Welcome to Gaia! ::

Lily left the main waiting room window in a panic and went straight over to Billy, hands fluttering until they found purchase around Billy's arm.

"Billy," she said, almost a whimper. Billy shifted his weight, concerned. With fingers digging into his arm so deep they left marks under the fabric, Lily said, "I lost the package."

Billy nearly dropped the papers he was holding. They had to be careful, especially here, because no more could they count on Adomital's personal monitoring and interference on their behalf.

There was a noise behind them, so unexpected both turned towards it with alarm. Dr. M's head was poking out from his office. "Something wrong?" he asked.

Lily paled. Her knees were shaking. "I... I... I lost him," she breathed.

M shrugged. "Well, it's probably better this way."

Lily and Billy stared at Dr. M, shocked.

"I lost him," repeated Lily, thinking Dr. M did not realize who she was talking about.

"No, you lost a potato," corrected M.

Dead silence.

"A hot potato," clarified the doctor, "and whoever gets caught with that potato dies." With that, the doctor disappeared back into his office, door locking after him.

Billy and Lily just stood there until Geiseric called Billy away to proceed with their investigation. Lily went to the window one last time and then, because she knew of nothing else she could do, dematerialized back to the Fleet.

Windhall was a spectacularly understated place. With its stucco walls and sparse furniture it reflected the stark necessity of the desert. The decorations were few, the furniture cleanly designed and functional. Trion led Third and Constant through a blank-walled hallway to the dining room. There were two plates on the table and one on the floor. Eggplant, but unlike Mellie's cooking, the aroma made Third's mouth water.

"Please," said Trion, indicating Third and Constant should make themselves comfortable. Constant went eagerly for the plate on the floor. Third went at a more leisurely pace for the nearer chair. The Casebook was still under his arm; he leaned it against his seat.

Trion sat opposite Third at the table and resumed eating without comment. Third gingerly picked up the fork and copied him, but he stole glances at Trion and the room as he ate.

Aside from a dining room table and four chairs, the room was empty. A window looked out on the yard, white linen curtains obscuring the sides. There was no view to be had so late at night. Light came from a set of plain wall sconces and a rectangular silver lamp hanging from the ceiling. The table and chairs were both some sturdy dark wood stained with age, both real and artificial. As simple as the furnishings were, the carpentry displayed expert precision. There were only two exits, the one behind Third leading back into the hall and an archway behind Trion heading into the kitchen, through which Third could see dark red counters and red tile floor.

They ate in silence. Trion had a newspaper page on the table next to him that changed in response to his eye movement; he read it and made no attempt to engage Third in conversation. Third was awed by the serious expression on Trion's face and did not dare ask any of the questions in his mind.

When the plates were empty something long and silvery came in from the kitchen and Third jerked in alarm.

"Dont be concerned," said Trion, not looking up from his paper. "That's Siba."

Siba was a robot, a collection of eight long silver tendrils that extended over the table and removed the cups and plates. Three arms cleared the table, a fourth delivered a cup of coffee to Trion's side. Third could only watch wide-eyed as the tendrils looped and coiled, receding back into the kitchen. He caught a glimpse of a central unit: Siba was nothing more than an eight-armed box.

A moment later one of Siba's arms produced a small saucer of some light green frozen confection and a spoon and deposited it on the table in front of Third.

"Try it," said Trion, sipping his coffee. Third found it was some sort of lime sherbert or yogurt. Very tasty. He smacked his lips with each spoonful. Constant gave a small whine and Third fed a spoonful to her, too, but the daemon was not as enamored of the frozen treat.

It proved a good distraction for Third. Trion finished sipping his coffee then waited for Third to finish his dessert. When both were done Trion led Third back down the hallway and up some steps. "This will be your room."

It was as unspectacular as the rest of Windhall, a bed and a nightstand and a sliding glass door leading out to a tiled patio. A few sconces for light. Trion placed his hand against a small panel on the wall, just an empty rectangle. When he ran his finger up it, the lights brightened. Down, the lights dimmed. "There's another one by the bed," said Trion, and sure enough there was, so inobtrusive as to be invisible.

Trion crossed over to the wall and formed his hand into a fist. He knocked the base of his fist against the wall and suddenly the whole thing opened up. Third gasped involuntarily.

"Linens and clothes are in here, if you ask the system it can fetch up whatever you might need. Bookshelf is on that wall." Trion pointed to empty wall next to the bed. "For anything else, call Siba and she'll come. She doesn't speak, but she understands verbal commands. Bathroom directly to the left, first door. Breakfast is at seven. Clock display is under the switch by the bed, just press the wall there. Any questions?"

Third shook his head and hugged the Casebook.

Trion knocked his fist twice against the wall next to the closet. "Goodnight," he said, and was gone.

Third looked around the empty room while Constant sniffed. Perhaps there were more things hidden in the wall. He put the Casebook down on the foot of the bed and went to try the bookshelf.

Just as Trion, Third made a fist and tapped the base of it on the wall. Immediately the sand-colored wall disappeared and a bookshelf stood in its place. Third gaped at it. There were rows and rows of books stretching above him. The bookshelf took up the whole wall. With a curious look towards Constant, Third reached up and plucked a book from the wall.

Every morning it was the same. Third would find Trion early in the morning working out in the yard and then see him next at breakfast, where Siba would cook for Third whatever he might want and prepare something for Constant as well. Then Trion would ask Third what he wanted to do for that day, and they would go and do it.

On the first day Third learned why Trion's house was called Windhall. Strange metal hoops emerged from the domed rooftops and when the wind caught the hoops at the right angle it would create a noise, a low or high musical tone depending on the hoop's size. Some of the hoops were stationary, but some would spin when the wind was blowing, and Third liked those best.

There was no shortage of things to do. Trion, while not a very talkative companion, was in his own way attentive and communicative and sometimes there would be a look in his eye or a strange expression on his face that reminded Third very strongly of Emperial, the way one sibling resembles another.

There seemed to be no shortage of things Trion knew. He told Third about what he did in the morning, tai chi and various forms of martial arts, answered Third's questions when he was able. When Third wondered aloud why it rained, Trion launched into explanation of the various forces involved with the weather, humidity and condensation, the water cycle from the oceans to the sky and back again. He was always direct to the point, resisting superfluous description or anecdotal asides.

When Third asked what Trion did, he explained that too, telling of his days as a mercenary, working for whoever paid the most money, fighting and killing until he was hired by something called the Trust to protect the Merovingian heir Alin-Maya Mauritius XVII. Third very much liked to hear that story, but when he recounted it Trion's eyes took on a sort of sadness and so Third only asked to hear it twice and then committed it to paper so he would have it. It was the first time Third had ever written anything down, and while it did not compare to listening to Trion speak, it was a good reminder.

Third asked Trion about his relationship with Emperial and Trion told Third how he and Emperial had met very many years ago against all odds in the desert, and how Emperial was his sister without being blood-related, and that there was a third such sibling, Kenichi Ishida, whom they had met later. Trion explained that their bond was much the same as Third's bond with Constant, that they understood each other perfectly and were all three of the same will.

There were other things, too, like the Fleet. From Trion Third learned how the Fleet had emerged from a household Emperial created. He also learned a bit about the three factions that were currently fighting for power, but Trion kept tight-lipped about the details. He would only said that Wilbur belonged to the Greys. Third asked which faction was Trion's but Trion declined to answer.

Aside from the information Trion could tell Third, there were books. Third quickly discovered the bookshelf in his room contained more books than it seemed to: the shelves moved. You could replace one shelf of books with another unseen one, or move shelves up and down to make things easier to reach. Trion's book collection was heavy on history and technical manuals, but there were great classics there, too. Third found more Sherlock Holmes stories and other detective mysteries. He read the history books and mysteries in equal amounts throughout the night.

In the daytime they would go out for hiking, or exploring as Third preferred to call it. Trion knew the woods around his house well, and the other outlying areas, too. Though Third was for the most part free to decide which direction to go, sometimes there were boundaries. Trion would merely say that they had to turn back, no reason given, and they would go somewhere else. The boundaries were not the same. It was as if Trion was acting based upon some hidden intelligence of an unknown enemy that moved around every day.

They went into Barton Town, though this was not always allowed, and to Durem as well. Trion took Third fishing, showed him how to bait the hook and reel the fish in. Trion was very good at it. Third soon got the hang of it. Constant disliked the actual fishing, but once they caught the fish she was delighted with the silvery, flapping things, barking and bouncing and panting with excitement at the creatures. Mostly the let the fish go, but some they took home and Trion cooked.

