The Voice of Reason
Date: 2018-07-29 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; Apocalyptic
Description: A devastated world. A desperate colony.As Earth’s destruction approaches, bridgers Infinity Fowler and Desmond Weaver wrestle with the fact that eight billion people are about to die. While on the road to see Desmond’s mother one last time, they witness chaos like nothing they’ve ever seen.Infinity and Desmond must fight their way back to SafeTrek to fulfill their primary duty—saving the human species. Their next mission: bridge 718 civic leaders to an alternate world. They'll then have thirty-six hours to help the refugees find their place in this new world, after which the bridgers will retu

Bridgers 3: The Voice of Reason

Stan C. Smith

Copyright © 2018 by Stan C. Smith

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

To those who refuse to
give up on the ones they love.

The Voice of Reason

Fighting to survive is human nature. So that’s what we do. End of story.

Infinity Fowler

Contents

1. The Burrow

2. Lexington

3. Water

4. Armando

5. Bio-probe

6. Quandary

7. Conversation

8. Weapons

9. The Herd

10. Abominations

11. Wild Land

12. Shenanigans

13. Reason

14. Venomcrook

15. Restraint

16. Darkness

17. Mongrels

18. Tiers

19. Manifestation

20. Conflict

21. Cipher

22. Tobias

23. Practice

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Author’s Notes

Acknowledgments

About the Author

There’s More To This Story!

Also by Stan C. Smith

1

The Burrow

Passerina Fowler bounded up the stairs and onto the porch of the Burrow, carefully avoiding the third step, which had caved in a few weeks ago.

“What’s up, Passie?” It was Meg Farro. Meg and the Baradad brothers were sitting on the weathered floor of the porch, leaning against the house and passing around a joint.

Passerina shucked her backpack and sat down beside Meg. “What’s up, you guys?”

Marvin Baradad sucked on the joint and then offered it to Passerina. She eyed it for a moment and thought, why the hell not? It wasn’t much more than a roach at this point, so she pinched it carefully and took one quick hit before giving it to Meg. She held her breath, leaned her head back against the Burrow’s wall, and felt the smoke burning her throat.

“Long day?” Marvin asked.

Passerina shrugged and nodded, still holding her breath.

Victor, Marvin’s older brother, took the roach from Meg and drew heavily on it, burning his fingers. He dropped it and ground it into the porch with his thumb. He exhaled and said, “You should just quit. I dropped out at your age and look where I am today.”

He was making a joke, but the amazing smile he flashed threw Passerina off, and her laugh came out as a cough. Damn, he was cute. Victor was the oldest guy living in the Burrow, probably nineteen or twenty, and he was the one who made sure the rent got paid. Each kid had to pay twenty bucks a month, and Victor would threaten to stomp their faces in if they didn’t pay on time. He was one hell of a mean fighter, and most of the kids were afraid of him. But not Passerina. She wasn’t afraid of anyone.

Passerina got to her feet and grabbed her backpack. “Gotta do a shit-load of homework.”

Marvin pulled a fresh joint from his shirt pocket. “I got another if you wanna chill with us instead.”

She glanced at Victor, but his face was expressionless. She shook her head. “Thanks, but too much to do.” She stepped to the screen door and entered the dim light of the Burrow’s big room.

Once upon a time, the big room must have been a family room or living room, when the Burrow was actually a house for a real family. Now it was a gathering place for parties and sparring. A few ratty couches lined the walls, but Victor didn’t allow anyone to sleep in the big room. Each kid had a mattress-sized spot in one of the five bedrooms. At any given time, about twenty kids were staying at the Burrow, most of them losers or runaways. Passerina figured she was both.

She heard several kids in the kitchen, but she went straight to the green bedroom. Although she shared the room with two other girls and three guys, she had a cozy corner that included the doorless closet. The girl who used to have this corner had disappeared one night, and no one had seen her since. Passerina had wanted the corner, but so had three other kids, so Victor had made them fight for it. The first two—both girls—had chickened out at the last minute, so Passerina had only needed to kick one ass to get the corner. She had crushed the kid’s nose and bitten off part of his lip before he’d given up.

She dropped her backpack on her mattress but then noticed that some of her things had been moved. And her blue t-shirt was gone. She’d washed it in the sink yesterday and hung it on a nail to dry. She spun around and scanned the room.

No t-shirt.

She found the shirt in the kitchen, being worn by Eddy Chastain. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten into her stuff.

She stormed up to him and shoved him against the stove. The pan of canned ravioli he’d been heating slid back and splattered the stove’s knobs.

“What the hell, Passie?”

“Give me my shirt, Eddy! I was going to wear it to school tomorrow.” The prick hated being called by his real name. He usually introduced himself as Kevlar.

He half-smiled and shook his head. “Cool it. I didn’t have a clean shirt, and I saw it hanging there.”

She shoved him again. “Take it off!”

