Frisco finally crawls out of the grimy J-tube and finds himself under a little dome. A ring of light paints his shoes.
He finds the valve at the top, jimmies in a tool and twists. A stream hits his arm. He has to cup it in the light to be sure: glittering dust, and the chunks of uncut diamonds. Frisco bites his hand to keep from giggling. He fills his bag, his pockets, his shirt.
In the control room, Adrian yawns and leans to the mic. “We ready?” he says. “Solid carbon fuel test thirty-five point two. Ignition on my mark.”
Ridley’s hand pauses at the top of the check. “Um,” he asks, “does somebody have the date?”
“May 13, 2005,” says Mako, behind him.
Ridley starts to write, then looks back and grins. “You always provide the year?”
“Never know whether you’re talking to a time traveller.”
“Aren’t they supposed to look at newspapers?” Ridley leans on the counter, enjoying himself.
“Sure, and give themselves away that easy?” Mako scoffs. “Besides, being helpful could earn me the… appreciation? Of hot future guys.”
The man behind the counter is still waiting for Ridley’s check. He tries hard not to drum his fingers.
“I was playing archaeologists!” Wendell complains.
“Only a second,” says Mom.
“Listen, sweetheart, you remember those games you played at the doctor’s?” Dad’s hands are all twisted. “They showed that your context-switching speed is… different than most kids your age.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you!” Mom says quickly.
“But–well, you were playing over there for forty minutes. Without doing anything else!” Dad frowns.
“So we’re going to try this medicine.” Mom’s anxious. “It’ll help you keep up at school, okay?”
“I have to take a pill?” says Wendell.
“Huh?” says Dad. “Oh, God, Wendell, are you still talking about that?”
Mandy gets the heels off the minute she’s in the door, doesn’t bother leaving the porch light on–Katja won’t be back tonight–and there’s a knock.
Her fingers on the door screen: he’s swaying on the porch, but she knows he’s not really drunk. He’ll have just enough medication to let himself do this. Just enough to forget his girlfriend, tonight.
What’s the ugly phrase dangling between them, she wonders. “Second place?” “Fallback?” “A bit on the side?”
Some things are so obvious there are no words for them. Truths, or consequences.
She opens the door and lets him in.
Rob’s already there when Dogcatcher arrives, looking crowded on a square acre of empty roof. She slips up behind him and runs one finger down his neck; he doesn’t even jump. She’s impressed.
“You’ve got it?” he asks. She saunters in front of him, pulling the locket out of her top. It glints even in starlight.
“And you’ve got my stray,” she says.
He nods down the street. “There. The blue row house. I’ve been… watching the place.”
“You’re sure?”
“Tomorrow or the day after,” says Rob. “They all end up there eventually.”
Inside the blue row house, Maya sleeps, unaware.
Honorifics clatter off and away from Colvoy. His stole parts and puddles; his scapular just disappears.
“The names you fouled are stricken from you herewith,” says the new primate sadly. She doesn’t have to be loud. “Francis. Peacemaker. James. Oath-borne. Father. Brother. Petitioner of the Order of Souls Aspirant.”
Colvoy’s still clothed, but feels naked anyway. He’s strangely excited and his pulse is quick as a child’s. He shivers. There is a strange freedom in this: he didn’t know his glories were so heavy.
The primate pauses, turning back a page, and he can just hear the susurration of bells unringing.
“No,” says Toe quietly. “Let me see.”
Dylan punches him, but somehow doesn’t connect. She stumbles.
“You’re stronger,” he says. “Faster. But I’ve been doing this longer.”
Toe turns her next punch into a sine wave. Dylan understands the circuit and pulls through, then kicks off the wall. It should break the hold and jam his shoulder into its socket; it doesn’t.
Instead she ends up with her arms crossed, palms back, Toe’s hand flat against her wrists. He looks at her knuckles.
“Ash?” he mutters. “That’s what it is?”
Their faces are very close. It’s unfair, how slow he’s breathing.
Asuka turns seven, and blue.
“It’s perfectly normal,” the doctor soothes at her mom. “She started first grade recently, yes? The bright color tells school predators she’s poisonous.”
“My friend Jeremy has giant scary eyes!” says Asuka.
“No, no,” chuckles the doctor, “eye spots.”
Later, no longer afraid, Asuka kills Jeremy with a rock and eats his viscera. The angry mob shows up at the doctor’s house pretty quickly.
“I only gave her knowledge!” he roars.
“WHAT HATH SCIENCE WROUGHT,” chants the mob.
“Damn you!” cries the doctor, and inflates his bladder, causing him to appear several times his real size.
Metal hums under her fingers as Ginger circles the room, touching out the lamps. Silence. Blue grows through the windows.
Little Crove’s conked out under the table with a bag of Oreos; she smiles, wipes crumbs from his mouth and gathers him to bed. Even asleep, his face is concerned.
The blue pales, grows harder. Ginger locks the shutters, but pauses at the last one. Steadman’s watching from the control tower. His goggle eyes are blank.
It’s still silent. White fire cracks ringward, outside; the water tanks flower steam. The house begins rising, steady as anything, straight up toward the moon.