Dr. Maesera showed up with a glass of iced herbal tea and the same healing wand his mentor had used.


    That night, his only nightmares were normal dreams, distorted and terrible, but nowhere near the hell he¡¯d been experiencing with his memories of the forgotten past.


    He woke knowing he wouldn¡¯t be so lucky once he got home.

 Miss Glenda

    Either the drugs in his body had worn off, or the side effects had. The burning sensation in his veins had ended a long time ago. His vision had returned to normal. He¡¯d survived long enough to wonder if he was about to die of thirst or starvation. Nightmare wasn¡¯t interested in keeping his test subject alive. If Bernard died, the creatures would probably just move on to another child.


    The sun burned against his skin as he fought desperately against the rope binding his ankle, straining his bones and scraping away flesh in his desperate bid for freedom to seek food, water, and shelter. The dark, crusty surface of his ankle bit and burned violently in protest, where he¡¯d already injured himself several times. His fingers were no better off.


    I¡¯m not going to die this way.


    This ends with me.


    Finally, he worked his foot and the rope to a point where all he had to do was bite the pain and push and pull as hard as he could. <sub>~BERNARD!~</sub>


    He heard his own screams fade into the desert.


    ~Wake up!~


    ¡°Wake up, Bernie!¡±


    He gasped and nearly leapt to his feet, backing away from . . . his bed. His skull smacked the headboard, and he slid down slowly, panting, until he was sitting on his pillow, staring at his right ankle, fingers delicately testing its smooth, healthy, miraculously unscarred surface.


    It hadn¡¯t always looked like that.


    Odessa was watching him.


    He could only stare into space, at a loss for words.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± she asked softly, ¡°Should I go get Mom?¡±


    He shook his head violently. Anything but that!


    Then he swallowed, looking for words to tell her, and a tongue to speak with. ¡°No . . . I¡¯ll be alright. Go to bed, ¡®Dessa.¡±


    She stared him in the eyes. ¡°Just like that? You act like you¡¯re dying, you wake up trying to jump through the wall, and suddenly you¡¯re alright and I¡¯m supposed to go to sleep?¡±


    He sighed, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but . . . thank you. I¡¯m fine, now. Thank you, ¡®Dessa, but I¡¯ll be alright, I just need a few minutes, okay? It was only a nightmare.¡±


    ~You need to call your counselor.~


    Over a dream?


    ~You should have already called her, just to make contact. If you do not, she will eventually come to you. You should call her at least once a month, even if you see no reason to. She will always see something that needs to be handled. Just call her. You will understand.~


    ¡°This is the second time, Bernie,¡± his sister argued staunchly, sounding eerily like her father.


    He rubbed his eyes. ¡°Please, ¡®Dess. Go to bed.¡±


    She glared at him, and didn¡¯t look as though she would, but she finally backed away, sighing in resignation. ¡°Fine. . . . Good night, Bernie.¡±


    ¡°Good night, ¡®Dess.¡±


    As soon as she was out of the room, he leapt out of bed and snatched his wallet off the nightstand, digging for Glenda¡¯s number. Then waited a while, so his sister would have time to go back to bed, before he went into the living room, unplugged the phone, and took it into his bedroom.


    Then he dialed the number.


    At first, he didn¡¯t think anyone was going to pick up.


    Then he heard a woman¡¯s voice, low and sultry. ¡°You have made contact with The Mystic Miss Glenda. She stands waiting at the door to the mysteries of the spirit. A rare and exclusive opportunity has opened for you. The keys to your fortunes, your dreams, the wildest wonders of your imagination lie within.¡±


    Bernard pulled the receiver from his ear, staring at it, and put it back again. Mom¡¯s phone is finally biting the dust, isn¡¯t it?


    ¡°Or perhaps, my dear, we have made contact before on this plane? Things do get a little fuzzy, when you spend so much time between domains. Do you have a membership number?¡±


    Bernard flipped over the piece of paper he¡¯d been given, and read uncertainly, feeling as if he¡¯d been played for some kind of chump. ¡°Um . . . 2-1-3-7, 2-8-6-2-oh-1?¡±


    ¡°Ahhhh a first time registration! Your birthdate, please? And the significance of your first four digits.¡±


    ¡°4-26-80,¡± he said, and paused a moment, wondering what she meant by the second part. ¡°You mean what the numbers mean?¡±


    ¡°That is correct. Everything that transpires between us is kept in confidence, dear. I need to fully verify you before we can continue. This is an encrypted line to a secure establishment.¡±


    He nodded to himself. Perhaps he wasn¡¯t being played, after all. If he couldn¡¯t say this much, then there wasn¡¯t much they could say to each other. ¡°It¡¯s a . . . Terran number. For the state of Nebraska.¡±


    Though her tone normalized, she still sounded a bit lush. ¡°I was really starting to wonder if you were ever going to call me, Mr. Sparker.¡±


    She had a kind, soothing voice, of a sort accustomed to speaking with the scared and lonely. He almost felt he could tell her anything¡ªbut that thought alone put him on guard. Just who was she?