His smile turned into a scowl. “Screw you, Passie. You’re wasting your time going to school anyway.”

“Just give her the shirt, man,” said Salvador, one of the six or so other kids standing around in the kitchen.

Eddy’s scowl deepened. “I said I didn’t have a clean shirt. I’ll take it off when I go to—”

Passerina hit him in the face. Eddy stumbled back against the stove, burning his hand on the hot coil. “Aw, shit!” He shook his hand wildly.

“You two—take this into the big room.” It was Victor. He was standing in the kitchen’s doorway.

“I’m not fighting this psycho bitch,” Eddy said. “If she didn’t want anyone wearing her shirt, she shouldn’t have hung it—”

Passerina hit him again, this time splitting his lip. She was going to make sure the bastard never got into her stuff again.

Eddy thrust his arm back, grabbed the pan of ravioli, and hurled the whole thing at her. The pan hit her shoulder and hot goo splattered her face and chest. Before she could react, Eddy was on her. He pushed her against the wall and then landed a punch to her forehead.

She raised her arms to block his fists, but then she heard Eddy hit the floor. She lowered her arms to look. Victor was leaning over Eddy, holding him down by the throat.

“Little man,” Victor said, his voice calm. “That’s not how we fight here.” Victor then grabbed Eddy’s hair and dragged him through the doorway into the big room. “Passie!” Victor called over his shoulder. “Get your ass in here!”

Trembling with fury, Passerina left the kitchen, followed by the other kids.

Victor released Eddy’s hair. “Get up.”

Eddy got to his feet, sucking air through his teeth like a mad dog.

“You two really want to do this?” Victor demanded.

Passerina nodded. “Damn right.”

Eddy just nodded, his eyes wider now.

“House rules, then,” Victor said. He stepped back. “Give them room!”

The ten or so kids who were now gathered around moved back to the edges of the room.

Passerina didn’t wait for Eddy. She lunged at him, wildly throwing punches at first and then trying to scratch his face as he went down. She got her teeth into his shoulder and bit down.

He screamed and cussed, but Passerina was too enraged to understand his words at this point. She locked her fingers onto fistfuls of his hair to keep him from pushing her away. She found his ear with her teeth and bit down, trying to rip it from his head.

His screams got louder, and he stopped pushing with his arms. She felt him move his hands down to his waist, fumbling for his left pocket.

Passerina released his hair and tried to grab his wrist.

“Get your hand out of your pocket!” Victor said, although the shouting kids in the room nearly drowned out his voice.

Eddy’s hand came out. Something cold slid into Passerina’s belly. Eddy’s arm moved, and the cold came again, and then a third time.

Someone grabbed Eddy and yanked him from beneath her, ripping his ear from her teeth.

She heard fists hitting flesh. She got to her knees.

“Oh shit, Passie!” a voice said. It was Meg.

Passerina looked down. Her abdomen was bleeding in three places. Beside her, a sneakered foot came down hard on Eddy’s hand, cracking bones and causing the knife to skitter across the wood floor.

Passerina stood up and pushed past several bystanders to the front door. She crossed the porch and descended the stairs, avoiding the collapsed third step.

Behind her, she heard Eddy cry, “Stop! I’ve had enough!” But still, fists and feet continued pummeling him.

She stood in the dirt and gazed up at the sky. Cotton-ball clouds were drifting overhead. She remembered a lesson in science class on how clouds were formed. They were nothing more than tiny bits of water, clinging to specks of dust and ice.

“Damn, Passie, you don’t look so good.” Victor was now standing beside her, breathing hard, the sweat on his face sparkling like glitter. “County hospital’s seven blocks away. Can you walk, or am I carrying you?”

“I don’t have any money,” she said.

He took her arm and started guiding her to the sidewalk. “What are you, sixteen? They’ll take you in, trust me. If you have an ID, leave it with me. Give them a fake name and address.”

It hurt to walk, but she damn well wasn’t going to be carried. “I don’t have any ID.”

He nodded, still holding her arm. They walked to the corner and crossed Third Avenue.

“Once they patch you up and let you go—if they let you go—you come back to the Burrow, okay? I got plans for you. I’m taking you to the Scrapyard.”

She turned to look at him. This caused her to stumble, so she went back to focusing on the sidewalk.

“It’s my training club,” he said. “Mostly mixed martial arts, but they’ll train you in other styles if you want.”

“I said I don’t have any money.”

“Doesn’t matter. The guys at the Scrapyard, they’ve been where you are. They get it. It’ll change your life. You’ve got wicked aggression—like, crazy wicked—but you don’t have any technique. The trainers at the Scrapyard, they’ll make you into a real fighter.”

They crossed North Third Drive, and then Fourth Avenue. Passerina looked down at her wounds, which were still bleeding heavily. Two t-shirts wrecked in one day. She’d have to steal a few more.