In addition to exploring they went swimming, climbing, canoeing, and horseback riding. If Third could not think of anything to do for the day, Trion would make a suggestion. In this way Third discovered motorcycles and helicopters and learned to ride a bicycle.

He learned some martial arts, too. Trion was more than happy to demonstrate the techniques, explaining the importance of balance and teaching Third simple moves and martial arts philosophy, how mastery of basics was more valuable than knowledge of fancier moves. They also did some gardening with Siba, Third learning what was necessary to tend to the plants and when the vegetables were ripe and how insecticides affected produce.

Third quickly found that Siba, or Synthetic Intelligence Bot Assistant, was capable of doing anything that a household might need, but that Trion preferred to do a lot of work himself. Siba was an excellent chef, but in the kitchen she (Third gradually came around to adopting the idea of the robot as female) shared the tasks with Trion, the two working in perfect tandem. Third also discovered that Siba was capable of emotion, even if it was merely programmed. She was happiest when she had something to do and loved to help Third or Constant. Gradually Third stopped looking at her as a strange robot and more as a friend. He even stopped noticing the buzz he felt around her, finding it a comfort and missing it a little when he and Constant and Trion would leave the house and go outside.

As much fun as it was being with Siba and Trion, Third began to wonder if Emperial was ever coming back. He hoped so. He missed her.

The first thing Third noticed was the cold. The chill nipped at his ears and nose, dry air pulling the moisture from his skin and causing a flush of red to color his cheeks. He was standing in the middle of a giant ice field surrounded by uniformed people. Voices drifted on the air, snippets of conversations and arguments and jokes from the adults around him, none of whom paid any heed to the small child appeared in their midst. Trion's hand slipped away. Perhaps it had never been there in the first place.

Sitting in the middle of it all was a table, immense beyond all comprehension. At its head were three identical stone thrones, tall geometric shapes rising several meters into the air. On both sides of the table were even rows of more modest stone chairs, their backs irregular hexagons. Third followed the rows of chairs with his eyes, sweeping left to right, and saw that the table and chairs stretched all the way to the horizon and beyond. His mouth fell open in gentle wonderment.

Constant butted Third's leg, seeking the warmth of his body despite the fact she had no need for it. Her thick fur coat would keep her warm, just as Third's heavy black jacket with its fur trim would warm him. The cold was a mere anomalous disturbance for them both, not a real concern. They had known colder, but where and when neither could say.

Third looked around at the people and recognized the uniforms of the Fleet -- a sea of brown, tan, black, red, white, green, and navy, each paired with a colored shoulder to represent a division. If Third had spent more time in the Fleet he would have known what the colors represented: light blue for the scientists, gold for Operations, the black of the Intelligence Division and red of the assassins. Brown uniforms for service personnel, tan for support and civilians, black for combat personnel and the dark green and blue for the Army and Navy respectively. No two uniforms were quite alike, they came in various cuts and styles, and many were edged with ceremonial decoration to distinguish them further still.

Third felt the air stir behind him as Trion departed and made his way through the scattered crowd to the thrones at the head of the table. One throne was already occupied by a young Asian man. Quiet and soft-spoken to a fault, Kenichi Ishida greeted Trion with soft eyes and a whispered word. He was dressed in a soft grey tunic and his shiny black hair fell past his face. Trion returned the greeting in kind, leaning and whispering into Kenichi's ear before taking the throne in the middle as his own.

Third half-followed Trion along the table, not sure where he was supposed to go, but then the people around began to sit and a hand tapped Third on the shoulder. It was Dr. M, the white of his long coat disappearing against the white of the icy ground. "You should take your seat," he said to Third, pointing him towards the table. Third saw there was indeed a chair with his name in engraved letters on the back, and additionally assigned him the surname "Atreipie."

Third approached the chair almost warily, reaching out to touch the letters of his name. The stone was cool under his fingers, but not uncomfortably so. He saw that there was nowhere for Constant except on the ground at his feet. The daemon gave a dejected sigh and settled down on the freezing ice as Third climbed up into the chair. It was so high that his feet did not touch the ground.

With some surprise, Third found he was seated near the head of the impossibly long table and that he was surrounded with familiar faces.

Across the table from him, the third throne sat empty, as did the corner chair on the end of the row. Next to this empty chair sat Doug. The general was frowning at the empty chair next to him and drumming his fingers in impatient agitation. He was seated next to a serious-looking man with dark hair a moustache, Admiral Atri Durris, the Director of the Assassin Core and Sub-Commander of the Navy, a very important man who was so unassuming and deferential in his mannerisms that you would never have thought he was of any note at all.

Next to him sat Admiral Pavel Pavlovich Antipov, the man who had reacted with such vehemence to Third's mention of Code Omega. Third almost did not recognize Antipov. His uniform was the same, but his face was haggard and wan with exhaustion. He looked utterly lost within himself and it was hard to believe that this beaten, weary man could ever have summoned up the sort of anger Third remembered. He kept his unfocused eyes downcast at the table, avoiding the others at the table, nonresponsive.

On Antipov's left was a man of almost inhuman beauty, long golden hair sweeping past his shoulders, calm grey eyes slowly scanning the table. His name was Cecil Lavanchy and he was Advisor and Mage Champion to the High Empress. He possessed a sort of aloofness, as if he were a projection of some ethereal being and not a mere mortal freezing his a** off and wishing he had worn warmer clothes.

At Cecil's side, Third did not recognize Zevulon Talai Atreides-Piett, but Zevulon recognized him. The fa'e's green eyes lingered on Third for just a moment, boring holes through Third's soul, but the majority of Zev's attention was elsewhere. Third saw only a teenager with strange green and red markings and grey-tipped golden hair.

Zev sat next to a man of dark brown hair and bright blue eyes whom Third did not find immediately noteworthy, but whose name was Nikolai Vasilivich Belyakov and who would later be very important. Third was much too captivated by the next individual to take any note of Belyakov, for next to Belyakov sat Wilbur.

Third looked at Wilbur and Wilbur smiled back. If he had incurred any troubles since Third had left him, it did not show. His face was the same gentle smile as ever. Third waved and Wilbur returned the gesture.

The man next to Wilbur was Minnarkentanit Trant, his grey skin covered in strange ceremonial tattoos and ritual piercings. He had a mess of mottled grey hair on his head and frightening yellow eyes. In the Fleet, he was Special Advisor to the Supreme Commander and Director of Naval Tactics. Beside him sat another alien, Security Director Adomital, who was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Somehow Third knew it was the same man from the monitor room, but Third could not have imagined Adomital's appearance, with his patchy green-brown skin and ribbed facial contour. The structure was not totally dissimilar from a human, just markedly unfamiliar. The hair on his head was more like tendrils, but a moment later Third changed his mind and could not be certain of any of Adomital's features, of even if the alien had any eyes.

Adomital was not alone in his seat, for on his shoulder sat a tiny person with little black wings and bright blue hair. This was Inquisitor Geiseric du Pont, whom Third had almost met on several occasions, and only narrowly avoided. Though du Pont was almost impossibly tiny it was clear from his posture that he viewed these proceedings with distrust.

Rounding out the line of inhumans, Thane Magos sat next to Adomital, but his features were completely hidden by various swaths of cloth and a large floppy hat except for a pair of flickering green eyes. Magos was Advisor to the High Empress and Deputy Director of Magic.

Third would not have thought the rest of the row worth much note, for the figures began to shrink into the distance and grow indistinct, but for our purposes, I will tell you of the next five.

Teliu Atrell-Ptarmigan, Director of Engineering, a brilliant woman with long red-brown hair dressed in a high-collared and long-sleeved dark blue dress. At her side, Deputy Director of Engineering, Dr. Rustam Zakharov, who had fled the Soviet Union some twenty years ago and worked at Area 51 prior to his joining the Fleet. Zakharov sat beside his unlikely best friend, Dr. Roderick Rambaldi, the neurotic egomaniac scientist in charge of Section 8, the Fleet's main research and development group. Rambaldi was having a very bad day. His wife was not three days dead and her killer was sitting at the table and it was all Rambaldi could do to keep from having a nervous breakdown. Lastly, the quiet, depressive navy commander Commodore Landor Niela, and his feien fairy Artemis.

Beyond them stretched a line into infinity of chairs and people, some of whom will be important later, but most of whom will sit through the duration of the conference in silence, never crossing their spheres of influence with Third or anyone else near the head of the table.