    ¡°It is not every day I meet someone like you,¡± she went on, ¡°You have undergone highly unusual circumstances. It is unfortunate that those of you most in need of help are so often the least likely to seek it. I was starting to worry about you, dear. I spoke to some of your team regarding their experiences with the incident in the mountains, but when I didn¡¯t hear from you, I was beginning to think I would need to consider a different approach. I don¡¯t want to appear forceful¡ªit would do you no good¡ªbut you do understand how important this is, I hope?¡±


    He tried to laugh. ¡°I¡¯m fine, really. I just didn¡¯t know what I was supposed say. I mean, what good is talking supposed to do?¡±


    ¡°You say that as though you have nothing to talk about! I am aware of the things you have seen and done, Bernard. I was hesitant to approve the creation of this team, but it is my belief that you all have traits and talents you each can benefit from. If you aren¡¯t able to talk about the things troubling you, however, you may find it more difficult to reach your true potential.¡±


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    Bernard was reminded of Loren¡¯s comment after Linville Caverns: So I guess we can expect to do this again, sometime.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we start from the top?¡± Glenda suggested. ¡°Have you suffered any ill side effects since coming back? New reactions to things? Trouble sleeping? Trouble eating certain foods, or perhaps unable to follow your normal routines as you once did?¡±


    He sighed involuntarily at the mention of sleeping. Yes, that was different, for sure. But they were only dreams. They would go away eventually, wouldn¡¯t they? He¡¯d also been more quiet and pensive at dinner, and his family had noticed. When they pressed him to talk about it, he¡¯d chosen to talk about a car wreck he¡¯d seen on I-26 when he and Loren were driving up to North Carolina.


    ¡°Bernard? I am assuming you did not call at this hour just to listen to me talk. The key to healing begins with the information you choose to give me. Tell me what¡¯s on your mind. What happened?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t sleep,¡± he finally confessed, ¡°I keep having all these dreams, only they¡¯re different from normal dreams. . . . They¡¯re like . . . memories. Of someone else¡¯s life . . . except. . . .¡±


    ¡°These are your real life?¡± she asked, as though it were natural to have two different childhood lives.


    ¡°Yeah. I guess.¡±


    ¡°Would you be comfortable describing some of these dreams for me?¡±


    He began with the most recent, and she took it from there, asking questions about how he felt in the aftermath. He wasn¡¯t sure if she had offered any help, but he was glad she was so easy to speak to.


    ¡°We all get scared, dear. Even I feel frightened, sometimes. The important part is that we do not let our emotions control us. It is not easy. That is why I wished to hear you speak, because your emotions are a natural and valid experience. If you bottle them up, you risk injury to those around you. Injured feelings, injured egos, and the potential for reckless action rises when your head is not quite screwed on. Bearing all that tension also increases your body¡¯s physiological stress response, and over time can damage your health. You may think you are stronger when you don¡¯t speak up¡ªthat is what your culture has taught you to believe¡ªbut the truth is you become more fragile and vulnerable.¡±


    ¡°I guess that makes sense.¡±


    ¡°Are you angry?¡±


    He blinked, bewildered, ¡°What? No! Why would I be angry?¡±


    ¡°With ETHICS, dear. Or with me. Do you feel frustrated? Weakened? Betrayed by your situation?¡±


    He stared across his room, past his TV and Sega system. Yes, it was true, he had felt these things, but he had largely started to accept his lot in life. He¡¯d assumed it would all sort itself out in time.


    In some aspects, his situation made him think of all the books he¡¯d grown up reading, though this was far from any fantasy he¡¯d ever read, and the stakes were quite real.


    Oddly, despite the responsibility placed on him, some part of it all felt right. Perhaps it was because of Toby. Perhaps Toby was affecting how he felt, although that presence alone came with the feeling that it was meant to be.


    Or perhaps it was because of his other life¡ªhis real life¡ªthat he felt this way. Still. . . .


    ~I have nothing to do with it. Your emotions are your own. I only help you when you really need it. I do not change the way you think.~


    He sighed again, but didn¡¯t notice himself doing it until Glenda responded. ¡°You¡¯re in a difficult place, thanks to ETHICS. You were forced into your position, and unless I¡¯m mistaken, you are not the sort of man to call for help. You young men are too often are made to think that help is a crutch, and there is pride and glory in the stubborn refusal to seek aid. Seeking help and seeking a crutch are two different things. Yours is a species evolved to form complex social structures, more so than any of ours. Everyone needs support, sometimes. Sometimes, all we really need to do is talk through our feelings. We may also find other ways to manage those feelings, but sometimes all we really need is a friend to listen.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m here for, Bernard, dear. I¡¯m here to give advice. Yes, I am a fully certified counselor, a Ryozae, and a high-ranking member of ETHICS, but I also hope to be thought of as a friend. We are here to support our agents, many of whom have faced incredible strife in their time, and most of whom work alone, or with a single partner. Can you imagine how frightful that might be? I am trained to handle that, and I am here to help you talk through the things you might have trouble discussing with your teammates.¡±