They crossed Fifth Avenue, and then Sixth, and Seventh.

“You can see it from here,” Victor said. “I’ve kind of worn out my welcome there, so it’s probably best if I go back. You gonna be okay?”

Passerina nodded, although she was starting to feel like she might throw up.

“Remember, come back. And then the Scrapyard. Okay?”

She nodded again. He flashed his smile and then headed back toward the Burrow.

Passerina turned and continued putting one foot in front of the other, focusing on three gray, metal words bolted to a stone wall—Maricopa County Hospital.

2

Lexington

13 years later - September 1 - 6:43 AM

The aroma of bacon and eggs drifted in under the bedroom door. The pillowcase smelled fresh, like it had just been washed. Infinity Fowler opened her eyes and stared through lace window curtains at the eastern sky, which was starting to turn orange. She’d been awake for at least an hour, going over old memories. Why did she keep going back to them? Maybe because she knew the end was getting closer every day.

She rolled over and gazed at the back of Desmond’s head, only inches away. His scalp bristled with five days of growth, but the stubble was surprisingly smooth to the touch. He’d had a ponytail when she’d first met him. That had been only a month ago, just before his first bridging excursion. So much had changed since then.

She sat up and gazed at the quilt covering them. A vine made from pieces of green fabric stretched from one end of the quilt to the other. Infinity had never slept in a bed with a quilt on it. Nor had she ever actually slept in a bed with a man in it. She had never trusted any guy enough to let herself become that vulnerable. She had enjoyed sleeping with Desmond, but she doubted she’d have the opportunity again.

She slipped out of the bed and pulled on her t-shirt, panties, and shorts. Barefoot, she opened the door, snuck out, and padded down the hallway. Lenny and Xavier were sleeping on air mattresses in the living room, so she bypassed that room and went straight to the kitchen.

Roslyn Weaver was placing plates and forks on the granite-topped island as discreetly as possible. She glanced up at Infinity and smiled. “You must be a morning person, too.”

Infinity shrugged. “I’ve learned to sleep in brief bursts.” She nodded at the sizzling pans on the stove. “That smells amazing.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything besides the food at SafeTrek’s cafeteria. And with the world going to hell, the quality of that food had taken a turn for the worse.

“Help yourself to coffee,” Roslyn said, pointing to a drip coffeemaker on the counter.

“Maybe just some water?”

Roslyn opened a cabinet, plucked out a glass that resembled the bottom half of an old-fashioned Coke bottle, and handed it to Infinity. “There’s ice in the freezer.”

Infinity went straight to the sink, filled the glass, and took a long drink, washing away her morning mouth. Leaning against the counter, she watched Roslyn push a heap of eggs around in a pan with a plastic spatula. The woman looked to be in her mid to late fifties. She had long hair the same sandy color as Desmond’s but with gray streaks, tied loosely behind her head. But it was her eyes that made it obvious she was Desmond’s mother. Her eyes had that same alert, silently-aware-of-everything look, as well as a glint of a smile, even when there was little or nothing worth smiling about.

“I want to thank you,” Roslyn said without looking over at Infinity. “I understand how important it is—what you and Desmond are doing. With everything that’s going on right now, I didn’t expect he’d be able to come here. And the fact that you came with him. And Lenny and Xavier. Well, that means so much to me.”

Infinity drained the last of the water. “It’s only a seven-hour drive. Any farther and we probably wouldn’t have gotten the OK.”

Flying hadn’t been an option. Some airports had already been destroyed in storms or earthquakes, and most flights were now reserved for transporting well-connected people or for getting selected refugees to the two bridging facilities still functioning in North America.

“Seeing Desmond one last time means more to me than I can express,” Roslyn said.

Infinity filled her glass again. “You should know Desmond has worked his ass off trying to get you a spot in one of the colonies. It’s just… well, it’s not as easy as it sounds. I’m sorry.”

Roslyn glanced at Infinity and smiled with a strength Infinity admired. “I understand.” She pushed the eggs around one more time and then turned the stove off. “Have you been able to say goodbye to your own family?”

“Don’t really have family.”

Roslyn frowned, but then she nodded slowly. “Desmond doesn’t tell me everything, but I can see that you’re more to him than a bridging partner. I want you to know….” She hesitated. “I’m pleased he has someone to be with during this time.”

Infinity let out a soft laugh. “I bet I’m not the kind of girl you expected him to bring home.”

She didn’t smile at this. “If he’s happy, I’m happy. If he cares for you, I care for you.”

Infinity studied the woman’s eyes. Roslyn was sincere. What would it feel like to be loved by a parent in this way?

“He told me your real name is Passerina. I think I like that better than Infinity.”

“He told you that?”

“But I’ll call you Infinity if you prefer,” Roslyn quickly added, seeming to recognize Infinity’s surprise.

Infinity just shrugged.

“Can you tell me something, Infinity? I know it’s prying, but with the world collapsing, I’ll probably never get another chance.”