On Third's row, the chair at the corner adjacent to Kenichi was also empty, but next to it sat an elderly Japanese man, Vice Admiral Kazuo Fujimoto, Director of Operations. Then came Dr. M, trying unsuccessfully to catch Antipov's attention across the table and looking rather upset for his failure. Next to him, John Doe, a stern-looking man who was not in fact a man at all but a combat android. Third's skin tingled from Doe's presence, but he could not reason why. Next came Third himself, Constant hidden at his feet, and on his right, another familiar face. It was the golden-haired man in the olive Army uniform who had been standing at the back of the room when Third delivered the Code Omega, the man who had left without a word. He noticed Third's eyes on him and looked down at the child with deep green eyes, his gaze powerful but not unkind. He nodded almost imperceptibly at Third. This was Surface Marshall Tuthau gian Fourdr, Lord High King of a land so ancient and forgotten it was no longer even a memory, only meaningless dust.

Beyond him, a young man who seemed not much bigger than Third, though he was certainly older. Wisps of light brown hair framed a childlike face with a very adult frown. Hiam Juniper El'Achren, the Rabbit Who Fell from the Moon, and at his side, Cael Renaeth, another seeming child who was anything but. Illnesses and magic kept Cael's figure impossibly small and thin, but he carried himself with calm certainty and his quiet voice could command even the busiest of rooms with a mere whisper. He had long silvery-blue hair and wore mage robes of green and white. Next, Iuri Gavrilenko, reluctant Director of Magic, reportedly the strongest mage to ever live, capable of destroying planets and weaving the threads of time and space. Gavrilenko never actually used any magic if he could avoid it, as he hated his natural talent with passion equal to Cael Renaeth's love for the subject.

Beside him, Falkard du Fialle, the Silver Dragon, who was actually a black dragon in human form, tall and imposing and hundreds of years old. In his human form he looked maybe forty, grey hair streaked with black along the temples and strange black marks across his skin. Then Stephen Stilbrook, the noted alchemist, a dark-haired man known as much for his sensibility as his trade.

And next to him, William Gunn and Lily, their heads bent together in conversation that excluded the rest of the world. Third could see only Billy's back, but the breadth of the shoulders and cut of the suit were unmistakable. Third wished that Billy would turn and look in his direction for just a second, but he did not, and Lily was equally oblivious to Third's presence.

Beyond them, hidden by Billy's shoulders, the rest of the table was a mystery to Third, but he could tell it went on forever, as far as the chairs on the other side.

All eyes swung about to the head of the table, alerted by a disturbance in the air. Third's gaze followed. Five figures appeared from thin air, in the first group Trion Bartholomew, Emperial, and then again Emperial. Third had to do a quick double-check on that: Trion was still seated in the center throne. Two Trions, and two Emperials, though you would never mistake the one Emperial for the other. One was the Emperial that Third recognized, with dark brown hair poking out from under an olive green cap and glasses perched on her nose. She wore a striped red shirt with three-quarter sleeves and a pair of blue jeans. The shirt was buttoned up to her bust, revealing a triangle of pale flesh open to her neck. A silver necklace with a Celtic charm rested on her collarbone.

The second Emperial was completely without hair and her skin was alabaster white. It took Third a moment to realize she was indeed Emperial, but she was more like the Emperial he had met down at the bottom of the well, only without hair. She wore the same sort of white cloth sarong fastened just below the line of her featureless breasts. Her eyes were totally white. A hat of folded white cloth with gold filagree rested on her head. Though she wore no glasses, it was most definitely Emperial: the contour of the face was identical.

As much surprise as Third felt at seeing Emperial yet again, he heard enough of a noise from the opposite side of the table to draw his attention for a brief moment. Dr. Rambaldi was staring at the Emperials with a stricken look on his face; he had let out a loud sob that drew disapprovingly glares to which he was oblivious. He quickly folded his head into his arms and whimpered into the table while Dr. Zakharov tried to calm him and an uncomfortable Landor Niela looked away. (From Niela's shoulder, the cold-natured Artemis's glare was perhaps fiercest of all.)

The other two arrivals were familiar to Third without his ever having seen them, because he knew without a doubt that the tall, stern-faced woman was the Supreme Commander. Her dark brown hair was drawn back into a tight bun, revealing a high forehead and features that could only be described as severe. Her mouth was pulled into a thin-lipped frown. Her dark grey eyes looked down the length of the table as if she could see the entirety of it at once.

What Third recognized was not her face but her manner. She exuded strength of command and cruelty in equal amounts. He knew in his gut without ever thinking about it that this was the woman who had hurt Wilbur. Her mere presence summoned up fear in all who beheld her, but when Third looked at her he could feel only hot anger. At Third's feet, Constant shifted, recognizing the scent on the air and fighting to control her urge to attack.

The Supreme Commander stood next to a pallid man in a long grey coat who was as calming as she was upsetting. A grey hat shadowed his features. Third felt sure he had met this man somewhere before and to Constant the scent was oddly familiar, but unplaceable. He seemed utterly devoid of color: grey, grey, and more grey wherever Third looked. He was known as the Lord Grey Mage, among very many other names.

The Grey Mage sat down in the empty seat at the end of Third's row, next to Kenichi Ishida, and the second Trion escorted the first Emperial to the empty throne. She sat, and then the second Trion moved behind the central throne and vanished as if he had never existed. Suddenly the Trion in the throne was wearing a long-sleeved and high-collared black jacket with inlayed obsidian stones. The Supreme Commander took the chair on the end next to Doug and Emperial's throne. It rankled Third to see the object of so much of his anger sit next to Emperial, whom he loved.

That left the hairless Emperial still standing. She took in the length of the table with ease. "Greetings and welcome to the Conference." She was easy to hear, and Third understood immediately that she was similarly heard by everyone down the whole length of the table regardless of the distance. Her voice was smooth and calm and musical, but not in any normal sense. When she spoke it was as if hearing many voices united into one. "I give you tidings of the Goddess and bid you listen these, our appointed speakers. Ishida Ken, the First. Emperilu Teal, the Second. Trion Bartholomew, the Third." (Third blinked to hear Trion referred to in that way.) "Keel, Light, and Sword. The Conference is yours to command."

The white-clad Emperial stepped back and somehow, she was gone, as the second Trion had disappeared before her into unresolved nothingness.

The whole of the table was silent.

Trion Bartholomew's voice rang out. "Today we determine the path of our multiverse for the next cycle."

Kenichi man went next, picking up where Trion left off so their two voices became as one continuing thought. "We have carefully reviewed your petitions and will now open for discussion."

And then Emperial, transitioning seamlessly. "Who wishes to be heard?"

Immediately, the Supreme Commander rose. "I do!" she demanded, slamming her palms against the table.

The enthroned trio looked at the woman as one. Trion said smoothly, "The chair recognizes Supreme Commander Lady EmileAmai Piett."

Apparently there was some insult in this, because the Supreme Commander sneered. She fixed her gaze on the three and the grey man sitting at the opposite corner of the table. "Have you not had enough of this, this game of war! I'm tired of playing by laws and physics. We should take the fight to them, and damn this concordance of realities. We need nothing more than ourselves! Destroy this whole world, and all of the people in it. We've done it before and we can do it again. We don't need them for the fight." She finished with an accusatory gaze at Emperial, a gaze so fierce Emperial looked away and at Trion.

"Will that be all?" said Trion levelly.

The Supreme Commander threw her hands up from the table and brought them back down with such force the stone under her hands cracked and a hollow boom shook the whole length of the table.

"The Void will be heard!" she bellowed, her voice impossibly loud and huge and filled with emptiness in a way Third could not make sense of. Everyone, even the Commander's supporters, seemed to shrink back.

The Grey Mage stood. "The Greys will be heard!" he shouted, only on a more normal level. He did not wait for recognition and immediately attacked the Commander, looking only at her. "Have you forgotten the strength of our enemies? To remove the laws of physics would only hasten our destruction -- our defeat. At least while the rules are in place we have a chance."

"You call this a chance!?" screeched the Commander, gesturing wide at the table. "These are not gods, they're people! They have no more divinity in them than if they were rocks. You can't kill gods by pelting them with rocks!"

Then Tuthau gian Fourdr, a rush of air next to Third. "I disagree!"

"Chair recognizes Surface Marshall Lord High King Tuthau gian Fourdr," said Trion, resting his elbows on the table and interlocking his fingers. There was a brief pause, as if the table was waiting for the Commander or the grey man to relinquish their platforms, but both remained standing.

Fourdr seemed to glow with that sort of brilliance one expects from charismatic leaders. "These people are not rocks. Each one has the ability to move and reason independently and if you have the insight to make use of them, they can be a force equal to any god. And if our enemy underestimates them to the degree that you do they become all the more important. The best weapon is the one the enemy can't see."