    ¡°I guess I¡¯ve felt betrayed, a little,¡± he admitted. ¡°Weak? I¡¯ve always been that. That¡¯s nothing new. I never really expected myself to be stuck in a position like this, that¡¯s for sure. It sounds silly . . . but . . . when we think of our favorite stories, we always think of ourselves as protagonists, you know? Even if the hero¡¯s a complete fool, we always think we know better. We gravitate towards the strong and capable characters with a lot of stamina and will power, or maybe just a lot of smarts and skills. That just isn¡¯t me. I¡¯m the fool. Just a mediocre geek who likes his video games and a good story now and again, but now I guess I don¡¯t really have any choice except to do the best I can so the whole damn galaxy doesn¡¯t go to hell.¡±


    ¡°There are many kinds of strength,¡± she said, sounding mildly amused. ¡°You do not have to be athletic¡ªit will come in time. You certainly do not need to be like Samra Rizek.¡±


    She certainly made a good role model for what a hero trying to save the galaxy might look and act like.


    ¡°In fact, I would prefer if you didn¡¯t try it,¡± Glenda said, as if reading his thoughts. ¡°Take her advice, but be yourself. Your companion chose you for a reason. He chose you, Bernard. He chose to go into battle with you before, to save you from what you might have been, and he has chosen to go into battle now, against a universal threat that he believes you have the strength and presence of mind to face.


    ¡°You will find your talents, Bernard. You do not have to be a superhero. You only have to be you. Sometimes that is enough. When it isn¡¯t enough, you have good friends, both Terran and Extraterrestrial. There is strength in numbers, and it is a strength to be someone others will fight for. ¡®Weak¡¯ is a self-defeating word, dear. You are only as weak as you think you are. Do you feel helpless? Hopeless? Sometimes we all do. All we have to do is remember that so long as we are doing the best we can, we are all we need to be, and sometimes far more than we thought we could be.¡±


    It seemed like such an obvious answer, but it meant so much more to hear her say it.


    ¡°Feeling better, dear?¡±


    ¡°Yeah . . . I guess so.¡±


    She answered with a sound bordering on an amused warble: ¡°Hmmmm, I am glad. The best years are ahead of you, and we understand that. We would do nothing to impede you from your own hopes and dreams. If anything, we will stand behind you¡ªbeside you, even¡ªand we will help whenever we can. We only ask that you trust in your own strength. Have a little more faith, Bernard. You never know who you can truly become until you give yourself a chance.¡±


    He smiled, and suddenly realized it had been weeks since he¡¯d genuinely smiled that way. ¡°Yeah, I guess we¡¯ll just have to see how that goes.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll have you work on your affirmations. Do you think this helped, any?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± He had to laugh. ¡°Yeah, it helped a lot, really. Like I said, though, I can be kinda lazy, sometimes. . . .¡±


    ¡°Mmm . . . well, we all have our personal battles to fight. I think confidence is your problem. Hopefully we¡¯ve taken a step in the right direction. Is there anything else you¡¯d like to discuss?¡±


    He glanced at the time. ¡°No, not really.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± she conceded, to his surprise. He wasn¡¯t sure what he¡¯d been expecting. Maybe another kernel of wisdom? Instead, she said, ¡°Don¡¯t hesitate to call me, dear. I would like the chance to chat with you, some time, to get to know you better. I really would like you to think of me as a friend, not just the doctor you see when you¡¯re not feeling well¡ªalthough if you¡¯re not, that¡¯s what I¡¯m here for!¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t ever get tired of hearing people complain?¡±


    ¡°A complaint to me is an open wound, which needs a balm. Stitches alone can lead to infection, and the same applies to coping. Opening up your cares and concerns gives me something to work with. Sometimes, people are just crying for help. Sometimes they¡¯re just crying because they need to. What annoys me, my dear, is when people feel entitled to guard their self-righteous misery. Those are the conversations which frustrate me. The ones where my client refuses to talk about why they¡¯re upset, or what they¡¯re doing to drive that upset, and instead whine about everything and everyone they take it out on. I don¡¯t like having to be forceful, Bernard, but I can be if I have to. I do have our security and stability to care for. ¡ªOh! I believe it is getting late for you?¡±


    Outside his window, the sky was beginning to lighten. It was after four in the morning. Drestan would be waking soon.


    ¡°I should be getting back to bed.¡±


    ¡°Sleep well,¡± she said. ¡°I will be here, any time you wish to call, unless I am with another client. I will call right back if you ask me to, but please don¡¯t hesitate to ask.¡±


    ¡°Sounds good,¡± he said, stifling a well-timed yawn.


    They bade each other farewell, and he took phone back to its place in the living room before going back to his room, though he never went back to sleep.