Infinity shrugged again.

“I understand you and Desmond will be part of one of the last refugee colonies. When that happens, do you imagine the two of you staying together? It would comfort me to know he will have a family.”

Infinity stared at her. “Well, I don’t—”

“Great gods of bacon, please tell me that food is for us!” Lenny stood in the doorway to the kitchen, yawning and stretching, wearing only boxer shorts.

Roslyn raised her brows at Infinity before turning to Lenny. “Well, it’s the least I could do.”

Lenny swung around to face the living room. “Des! Xavier!” his voice boomed. “Get up. Breakfast!”

* * *

8:30 AM

In front of Roslyn’s house, Joaquim and Gideon, the two National Guardsmen assigned as escorts, waited patiently in their idling Humvee. They had spent the night at a nearby hotel. Roslyn had invited them to sleep in her house, but there simply hadn’t been room.

Infinity, Lenny, and Xavier stood awkwardly in the grass beside the silver Grand Cherokee they’d driven to Roslyn’s house. The vehicle was one of several thousand that had been abandoned beside the road near SafeTrek by refugees lucky enough to get a spot in one of the outgoing colonies. As instructed, the colonists had all left their keys with SafeTrek personnel.

Infinity fidgeted. Desmond had been embracing his mother for a full minute. As they pulled back from each other, Infinity studied their faces. The depth of their relationship was fascinating to her, unlike anything she’d ever experienced—at least for as long as she could remember.

The mother and son gazed at each other for a few more seconds without speaking. Infinity couldn’t imagine what words would be appropriate at this moment. When she was fourteen, her last words to her parents had been something like, “I hope you both die in pain.” It hadn’t been her best moment. And as far as she knew now, that could very well be what had happened to them. Or, if they were still alive somewhere, it would definitely happen soon. Probably within weeks—a few months at the most.

Roslyn put her hand on Desmond’s cheek and forced a smile. She moved her hand to the top of his head, caressing the bristle. “You’re still handsome, even without your hair.”

He forced a smile of his own. “You should probably try to stay in the house as much as you can. Do you have enough food?”

She waved a hand at the other houses on the street. “I’m fine. We’ve all been watching out for each other.”

Infinity studied the other houses. Faces gazed back at her through some of the windows.

“What about quilting supplies?” Desmond asked. “Do you want us to run to Joann’s?”

She shook her head. “Joann’s closed a week ago. Can you believe that? But I have more than enough to keep me busy for a year. Which, I suppose, is more than I’ll need.”

They gazed at each other for several more long seconds.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

Again she smiled. She started to say something, but then she just nodded.

He pulled her to him and kissed her forehead. Then he turned and got into the Cherokee’s back seat.

Lenny stepped up and gave the woman a brief hug. Xavier did the same. They got in the front seats, Lenny behind the wheel. Lenny and Xavier each still wore a boot on one foot from their weeks-old bridging injuries, but they could get around fine now, and Lenny had insisted on being the driver for this trip.

Infinity approached Desmond’s mother, unsure what to say. “I’m glad I could meet you, Roslyn.” She stepped closer and spoke softly. “Um, do you happen to have a gun in your house?”

Roslyn shook her head, frowning.

“Well, things are falling apart everywhere. We saw some ugly scenes on the drive here. It might get a lot worse. I recommend you and your neighbors get together and make a plan. Choose the largest house and all of you move yourselves and your supplies there. Those who have guns should bring them. Strength in numbers, you know?”

Roslyn gazed back at her. “Desmond told me you were a survivor—always prepared for the worst.”

Infinity nodded once. “It comes with the job.”

“You two take care of each other.”

Infinity sensed that she should give the woman a hug, but hugging wasn’t really her thing, so she just went to the Cherokee. She pointed to one of the houses on the other side of the street. “That one would be a good choice. The porch is elevated, and the second-floor windows will allow you to spot people approaching. The place is defensible.” Without another word, she signaled to the two escorts in the Humvee and got into the back seat of the Cherokee beside Desmond.

“Damn, Des,” Lenny said. “Make her get in and come with us. Pick her up and put her in the car if you have to.”

Desmond ignored this and said, “Let’s go.”

Infinity had heard him the previous night trying to convince Roslyn to come back to SafeTrek, at least to stay in the guarded refugee encampment outside the facility. She had refused. She wanted to stay in her house until the end, surrounded by her quilts and her memories associated with the place. Infinity didn’t blame her. Who would want to live out their final days surrounded by people who had been selected to survive? Many of them had probably been selected because of their money or positions of power. Definitely not Infinity’s kind of crowd.

Desmond stared at his mother as Lenny drove the Cherokee away from the curb. Roslyn stood on her lawn, one hand covering her mouth, the other raised in a final wave.

Saddest damn thing Infinity had ever seen. Maybe she was lucky she didn’t have that kind of relationship with her own parents.