"Or won't see," said Trion, drawing a look of fury from the Commander.

Fourdr nodded. "Yes. It only takes one blind spot."

The Commander let out a derogatory snort, but sat down. So too did the grey man and Fourdr.

Trion, Ken, and Emperial exchanged glances. "I don't think we've reached the end of this," said Emperial, conscious of the Supreme Commander's eyes on her. Her statement could have meant anything.

Doug stood. "Will you recognize me?"

There was a nod. "We recognize Surface Marshall Douglas MacArthur Hein."

Doug cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "Supreme Commander's right. We're holding you back. Without us, you could go straight to the source."

"Oh, Doug," sighed Emperial, pouting cutely.

The grey man stood again, but this time waited to be recognized by Trion before speaking. Trion nodded to him and the Mage said, "As much as I appreciate Emile's confidence in our abilities, and her understanding of Void's totality, I cannot accept that if we fight them face to face, we will win. The most we can hope for is infinite combat. The whole purpose of this was to render combat feasible by excluding infinity. I still believe it is."

Doug shook his head, a sigh of disapproval rumbling in his chest. "I don't think so. We could be doing this for hundreds of years."

"Then we do it for hundreds of years!" came a voice, high and clear.

Third looked to the right and saw a thin, dark-haired woman with high cheekbones standing far down the table. Even though she was improbably distant, Third found he could see her with ease, the table seeming to stretch and shrink to bring her closer. She was wearing a dark blue uniform with white trim unlike the standard Fleet type. "Chair recognizes Commander Tarquinia D'Ardea," said Trion, sounding intrigued.

Tarquinia was quite beautiful, her dark eyes sharp and intelligent. "Even if it means a hundred years, I would gladly do battle for this fleet. Victory isn't always easy to come by, but when the cause is just, it is always worth the effort. Perhaps the path we're on is long and hard, but I truly believe that if we all work at it, we can attain our goals. To throw everything we've worked for away on the chance of quick victory is folly. Fifteen years we've been going this path, and it may take a hundred more, but if we stay the course we can do this! We can win!"

There were murmurs of agreement and nods along the table.

"Chair recognizes Admiral Pavel Pavlovich Antipov," came Trion's dry voice. With all the focus on Tarquinia, no one had noticed Antipov move to stand.

Antipov stood for a good minute in silence, all waiting for him to speak. His knuckles were pressed against the stone and his face transfixed on a spot just between his fists. His voice was so soft it was hard to hear even with the seeming magic of the table. "I'm tired."

Emperial's face was contorted into a look of concern and worry. She clearly wanted to move to comfort Antipov, but she stayed where she was out of necessity. "Pasha," she whispered. Under the table, Trion touched her hand in reassurance.

Doug cast a dark look towards Antipov. "We're all tired. If we're this tired after fifteen years, what do you think it'll be like in a hundred?" His eyes swept across the rows of faces.

A somber silence fell.

"Chair recognizes Sub-Lieutenant Navi Souraj."

A young girl, prepubescent, dark skin and hair the color of flax. She was seated down by the far end of the table, near the edge of infinty. Yet to Third's eyes she could have been directly opposite him at the table. Her dark brown and cream bodysuit emphasized her youth.

"I say we fight!" she said, and her voice was predictably high-pitched and squeaky as a child's. "I'm not tired yet! And so long as those SOBs are out there, I'm never gonna be tired!" She abruptly sat back down. The interlude of her presence was little more than the amusing antics of a child. Though her passion was palpable, it was not fueled by any logic and swayed no one. Somewhere during her speech Pavel Antipov sat back down.

"Chair recognizes Her Majesty Aliann III."

A woman, dressed in waves of white fabric, loose black curls cascading down her shoulders. On her head she wore a golden circlet adorned with three pearls. Her eyes were so bright a shade of brown as to be golden. A man sat to her left with matching eyes and white robes, but the circlet on his head was bronze with a circular disc in the center. Her husband, Esonn Ma. His straight black hair was loosely tied back. He placed his hand over Alliann's in encouragement and support. Third thought something about them seemed sad. Kind, but sad.

When she spoke, her voice was sweet and musical, her words clear and concise. The sort of voice developed to fit royalty by years of careful grooming and training. "I have been with this family longer than most, and in that time I have learned things I could scarce have imagined. I have seen sights of greatness and terror, I have met people braver and kinder than anyone I have ever known before. But most of all I have seen each and every one of you arrive cold, sick, terrified, and hungry, lost and alone, without friends and family. Against all odds, we have risen up and from this gathering of souls created a family. Our bonds are not through blood, but I would count each and every one of you among my brothers and sisters without the slightest hesitation.

"I know many of you have suffered, I have seen the weariness on your faces and the hopelessness in your hearts. But I ask you: has there not been happiness here? Has there not been love?"

She paused and looked down at the table a moment before continuing. "I am not a general, I know nothing of the art of war, only of its suffering and terror, but I do know that while we may be tired, we are all still here out of our love for this family we have created. If we were to end this cycle of events, we would dishonor all that we have built.

"Maybe we have reached the end of this pathway, but when I look around me I see not only our family, but also the possibility of more to come. I implore you, do not deny this wondrous thing we have built to the people it may yet help tomorrow."

There was silence. Aliann sat back down. Several figures stood up. Trion recognized them one by one.

Captain Alexander Depriest. A somber man in a strange grey and black uniform, stylistically a bit similar to Tarquinia's. His voice was low and quiet. "I would rather the Three choose whatever path leads them to victory, but... I believe in what we are doing now."

Sally Veers. A woman with light brown hair braided in a crown around her head. Her voice was sweet, her skin delicate with a light application of makeup. When she smiled it was with wry humor. "I understand the weariness of many of my comrades. But this is not a chance to throw away all that we have built. It is a chance to fix it. If in the last cycle we erred on the side of military expansion and scientific laws, let us then try a new model. There are infinite possibilities awaiting us, the gates to Shangri-La exist within." She sat. There were nods of agreement along the table for her compromise.

So potent were the words of these three speakers that the next, Elijah Trevor, a pale young man with bright yellow hair and gold-rimmed glasses merely said in a voice far larger than his puny size suggested: "I move for a vote!"

Immediately half the table seemed to stand and many began to second and third this notion without waiting to be recognized. As soon as they did, the other half followed in protest. While this was a behavior Trion had tolerated from the Lord Grey Mage, it was not a courtesy he extended to the rest of the table, and certainly not to all of them at once. "Sit down!" he said, and though it was barely above his speaking voice it boomed with such power that it shook Third to the bones. Immediately Third felt a pressure upon his shoulders even though he was still sitting, and everyone who was standing at the table was pushed gently but forcibly back into their seats.

Trion looked at Emperial. Emperial looked at Ken. Ken looked at Trion. Though they needed no words to communicate their wishes to one another, for the benefit of the table Trion asked, "Do you agree that we should vote?"

"Aye," said the other two in unison, and Emperial added, "Though I'm sure there are more opinions to be had, I think it's time we took a preliminary look at where we stand."

Ken and Emperial both leaned towards Trion and they began to conference in low whispers. Third noticed nervous shifting and impatience among the others at the table.

Finally the conference within a conference ended, the heads withdrew, and Emperial addressed the table.

"We have decided to begin with three options. First, for those who wish to abscond our current path in favor of a more aggressive deific assault, raise your sinister hand. Second, for those who wish to continue on our current pathway of existence, raise your dexter hand. Finally, for those wishing to reconfigure existence into a new paradigm, raise both hands. Raise no hands if you wish to abstain."

The instructions were opaque to Third, so he sat where he was, looking at the faces along the table. A sea of hands rose: right hands and left hands and both hands beyond Third's ability to count. Plenty were sitting as Third was, with no hands raised, but most people were voting in some capacity. Third could not tell which was sinister or dexter, but he noticed that whichever hand Doug and the Commander were raising, Wilbur raised the opposite.

Ken Ishida spoke. "For a new paradigm, majority. For continuance, greater minority. For severance, lesser minority."

"Are these results confirmed?" asked Trion ceremonially.

"They are," said the Lord Grey Mage, and even the Supreme Commander was forced to tug her head in a quick nod.

"Then we move for finalization of this vote. All in favor of the majority vote for paradigm shift, raise your dexter hand. All opposed, raise your sinister hand. To abstain raise no hand," instructed Emperial.

Another sea of hands. More abstained this time, but still many hands were raised.

"Greater majority present," intoned Ken.

"Confirmed," said the Grey Mage.