* * *

8:56 AM

Lexington was better off than many of the other places they’d seen while traveling. Here, most of the houses and businesses were undamaged. Maybe something about this area minimized extreme weather events and earthquakes. But before long the earthquakes would get much worse, even here.

Infinity gazed through the window as they passed a man walking a chubby, white dog. The dog was squatting in the grass taking a piss, and the guy was patiently waiting—as if everything in the world was completely normal. Infinity supposed if she were able to choose a place to live out her last weeks, she would pick a place like this. Nice houses, each of them a different color and shape, instead of rows of identical clone units. Green lawns with mulched flower beds. And guys who walked their dogs like they had all the time in the world. She imagined that the guy would even say hello to her if she were to walk by him on the sidewalk, maybe even say something pleasant about the weather. Infinity knew Desmond hadn’t grown up here in Kentucky, but she was willing to bet the place where he had grown up was just like this.

Why in the hell was he even interested in her?

“You okay, man?” Xavier asked Desmond.

Desmond wiped his eyes for the hundredth time and nodded silently, still staring out the window. He then turned and faced his two buddies in the front seats. “Thanks for coming along, you guys. I wish we could just keep driving east so you could see your families. I’m sorry.”

Xavier’s family was in New York, and Lenny’s was in South Carolina. Even if there had been time to drive that far, Armando Doyle, Infinity’s boss, wouldn’t have allowed it. More accurately, that asshole Reece Eagleton wouldn’t have allowed it. Eagleton, a regional administrator for FEMA, had been appointed by the president of the United States to take charge of SafeTrek’s attempts to bridge refugees to alternate versions of Earth, a last-ditch effort to save at least a few human lives. Eagleton was a hard-ass bureaucrat who seemed to take pleasure in passing down inflexible orders from those who had no idea of what bridging was like.

After several seconds of silence, Lenny said, “My sisters have gathered at Mom and Dad’s house. They’re all going to stay there together until the end. To be honest, bro, I don’t think I could handle going there and looking them in the eye. I just couldn’t. It’s better this way.”

“Same here, Des,” Xavier said. “I admire you coming here to see your mom, but for me it’s easier this way.”

Infinity knew they were both lying. Or maybe they weren’t. It was none of her business, anyway.

They drove out of the city on a six-lane highway, but traffic was almost nonexistent. Weeks ago, the initial waves of panic had resulted in mass chaos, followed by congested roads as people tried to get to their loved ones, or to wherever they intended to spend their final days. But now apparently most people had already arrived at their destinations. Many of the gas stations had been abandoned, which was why Joaquim and Gideon’s Humvee was loaded with full gas canisters.

Lenny suddenly slowed the Cherokee. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

Infinity leaned forward to look. Two horses were standing in the middle of the highway. Next to them were the mangled carcasses of two more horses, obviously killed by a large vehicle.

“Someone let them all loose,” Xavier said. He was staring out to the right. Dozens of horses were moving toward the highway, scattering from a large park-like compound surrounded by a curving white fence.

“It’s Keeneland,” Desmond said. “It’s a race track. Also the biggest auction house for Thoroughbreds. Those are racehorses. Some of them are worth millions.”

Lenny cautiously drove forward, and the two horses moved out of the way. More horses were moving toward the highway ahead, so he skirted around the carcasses and sped away.

* * *

1:05 PM

A storm hit as the Cherokee and Humvee approached the confluence of the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers. It started with a gust of wind that nearly blew the Cherokee off the road. Heavy rain followed, hammering the windshield with massive drops. And then something occurred that Infinity had never seen before—four tornadoes formed in a cluster over the wide expanse of river. Lenny pulled to the shoulder and they watched. The four dark vortexes followed the river for half a mile or so as they moved southeast, swerving around each other and crisscrossing, almost like they were dancing. When they hit land at a bend in the river, they disappeared as quickly as they had formed. As if on cue, the rain and wind stopped as well.

Without saying a word, Lenny pulled back onto the road, followed by the Humvee. The road ran parallel to the river for a mile or so and then abruptly turned west to a long bridge over the Ohio River. Once on the bridge, Infinity gazed out at the barges jumbled up below. Some were overturned. Others were actually on land, hundreds of yards from the water, as if the area had flooded recently. The bridge was littered with debris from the storm, but they were able to cross it easily.

Once over the bridge, they were on a flat point of land that was the southern tip of Illinois. Minutes later, they were on another bridge, this one crossing the Mississippi River into Missouri. They were now only a couple hours from SafeTrek.

But Infinity could see that the far end of the bridge was jammed with vehicles.

Past the edge of the river but still twenty feet above Missouri soil, they came to a stop behind a dozen or so cars and trucks held up by some kind of blockage at the end of the bridge. Most of the drivers had left their vehicles and were gathered in a mass about a hundred yards ahead where the bridge ended.

Infinity’s chest tightened. Even at this distance, something about the body language of the gathered people triggered her readiness alarm. “This doesn’t look good,” she said. “We should turn around before we get boxed in from behind.”

“But this is the shortest way,” Xavier protested. “Surely they’ll have it cleared soon.”

Two torsos appeared next to the Cherokee, both covered in the operational camouflage pattern of the Army National Guard uniform. One of the torsos belonged to Joaquim, who rapped his knuckles on the driver window. Lenny lowered the window.

“You folks sit tight,” Joaquim said. “We’ll go see what’s holding things up.”

“We can just turn around,” Infinity said. “Avoid possible conflict.”

Joaquim shook his head. “It’s probably just a fender bender, ma’am. Maybe they need a hand to move a vehicle. Just sit tight.” He and Gideon turned and walked ahead toward the crowd of people.

Infinity sighed loudly. She had nearly forgotten how overconfident these guys could be. Their firearms were sometimes useful, but there was something to be said for caution and strategy. Maybe they just needed to experience a few bridging excursions. She watched the two guardsmen stomping toward the crowd as if they intended to knock some heads together.

“Goddammit!” she muttered. She threw her door open, got out, and followed the guardsmen. Seconds later, she heard Desmond, Xavier, and Lenny get out to follow her. When she was halfway to the crowd, she noticed several shotgun barrels protruding above the heads of the thirty or so people.

Desmond was now walking beside her. “Don’t you think we should wait in the car?”

She kept her eyes on the scene before her. “I think you three should wait in the car.”

When she got to the crowd, the guardsmen had already pushed their way through to the center. Infinity held back, standing up taller to see over the shoulders of several men and women.

“You’re not coming in!” a man snarled. “I don’t care who you are or where you’re from.”

Infinity moved to the side until she could see the person speaking. He was a large man with a buzz cut and wearing a navy blue t-shirt. More importantly, he was holding an AR-15, pointing it directly at Joaquim’s face.

“You got no business coming to Missouri,” the man said. “None of you do. The bridging center’s got a line a mile long. We live here. If they won’t take me and my family, they sure as hell aren’t taking any of you! Just turn around and go back.”

“Sir, we happen to be from Missouri,” Joaquim said in a controlled voice. “We just passed over this bridge yesterday, and we’re on our way back. You’re blocking a public road.”

The man shoved the AR’s muzzle forward, inches from Joaquim’s face. “Oh yeah? Where exactly in Missouri are you from?”

Joaquim hesitated.

Don’t say it, Infinity thought.

“We’ve been assigned to securing the SafeTrek bridging facility.”

This was followed by silence.

“Dammit!” Infinity said aloud, and she pushed her way through the crowd until she was standing between the two guardsmen. Both of them were at least four inches taller than her, and the man with the AR was another four inches taller than them. And now she saw that six other men were lined up across the road behind him, all of them holding various firearms.

The guy’s eyes narrowed when he saw Infinity. He stared at her bald scalp, and then his eyes moved down to the freshly-stitched wounds on her neck and shoulders.

She raised her right arm so he could see the SafeTrek tattoo on the back of her hand.

His eyes went from narrow to wide. “Bridger!”

“That’s right,” she said. “We’re on our way back to SafeTrek because President Millright has ordered us to bridge another colony out. Direct orders. From President Hayley Millright.”

“I heard Millright was dead,” one of the other armed men said. “Air Force One was knocked out of the sky by a freak storm, like the one that just passed through here.”

Infinity ignored this. She studied the big man before her. He was obviously leading the others. “You know why I keep working as a bridger while the world is falling apart? Because I can. It’s what I do best. It makes me feel like there is this one goddamn thing I can have some control over.” She let this sink in for a moment. “Maybe that feeling is something you can identify with?”

The man’s features softened a little, and he smiled slightly. “You nailed it. That’s precisely how I feel. Which is why I’m controlling this bridge. Because I can.” He then gazed at her without moving.

Well, that didn’t work. Infinity decided to try a different approach.

Before she could speak, Joaquim said, “Sir, we’re coming through whether you like it or—”

“Shut up!” the man roared. “You people sicken me. It’s your technology that’s destroying everything in the first place. And now you just wanna keep using it, over and over. Did you ever think that if you just quit bridging people, the world would stop collapsing?”

The men behind him had raised their guns menacingly. One of them said, “We’re all gonna die because of you.”

“Let’s go, Sarah,” one of the other drivers said, apparently to his wife. The crowd of drivers and passengers started heading back to their vehicles.

Infinity realized it was useless to argue with the armed men. “Alright. We’ll turn around and go back.” She grabbed the elbows of the two guardsmen. “Let’s go.”

“The hell we will,” Joaquim said, reaching for his sidearm.

The bridge trembled. Everyone froze. Then the bridge trembled again. The tremors intensified and didn’t stop.