"Then we are in concordance!" said Emperial, an almost giddy shout. There was a quick burst of sound: scattered cheer, applause, comment, criticism. It died.

"Now the lottery," said Ken, so quietly he was barely heard.

Trion nodded, jaw set tightly. His eyes scanned the table. He said, "For the newcomers I will briefly explain the lottery. As we cannot feasibly construct a paradigm under the guidance of several hundred wills, we will use the lottery system to identify a discrete group of individuals for this purpose, each of whom will name an additional member to the assembly. Their collective wills will drive the construction of a new paradigm. Everyone seated at this table is eligible in this lottery. For each voting round, you may choose to hold up one, two, three, or no fingers. Holding up no fingers is considered abstaining, though it does not eliminate you from the lottery. All names have been randomly assigned groups by Emperial, the designation for the groups by myself, and the voting and tabulation will be completed by Ishida. This ensures that no single individual has control over the outcome of the procedure and that there is no benefit in voting for one number over another. We will begin with the first rounds of votes."

There was some confusion. Some knew the process and raised their hands. The rest of the table followed suit in varying stages of confusion. Third abstained, figuring he was an observer and not a participant no matter what was said.

Kenichi counted in the blink of an eye, Trion closed his eyes, and Emperial shuffled papers that had not been there a moment before. She placed three sheets before Trion, face down, and he rearranged them. Beside her, the Supreme Commander looked disgusted, but she was voting with two fingers.

"Three," said Ken, and the Grey Mage nodded.

Trion discarded the left and middle sheets of paper and suddenly it seemed as if the far right paper had become three, which Trion spread and rearranged anew. Most of the people changed their fingers. The Commander did not, and remained voting two. This time her number won, and now the middle paper was three and the left and right sheets discarded. Trion arranging the new papers with his eyes closed. The number one won twice in a row. Then the number three again. Trion's eyes snapped open and he selected the center paper. He froze at the names. Curious, Emperial rose halfway from her chair and leaned over Trion's arm to see. She let out a small gasp of happy surprise.

"Charles Truelove," said Trion. "Heiko Hayami. Allen Waverly. Pavel Antipov."

There was a dissenting murmur along the table and an audible gasp of air from all directions. For all the shock, no one seemed quite as surprised as Antipov. He had not voted. At the sound of his name he automatically looked up, barely conscious of the proceedings, not knowing why he was being called when he had not asked to be recognized. For him, the conference began when he stood and declared he was tired and ended when he resumed his seat. That it continued to exist before and after that event meant nothing to him. Antipov looked towards Trion, slowly blinking with incomprehensibility.

Trion fixed Antipov with a hard glare. Antipov turned his head towards Emperial, who was smiling at him, and realized what had just occurred. His face drained of its color and he slumped in his chair, eyes wide, staring at the meaningless pattern of the table, shock settling in. Impossibly it was him. Out of a thousand or more, against all odds, it was him.

Third looked around to try and identify the other winners. He found one sitting next to Sally Veers, a genial-looking man being congratulated by his neighbors, smiles all around. Charles Truelove. Then another, a young girl on Third's side of the table, shrinking back in her seat and looking more frightened by the approbation than anything else. And finally the fourth, Allen Waverly, a young, dark-haired man on Third's side further down than Hayami. He looked excited, scared, surprised, proud, confused, happy, and utterly blown away by the magnitude of his selection.

Not so Antipov. There was nothing that could reach him. It was as if a great wall of silence had shut itself around him. Aside from Dr. M, who was grinning, and Emperial's less-than-contagious happiness, Antipov evoked only shocked stares.

Trion cleared his throat. "Will the four individuals I have named please announce the names of their seconds."

Charles Truelove stood eagerly and said, "Dr. Z. Rusty."

Rustam Zakharov stood, clearly surprised but happily so. Trion nodded and spoke the doctor's full name. "Dr. Rustam Zakharov." It seemed to be a choice that made most people happy. Even the Supreme Commander and Doug seemed content with Zakharov. Apparently the man had a gift for staying out of conflicts and offending no one.

Waverly went next, pressing his palms against the table, struggling to contain the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He shook his head and bit his lip. It seemed to him to be the largest decision of his life. He wanted to pick someone, the right person, but all that came out was a question. "Uhm, Miss Sally?"

Trion nodded again. "Shu Li Veers." He used her given Chinese name, an unnecessary formality.

The Supreme Commander rolled her eyes and rapped her knuckles on the table. This was a clear victory for her opposition, Sally being a vocal opponent of the Commander's stance. What's more, she had no hope for the next selectee, the shy little girl, Heiko Hayami.

Hayami seemed not to want to leave her chair but she forced herself to stand. She was shaking with nervousness and her voice was so soft not even the people sitting next to her could hear it.

Trion could. His nostrils flared with angry surprise. The Supreme Commander could, and her eyes lit up. In a hard voice Trion repeated the name, and this time he did not nod: "Kazu Yamida."

No one was more mystified by this than Yamida himself. He seemed to have quite a few enemies around the table who were glaring at him openly. Not so Emperial. She looked thrilled. For once, she and the Supreme Commander were in agreement. They both liked Yamida. The Grey Mage looked disgusted and so did Trion. Those people who had been congratulating Hayami now looked at her with disbelief. Hayami could not seem to sink far enough into her seat.

That left only Antipov.

With the addition of Yamida, the balance of power in the group of selectees teetered dangerously. Truelove, Waverly, Sally, and Heiko were all white-pathers, though Sally was strongly grey in her politics. Zakharov was grey in both path and politics. Yamida, on the other hand, was black, as was Antipov, which put them at odds with the grey and white agendas. Suddenly the Supreme Commander had a chance at tipping the scales in her favor, towards stalemate if not victory. She watched Antipov with half-crazed expectation.

Deflated, Antipov was wedged into the corner of his seat, staring at nothing. The fingers of his right hand rubbed against his temples. There was a long pause as everyone at the table waited and stared. Finally Antipov uncurled himself and rose, shaking. He could not look anyone in the eyes, but plenty of angry faces were directed towards him. It was an expectant anger, one waiting for an inevitable outcome, condemning Antipov for a crime he had yet to commit.

It dissolved immediately at Antipov's hoarse whisper.

"Nikolai Vasilivich."

The Supreme Commander gasped and she slumped in her chair. Shock rippled through the table, Dr. M at its focal point. The little scientist's mouth fell open with clear dismay and he let out a sharp cry of upset. The cry cut through Antipov, who collapsed heavily into his chair and buried his head in his hands.

Dr. M began to yell, shouting that no, that was not right -- Pavel, you're supposed to choose me! -- and that this was an imposter at the table, the real Antipov would have chosen him and no one else, he was Antipov's second, clearly this was wrong! It was only the inhumanly strong arm of the man sitting between Third and Dr. M that resolved the matter. At a small nod from Trion, the man rose and forced Dr. M back into his seat and silence with the very real threat of physical violence.

Nikolai was almost as surprised as M. He was a brown-haired man seated next to Wilbur. He stood upon hearing his name. He had bright blue eyes that seemed to possess a sort of innocence not befitting his years, which numbered almost forty. Nikolai began to object, to ask if that was right, but the sight of Antipov's crumbling left him breathless. Without caring for permission, he left his chair and ran over to Antipov's side, speaking to him in Russian in low tones. Apparently, beyond all logical reason, he was Antipov's friend.

Trion was eager to move the conference forward, but Third was too absorbed with the exchange between Antipov and Nikolai to notice. Antipov seemed overcome, shaking and sobbing inaudibly into his hands. Nikolai patted his friend with concern and mumbled reassurances. It seemed to help. Emperial watched them both with trembling lip, her hands tightening with concern, equally as focused as Third on the Russians. She was therefore quite surprised when Trion tapped her lightly on the shoulder. "It is time," Trion said, and Emperial bit her lip and rose to her feet.

Trion and Ken both stood a half-second later, followed by the selectees scattered around the table. Nikolai had to pull Antipov up and support him. In the blink of an eye, all eleven -- four selectees, four selectees of selectees, and Emperial, Ken, and Trion, were gone.

And three seconds later, give or take a bit, they were back and it could not have been a more unsettling event had even the world turned suddenly to ashes, for though eleven went, what returned was not the same. Not the same in the slightest.

Third felt a wave pass over him, into him, through the core of his being and out through his toes. It was like something sonic or electric, but it did not produce the strange buzzing response in the back of Third's head that electronics and other powered systems did.

As much affect as it had on him, its affect on everyone else was even greater. Costumes changed, outlooks changed, and in one instant the Fleet was no more. Just a dim memory in everyone's pasts.