“Everyone get off the bridge!” Joaquim shouted.

The people who hadn’t reached their cars yet began running back toward the armed men.

“No!” The big man shouted. He fired his AR three times into the air.

But now the crowd was panicked, and they kept coming. One of the men fired a shotgun, and Joaquim staggered back, clutching his face. “Aw, shit! They shot me. I can’t see!”

Desmond grabbed Joaquim and guided him behind an SUV for cover.

Everything went to hell. A driver in one of the foremost cars punched the accelerator, ramming a car out of the way, and barreled toward the armed men. The men opened fire, and the car suddenly turned, hit the guardrail, and rolled over onto its side, blocking the road. The vehicle rocked back and forth as the earthquake rumbled on.

Gideon pulled out his sidearm and raised it to fire at the men, but Infinity grabbed his arm. “There’s too many of them!” she cried. “Just take cover.”

But now the mass of cars had become just as dangerous as the armed men. The panicked drivers were squealing their tires and ramming into each other trying to get turned around.

A bullet shattered a car window near Infinity’s head, helping her pick between a rock and a hard place. “Back to the vehicles!” she shouted. Gideon helped Desmond guide Joaquim, who was still blinded, and they all headed back toward the river. Infinity ran ahead and waved wildly at the drivers, trying to prevent them from running the group over.

Some of the cars nearest the bank were just getting turned around when Infinity and the others made it to the Cherokee. While Desmond and Gideon took Joaquim to the Humvee and loaded him in, Infinity, Lenny, and Xavier got in the Cherokee. Lenny threw it into gear and frantically rammed several other cars getting it turned around. He braked beside the Humvee and Desmond jumped in. Another car sideswiped them as they accelerated toward the river and the Illinois side of the bridge, followed by the Humvee.

Seconds later they were over the water. And then they were halfway across the river.

“Oh no,” Lenny said. “I think we’re screwed.” He was looking in his side mirror.

Infinity turned around to look. “Go! Go faster!”

The green steel trusses behind them were buckling as the center of the bridge collapsed.

3

Water

September 1 - 1:57 PM

Desmond twisted in his seat to watch out the Jeep’s rear window. The bridge’s trusses, thirty feet high and reinforced with cross bracing, were folding inward as a large section of the road collapsed into the river. And since the trusses were all connected, the collapse was expanding at a frightening rate. Several of the fleeing cars dropped out of sight toward the river.

“Faster, Lenny!” Desmond cried. “We’re not going to make it!”

Behind the Jeep was the Humvee, followed by the three remaining civilian vehicles. The most distant of those three vehicles dropped from view. The driver in the next car up panicked, and the car swerved to the side and bounced off the guardrail before being swallowed by the widening collapse.

“Come on, Gideon,” Infinity muttered to the guardsman driving the Humvee. “Move it!”

The Humvee was only twenty yards behind them, but the collapsing road was catching up. The last vehicle behind the Humvee, a red pickup truck, plunged to the river with a large chunk of the road.

“Get out of the way!” Lenny shouted as he overtook the SUV in front of the Jeep and rammed its bumper, throwing Desmond and Infinity against the two seat backs.

Desmond floundered and then looked out the back window again. But now the Humvee was gone. The road was collapsing in chunks only twenty yards back. And then ten.

“God almighty,” Xavier said, looking back. “We’re going down.”

The Cherokee cleared the portion of the bridge supported by steel trusses just as the remaining steel collapsed, taking the section of road it had been supporting with it. But then it all stopped. The bridge beyond the trusses remained standing.

Desmond realized they were over land now, still on the bridge but far past the river’s edge. “Joaquim and Gideon may have gone down on solid ground, not into the river,” he said. “They may be okay.”

“Lenny,” Infinity said, “pull over up there at the end of the bridge.”

Seconds later Lenny stopped where the guardrails gave way to a grassy shoulder. Infinity threw open her door and took off down the embankment. Desmond got out and followed, trying to keep up. He glanced back and saw that Lenny and Xavier were limping along behind.

Most of the area on either side of the bridge was a flat, muddy crop field, but the concrete bridge supports were embedded in a grassy ridge firm enough to run on.

The outer edge of the collapsed portion of the bridge was at least a quarter mile from the Jeep, and Desmond was panting by the time he caught up with Infinity at the Humvee. The vehicle was on its side amongst twisted steel trusses and broken pieces of concrete. Miraculously, the extra gas canisters in the back of the Humvee seemed to be intact.

One of the guardsmen was on the ground next to the vehicle, pulling the other’s arms, trying to extract him from the wreckage through the shattered windshield. “Help me pull him out!” It was Gideon speaking, but Desmond barely recognized his blood-covered face.

“We’ll check on the other drivers,” Xavier said as he and Lenny caught up. The two of them then continued on past the Humvee.