Dr. M was still seething mad. Glaring at Antipov from across the table, the diminutive scientist had Changed, but who he was remained the same, just as it did for everyone else at the table. Their integrity was preserved. It was merely the surface that was different, superficialities and loose threads.

Most obvious were the Fleet uniforms. They were replaced with uniforms similar but altogether different, and smocks and tunics of various color and decoration. There were also changes in non-Fleet uniforms, and civilian clothes. Some were for the better. Some were for the worse, but they suited those who wore them fine.

Not everyone's outfit changed. Beside Third, Tuthau looked the same. Across the table there was no perceptible difference in Thane Magos or Minnarkentanit Trant, nor Teliu. Billy and Lily looked the same. But the majority had Changed, and even the seemingly unchanged were different on some imperceptible level.

There was shocked silence. Then:

"A curse upon you all!"

The Supreme Commander stood, but Third knew somehow she was no longer Supreme Commander. She had retained a uniform style most similar to the Fleet, just a few patches and seams out of place. She stood and stared down the length of the table scornfully.

"A curse upon each and every one of you," she said, her voice cold and seething. "You failed me."

Her gaze fell upon Antipov and then passed to Kazu Yamida. "It is because of you the Whites got away with it."

And Antipov, standing once more and turning, did something he would never have dared to do before. He stood up to the Commander. "Actually, this was our choice, and the decision for this began with me."

The Commander's face twisted. She scowled and winced.

Minnarkentanit Trant stood, resplendent in his black uniform tunic with its toughened synthskin armor shoulder. His voice was multi-layered and low, patient and precise. "Is it to be our understanding that when you had the chance to be anything in the universe, anything at all, Pavel, you chose to be a Russian peasant?"

The words were without malice and Antipov looked at Trant thoughtfully. He inclined his head. "Yes."

Trant smiled at the Commander. "Well, Lim'e, that would seem to be the crux of it. I suggest you accept your defeat gracefully and with honor."

The scowl on the Commander's face disappeared, replaced by an intense frown.

Antipov turned back to her. "It was a battle well-fought, my Lady."

He lifted his hands with their torn fingerless gloves and clapped them together. Slowly at first, then faster, and around the table other hands began to join him. People stood. As a storm follows a single drop of rain, the noise that began with the sound of a single hand clapping became a roar. Trion stood. Emperial stood. The Grey Lord and even Tuthau gian Fourdr. Marlu, Aberdeen, Migel, and Alin-Maya were clapping. Ken had the creature on his lap and remained sitting but he clapped along with the rest. Dr. M and Doug were not clapping, nor were Hiam El'Achren or Lily and Billy, or Cecil. They had suffered too much as a result of the Supreme Commander's actions. And even if they had not, they still blamed her.

Third saw Wilbur was standing and clapping and if anyone had any right not to clap due to suffering, it was him, so Third followed his example and joined. The Supreme Commander flushed with embarrassment at all the noise and bowed her head, sitting. A look passed between her and Trant. The applause died down.

Said Cecil Lavanchy to Emperial, "I'd like to know that this can be confirmed by witnesses."

Zakharov answered in the affirmative. "It was Pavel's idea and we all followed it," he said.

Cecil remained looking at Emperial. "Then tell me what Marlu and Laroux are doing here."

Silence. Marlu looked away, unable to face this accusation, but Miguel met Cecil head-on, a battle of wills in their eyes. Emperial's voice cut through the confrontation.

"It was my decision," she said quietly. One of her hands reached back and touched Marlu on the leg in reassurance. He shied away from it, then reconsidered and met her fingers with his hand. Beside them, Trion Bartholomew also found Alin-Maya's hand.

"And mine," said Antipov, "and the rest of the forum's. Each of us was allowed to retrieve one who has been lost since the beginning of this conflict. My choice was Miguel Laroux. And I would think it would have been yours as well." At Antipov's sternly understanding look, Cecil withdrew.

"Might I suggest as transit summation?" asked Ken.

Trion Bartholomew nodded. "The rule changes are as follows. All technology is to revert back into onset conditions, as are all personnel. There will be no involuntary memory rewriting. The revert is strictly tech. Instead, you have the option of choosing a person who has been lost to the conflict or rewriting your own past. If you do not wish to use either option you may offer it to another. As of now, there is a cease-fire in effect."

It seemed as if Trion had been saving the best for last. No sooner had the final sentence left his lips then the table stood up in cheers, and in this cheer everyone was involved. Even the Supreme Commander could be seen clapping. Even her supporters clapped. Her detractors cheered perhaps hardest of all. Tears of joy erupted indiscriminately among the ranks.

There was to be no restraining of the table from this point, so Trion Bartholomew merely cast a look towards Emperial and then Ken and dryly remarked, "Shall we adjourn?" Inaudible over the din, Emperial and Ken agreed.

The three Praetorians rose from their chairs and Alin-Maya wrapped his arms around Trion and pulled him down into a kiss. Emperial looked shyly at Marlu. Marlu smiled softly back, but his eyes were on the approaching Cecil Lavanchy. For a moment, Marlu seemed to expect some sort of violence and stood ready to receive it, wincing and turning away from a slap that never came. Instead Cecil grabbed Marlu by the shoulders, shook him, and said, "Don't you ever do that again!" This absolution seemed to be more than Marlu could take. He bawled and hugged Cecil tightly. Somewhere in the middle of this, Ken disappeared unnoticed.

Third's eyes followed Emperial as she left Marlu and Cecil alone to reconnect. She said something to Miguel. It did not erase the frown on Miguel's face, but it did soften some of his internal anger. He nodded and Emperial smiled.

Emperial crossed over to the near side of the table where the grey man waited. With a mere flick of her eyes she commanded him to bend his head so her lips could reach his ear. She whispered to him. He whispered to her. They shared a laugh.

Third wondered suddenly where Wilbur had gone. He looked across the table and was privy to the spectacle of Dr. Rambaldi enthusiastically embracing a pink-haired girl in such a way that it was not wholly appropriate for children to observe. Even the adults in the area seemed embarrassed. (Third found it strange. Why would anyone would choose to wrap themselves together quite like that?) Wilbur's chair was empty. Third tried to find his friend, going so far as to look down the other side of the table, but with no luck.

"I meet my nephew at last."

A cold, hard voice sent shivers down Third's back. He knew immediately who it was. He looked anyway.

The Supreme Commander, dressed plainly in navy blue and black and wearing one black glove, glared down at Third, ignoring the barking daemon at her feet. She was not alone. At her side stood Minnarkentanit Trant, a stony smiling sentinel. The intricacy of the markings on his grey skin and piercings overpowered the Commander's bland appearance in Third's mind. His yellow eyes were as brilliant and unforgiving as a cat's.

The Commander appraised Third coldly. Constant went from barking to low, dangerous growls. Third made no move to stop his daemon. He was himself frozen, not from fear, but from something far deeper and disturbing. Respect.

Third locked eyes with the Commander and held her gaze unblinking. Her brown eyes were wholly underwhelming, not a shred of terror to be found in them. They were wholly human and mundane. That these eyes could belong to someone as brilliant and terrifying as the Supreme Commander unsettled Third.

"I think your name shall be 'Hhalak'" she said at last, pronouncing the word with the unfamiliar guttural sound native to Hebrew and dialects of Arabic.

Beside her, Trant remarked with plain amusement, "It that really a Rhean word?" The Commander smiled thinly. Trant continued, "I was under the impression names usually ended with the 'ai' vowel."

The Commander looked down at Constant. The daemon ceased in her movement. "And for the little one, 'Tchriai.' Does that suit you?" she asked, turning to Trant. His smile was as beatific as ever and his only reply. The Commander nodded concludingly. Raising her ungloved hand she pressed together her thumb and forefinger until the nail bit into her thumb and drew blood. "If your dog moves I shall kick it," she said, and reached towards Third.

Third closed his eyes at her icy touch, far colder than the frozen surroundings. The Commander traced her thumb down the bridge of his nose and then across each of his cheeks. She stepped back to survey her handiwork. "I name thee Third Hhalak Atreides-Piett. And thee," she stooped and brushed a bristling Constant across the snout, "Constant Tchriai Atreides-Piett. May these names serve you well." The last line could have been sardonic.

"Hostiles seven o'clock," said Trant in a dark voice. Despite the dire warning, a degree of humor remained.

"Oh, why not," replied the Commander, and this time she was unmistakably sardonic.

Wilbur, Emperial, and the Grey Mage approached. Third was immensely relieved to see them, Wilbur most particularly.

"EmileAmai!" said the Grey Mage. As he spoke his features seemed to lose much of their grey pallor, shifting into more vibrant and natural skin tones. His eyes turned a bright shade of blue. He clapped his gloved hands together soundlessly. "Brava, brava." Perhaps it was merely the British accent, but he seemed to be mocking the Supreme Commander slightly.

"All's well that ends well," said Emperial, and looked down to Third with a broad smile. "I've been so looking forward to meeting you, Third!" She strode past the Commander and Trant and crouched down in front of Third on the icy ground, reaching an arm around him in embrace. Her other arm she wrapped around Constant. Crouching, she was perfectly on level with Third. "You have no idea how much I've wanted this to happen."

Licking her finger, Emperial wiped off the blood from Third's face as if she had known him forever. Despite the declaration of unfamiliarity she felt like Third's Emperial. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her in a hug.

"I should tell you his name is Hhalak," said the Commander, frowning in disapproval.

"Hhalak?" echoed the Grey Mage. "Who said you could name the child?"

"I did," the Commander said assertively. "And the dog is Tchriai." She dared anyone to challenge her. No one did.

Third released Emperial from the tight hug and she turned towards Wilbur. "Wilbur, this is Third, would you mind very much looking after him when he arrives with Doug and Shizue and gives the Code Omega?"

Wilbur smiled knowingly. "Of course not."

"And of course, we mustn't forget Constant," added Emperial, smiling at the daemon.

Third looked between Wilbur and Emperial. Matching cryptic smiles. He started to object, but realized the likely futility of such a protest and stopped. Better to accept the situation for what it was. He hugged at Emperial again, this time with happy tears squeezing from his eyes.

Emperial hummed comfortingly as she hugged Third back. "I've missed you so very, very much," she whispered into his tangled hair. It was her, even if they had never met before, it was her all the same.

"How touching," said the Commander drolly.

"Now, now, Lim'e," came Trant's bemused reply. Third did not see the look that passed between him and the Commander: it was an inappropriate as the embrace between Rambaldi and the pink-haired Mia.

"I'm going to go collect Rose and Zev and then we'll head home," said the Grey Mage. "You'll take care of Third and Constant and meet me back at the Sunset House?"

"Yep!" said Emperial. "I figure I ought to inspect the new Neighborhood before we all settle in and make sure the right houses are there and all."

"Take security," warned Trant.

Nodding and pulling away from Third, Emperial said, "Of course. The Falali brothers; I think Atri has business with Serafima Rabik. You'll handle the disassembly of the Fleet?" Trant nodded. Without further discussion, the others broke off. The Supreme Commander cast one final look in Third's direction as she followed Trant away.

Throughout this, Wilbur stood patiently silent, a beatific smile on his face. "Well, Third, it was a sincere pleasure, and if you ever wish to visit, you need only cross the Bridge." He knelt down and held a hand out for Third.

It was a more restrained farewell than Third might have hoped for, but that made it all the more quintessentially Wilbur so Third took the proffered hand and shook it lightly. Wilbur ruffled Third's hair affectionately. "Mellie and I will always be happy to see you." It was a promise as good as gold. Third smiled and nodded.

Wilbur stood, planting his cane on the ground. He seemed to fade from existence so easily it was hard to say when precisely he disappeared. Constant gave a disappointed rumble; though Wilbur was hardly a great playmate, he had been kind to both boy and daemon and he would be missed.

"So then!" Emperial said, a happy chirp. She took Third's hand in hers and stood. She called out, "Brahim! Jalloun!" and two identical men in faded blue and white uniforms with guns slung at their hips and over their shoulders appeared. They looked at Emperial with saturnine obedience. "We're to be inspecting the new residences. Security as you see fit."

Brahim and Jalloun nodded in perfect synchronization. Then one readied the gun over his shoulder, the other the gun at his hip. There was no telling which was which.

Emperial smiled to Third. "Shall we be off?" Third nodded.

And a moment later, they were.

Third and Constant were allowed to run around their home for a grand total of four minutes before Emperial announced, "It's time to go to the concert!" The announcement brought Forgotten and daemon to a dead stop in surprise. Leave? They had only just arrived!

Yet leave they did, Emperial taking Third by the hand as they headed out the front door back onto the street. They immediately ran into Minnarkentanit Trant, who was carrying an instrument case similar to Trion's guitar. He greeted them with a low, "Good evening!"

"Hi, Min'n!" Emperial answered, falling into step beside him with Third in the middle. Min'n smiled at Third, friendly enough, but his tattoos and piercings frightened Third just a bit. Constant immediately put herself between Third and Trant. If Trant was offended it did not show on her face.

"Are you heading for the concert?" he asked.

Emperial nodded. "I figure it'll be a good experience for Third, see a bit of what the old Household was like. You're playing?"

It was Trant's turn to nod. He hefted up his case. "Guitar, Rhean synthe, and anything else they require." He bowed his head deferentially and lowered the case. "I suppose I am the only one that can be counted to go on for as long as people are standing."

Third stared openly at Trant as they walked along the asphalt, studying his markings. A little familiarity went a long way towards settling Third's unease. Noticing the attention, Trant pointed with his free hand to his face and the curling black patterns and stiff lines imprinted there. "These are called mak'e," he explained. His finger moved towards the piercings in his ears. "These are ked'e."

Third nodded, speechless. His awe seemed to please Trant.

"You should tell Third the whole name!" said Emperial.

"I'm sure he could remember it, too," said Trant, winking at Third, "but another time."

Trant looked up the road and Third followed his example. Ahead of them was a bridge. The stone was a soft mauve color, evenly-set cobbles lining the surface. The construction was nothing fancy, but it was well-crafted. As they headed towards the bridge Emperial continued talking to Trant. "Did the cleansing go well?"

Trant's demeanor subtly changed at the mention of business. "We're not finished with it yet. There were some minor complications, on both sides, so we've agreed to an additional week to close things up."

Emperial's reply was shocked, so much so she gave Third an uncomfortable tug on the arm. "You've been in contact with Them?"

"They contacted us," Trant said smoothly. "They required the extra time. I almost think they have a mole in our ranks who let them know we were having similar trouble and would agree to the request."

"Oh, no," said Emperial as they stepped from the asphalt road onto the stones of the bridge. Her brow furrowed with worry.

"Think nothing of it," soothed Trant. "I'll take care of it."

Third lost whatever else was said for suddenly they were at the peak of the bridge and his eyes went wide in shock and awe. The bridge had seemed like a simple enough thing from afar but from here it went off in multiple directions. It was as if they were standing in the middle of a giant wheel and each of the spokes headed to a disparate dimension. Third looked off to one side and saw a snowy blizzard, another revealed a sunny day in the tropics, a third a medieval city of some sort. Then when he looked back to the first exit it had changed and the blizzard was gone, replaced with a broad green field. Exits were shifting and changing every time he moved his eyes.

Only the insistent tug of Emperial's hang kept Third focused, and Constant in turn. "This way!" she instructed, marching straight forward. She offered up some explanation. "This is the Bridge. It can take you anywhere you want, even to Gaia, but in order to use it you have to remember: destination is key. Focus on where you want to go and you're there."

And they were. They stepped off the far side of the bridge into the middle of a large green field where clusters of people gathered, almost but not quite a cohesive crowd. Trant headed off with a small wave towards a platform where several people were setting up equipment. Giant speakers towered on either side of the platform. Even this far away, Third could make out Trion and Alin-Maya connecting various cords.

The vague electronic buzz was not present here. Later Third would wonder why, but he never managed to come up with a suitable answer. Perhaps it was simply some shock or adrenaline overloading his system.

As they headed into the groups of people towards the front of the stage, a man in a black and white uniform ran up to them with a shout. "Emperial!"

Emperial's hand tightened around Third's and he in turn reached out a hand for Constant. "Ed!"

Ed was clearly not very happy. In fact, he looked rather angry, bright blue eyes a piercing glare. He totally ignored Third but took note of Constant just in case the wolfish daemon proved any threat. "We need to talk," he said.

Emperial released Third's hand and offered the instruction, "Stay right here with Constant." She took Autry by the arm and headed off a few feet away so Third could not make out their low whispers over the noise of the crowd.

Staying did not please Constant, who was aching to run around and sniff at all the people and identify them. Sometimes it seemed the little daemon wished she were anything but, a wish Third understood. She was his best friend and loved everything they did together, but her curiousity nagged at her and she was eager to become Third's scout, running off into the distance and reporting back to him what she found. So long as it caused them pain to separate, the instinct was unfulfilled.

Third watched Emperial and Ed a moment, their heads bowed together, then cast his eyes about the crowd. Several strangers were looking his way, but they quickly averted their eyes when Third noticed them. Some of the looks Third got he did not like, stares of freakish curiosity and rude suspicion.

Emperial returned to Third's side. Behind her, Ed was running off in another direction. He looked back at Third and Emperial very briefly, all the anger gone from his eyes, and then was gone into the crowd.

"Glad that's taken care of," Emperial said to Third. She reached down and hefted Third up to hip with an "oof!" Third was much bigger than he had been before. A moment later she put Third back down on the ground and knelt down so he could climb on her back instead. This seemed to work, and from up there Third could see over the sea of heads to the platform.

They were done setting up. Trion, Alin-Maya, and three people Third did not know were standing around various instruments. Trion raised his hand and brought it down on his guitar.

The resulting noise nearly blew Third backwards and caused Constant to jump two feet into the air and bark. Suddenly all heads were turned to the stage and the full crowd was assembled, pressing in around Third and Constant. A cheer rose up. The drums began. The guitars blasted. Trion and one of the unfamiliar men leaned into their microphones. "Well I came upon the child of God, he was walking along the road and I asked him tell me where are you going, this he told me. Said I'm going down to Yasgur's farm, gonna join in a rock'n roll band. Got to get back to the land, set my soul free."

Third had never heard anything like it in his entire life. The roar of the crowd, the sound of the electric guitars, the drums and the vocals. When Trion sang, "Got to get ourselves back to the Garden," the crowd sang along in a giant, overwhelming roar. Hands clapped along to the beat and nearly everyone seemed to know the words. Third didn't, but he picked up the beat and clapped and bounced on Emperial's shoulders while Constant barked as musically as she was able.

The energy was incredible. The music left Third dazed and happy. People spun and danced and sang and clapped. Third was barely conscious of where one song stopped and the next began. The crowd's roar carried them seamlessly from one sound to the next. Time seemed to lose its meaning, there was only the here and now, and Third and Constant were both too caught up in it to care. He even picked up on the choruses from some of the songs, his voice joining the crowd's. "I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are!"

Third had no idea how much time passed. At some point, an exhausted Alin-Maya left the stage and someone else took his place. The drummer left, replaced by Trant. Another drummer came in, Trant moved to guitar. The songs continued on and on and on. Trion sang for most of them until his voice ran out and a new singer took over. Trion left the stage, as did another guitarist, and Antipov was among his replacements.

Eventually, Third's head began to droop and Emperial's shoulders ached at his weight. Constant curled up under a portable chair. The music was still ongoing, but it was time to go to bed. Steady hands helped Third down from Emperial's shoulders and someone carried him with Constant on his chest off the Green. Some strange force compelled Third to close his eyes and without ever realizing it he drifted into what was for him a totally unnatural state: sleep.

He was barely cognizant of hands tucking him into his bed, of Emperial's fingers brushing across his forehead and her lips breathing a kiss on his cheek. He was only aware of the warm, furry form of Constant curled up at his side.

~~~

Emperial smiled from the doorway and shut off the light. She turned to her helper. "I'm so glad you came. Would you like to stay over?" She closed the door so gently it did not make a sound.

Third and Constant swam for several hours. The pool was unchlorinated, as pure and fresh as a mountain spring and several dozen degrees warmer. Emperial sat on a pool chair reading a book, keeping half an eye open for any trouble. She need not have worried. Both Third and Constant were more than capable swimmers thanks to their time spent at Wilbur's and energy wings. Being a somewhat responsible parent, she still worried anyway.

Eventually they left the pool and Emperial scooped up Third in a giant bath towel. When Constant barked in jealousy, she did the same to the daemon. She and Third laughed as Constant wriggled about in the towel, soaking it through.

The rest of the afternoon was spent reading. Pavel Antipov turned up again at dinner to compain about the day's events. He seemed more at ease around Third and this time, when he cooked, he made enough for Constant. He and Emperial kept up a constant banter of gossip about their mutual acquaintances. "It is a real shame," Antipov said, "that the Security people were up all night at the concert and then two hours later had to have their nanites reversed. That is one headache I would not wish on anyone but Caleb Manchester."

Which prompted Emperial's question, "Did Empy say he was ready for nano-removal?"

"Yes, thank Lenin, because I do not think we would have gotten the extension injunction if it were necessary." Then Antipov moved into news about Nikolai Vasilivich's discovery of the "Grey City" via the bridge. Antipov was planning on visiting the city the next day before he headed to his igloo on the Siberian tundra.

Third followed the conversation as much as he was able, committing names and events to memory. Dinner was shrimp pasta (a new and totally unexpected delight), tossed salad, and sauteed squash. Emperial handled the vegetables remarkably well given her cooking history. She burned herself a few times and undercooked just a little, but the end result tasted just fine.

The new house was something to behold. High ceilings, windowed doors looking out onto the back yard, double stoves in the kitchen. No dining room, oddly enough, and very few rooms in general, but every room was spacious and comfortably outfitted. There were three bedrooms upstairs and an office with a pull-out couch, but even with Antipov staying over a second night only two bedrooms were in use.

Over dinner Third managed to get into a conversation with Antipov about the Russian language. The ex-Communist was more than happy to share a few phrases an extoll the virtues of the Cyrillic alphabet. "A more perfect alphabet you will not find," he promised, and Emperial was quick to agree and add that Korean was also an ideal system because the characters were designed to represent the position of the mouth required to make the proper sound, which she had read in a book. Then she had to go get the book to show them, and go over the part where the book proved why the Bible could not be literal because the timeline did not match up to archaeological finds, and recount a story from the book involving a tithe shipment between two ancient city-states. Somehow Antipov managed to wrangle back control of the conversation and the talk resumed to subjects which were not totally dominated by Emperial.

Third thanked Antipov for the meal in Russian and went upstairs to bed. When Emperial came to tuck him in she found him reading. Third was still rested from his sleep the night before and stayed up reading, not even feeling the slightest urge to go into half-sleep for any period of time. (He did not sleep or half-sleep for the next week, after which point he resumed his half-sleeping habit for an hour or two each night.) The morning found them enjoying breakfast before Antipov, again in ironed shirt and wrinkled pants, went off to meet up with Nikolai and pursue the day's adventure.

When Emperial suggested the museum again Third agreed and they headed off to the Bridge for the excursion. Along the way they passed new local residents, all of whom seemed to know Emperial and had to stop and greet her and thank her for the new houses. Emperial's response was always the same: "Don't thank me, thank Pavel Antipov." This drew some rolled eyes and dubious stares and a few promises that might have been sincere to do just that.

The science museum turned out to be a good trip. The exhibits were geared towards student groups and had plenty of interaction. Somehow Emperial managed to get Constant through the door, but it might have had something to do with the Falali brothers, Brahim and Jalloun, who appeared out of seemingly nowhere and stood imposingly behind her at the ticket kiosk. Third glanced one of the brothers again briefly outside in the courtyard during lunch.

Since it was a Monday, there were several student groups, but Emperial, Third, and most especially Constant consciously lagged behind the guided student tours so they could have the exhibits to themselves and avoid any unpleasant stares or hassling of Constant. Third's favorite exhibit was the one that demonstrated how no noise was created in a vacuum; Emperial liked the beach ball balanced in the middle of a stream of air best, possibly because when you redirected the stream of air the ball went flying off crazily into the room, bouncing off walls. It was Constant's favorite, too, the daemon eagerly bounding after the inflatable orb.

Nighttime found Antipov returning once more despite his earlier claim that he would go to Siberia. He simply had to tell Emperial, Third, and even Constant all about the miraculous Grey City.

"And there are trains!" he exclaimed, waving his arms about in the air. "Kolya and I found the station and his father was an engineer so we were able to get one running. Only fifty meters, but there are tracks all around the city! Kolya insists that we survey them first to make sure they are complete, it is very dangerous driving a train through all the fog..."

Emperial listened to Antipov's recounting with the vague attention of someone who has heard the story already. She nodded and sipped idly at her tea. Every so often she would ask a pointed question that would remind Antipov of some detail he had forgot.

Third was quickly growing to like the Russian. Their first meeting had not been very encouraging, but now that the Fleet was gone Antipov seemed a very different person, not nearly so angry and hard. Perhaps he had changed. At the Conference, the members of the former Fleet had been given just that sort of opportunity.

Nighttime fell again and Third spent the whole night reading. In the morning, Antipov was off again, and this time he did not return in the evening. He went off to the Grey City to live there with Belyakov and several others. It was no major upset. Third had plenty of other adventures to begin in the neighborhood with Constant at his side.