Desmond and Infinity joined Gideon, and together they pulled Joaquim through the windshield and dragged him to the grass beside the rubble. Gideon rolled the guardsman over and pressed his fingers to the man’s throat. Waiting silently, Desmond stared. Joaquim’s face was riddled with shotgun pellet holes, and both his eyes had been hit. His eyeballs hung loosely in their sockets, two wrinkled, empty sacks.

“Is he alive?” Infinity asked, but her even tone indicated she already suspected the worst.

Gideon swore softly and shook his head.

Xavier and Lenny approached, returning more quickly than Desmond had expected. “Only one other car didn’t fall into the river,” Lenny said. “Both passengers are seriously dead. Probably because they didn’t have a Humvee around them to protect—” He stopped talking when he saw everyone staring at Joaquim’s body.

“And the river’s rising,” Xavier said, obviously trying not to look at Joaquim. “Like, really fast. We need to get back up to the Jeep.”

Desmond looked toward the river. It was definitely higher than it had been, and Xavier was right—it was rising up through the trees lining the riverbank at an alarming rate. He was about to turn toward the Jeep when he noticed something else, a large log bumping its way through the standing trees, carried by the current. But it was moving from left to right. Desmond checked the sun—yes, they were standing on the east side of the river. He said, “Um, you guys. Why is the Mississippi River flowing north?”

They all turned and looked.

“That can’t be good,” Xavier said. “We need to go.”

Gideon grabbed Joaquim’s head and lifted the dead guardsman into a sitting position. “Hold him up,” he said to Infinity.

Desmond helped Infinity hoist Joaquim up until Gideon could lift the body onto one shoulder. “Let’s go,” Gideon grunted as he started walking.

They all headed for the Jeep. By the time they were halfway to the beginning of the bridge, Desmond realized the rising river was catching up to them. “Can you go any faster?” he asked Gideon.

Without answering, the guardsman broke into a run, grunting with every stride under the weight of Joaquim’s body.

When they finally reached the embankment, they were already sloshing through half a foot of water. Desmond ran a few yards up the slope and turned around. Gideon was thirty yards behind, heaving audibly with every sloshing step. He tripped abruptly, falling face first into the water with Joaquim’s body.

“Get up there and start the Jeep,” Desmond said to the others.

“You got it, Des,” Lenny said. He and Xavier continued up the slope.

Infinity was in the lead, but she turned around to help Desmond. “Come on,” she said. Desmond followed her down the slope, and they waded into the rising water.

As they approached, Gideon snarled, “I’m not leaving him here!”

“We’re not asking you to,” Infinity replied. “Lift him up and get him over my shoulder.”

“I can carry him,” Gideon said.

“You’re too fatigued!” she cried. “I’ll need the two of you to support him from the sides, but get him onto my shoulder now!”

The water was now a foot deep.

Sloshing in the mud and trying to keep a grip on the 200-pound body, they carried Joaquim together to the embankment and up to the Jeep. Desmond opened the back hatch, and they hoisted the body into the cargo space. Gideon pushed the dead guardsman’s legs into a fetal position and slammed the hatch shut.

Desmond glanced down the embankment in time to see a massive log floating by where they had just carried Joaquim’s body.

Lenny revved the engine, encouraging them to hurry up and get in. Desmond, Infinity, and Gideon crammed into the back seat, and before the doors had even slammed shut, Lenny threw the car into gear and punched the accelerator.

Lenny drove north on the narrow peninsula between the two rivers. They passed by the road to the Ohio River bridge, which they had crossed less than an hour earlier. Desmond could see that this bridge had also collapsed, and several massive barges were jammed up against the south side of the wreckage. Like the Mississippi, the Ohio River was now flowing north. Away from the Gulf of Mexico.

If the bridges to the north were damaged as well, Desmond’s group wouldn’t be able to cross the Mississippi to get back to SafeTrek.

They passed a sign on the side of the road that said, Welcome to Cairo.

They entered the small town, which appeared to have been evacuated already, probably in response to previous flooding. Several inches of mud and debris covered the road. “Good God!” Lenny muttered as he drove around the end of a river barge that had become jammed between a house and an old stone church. The only signs of recent activity were a few sets of tire tracks in the mud, which Desmond assumed were from the few other vehicles that had barely escaped the bridge as it had collapsed into the Mississippi.

A few minutes after leaving Cairo, they came to an interstate highway. “I don’t have much of a signal, but I’m pretty sure this road leads to another bridge over the Mississippi into Missouri,” Xavier said, looking at the GPS app on his phone.

Lenny turned onto the highway, and soon they were approaching the bridge. Desmond’s heart sank as he realized this bridge had also been destroyed. And beyond the levee, the highway leading to the bridge was under water. As Lenny turned the Jeep around, Desmond watched the still-rising water pushing barges, rail freight containers, and what looked like several mobile homes northward.

They continued driving north. Thirty minutes later they came to yet another bridge. This one was intact, possibly because it was a suspension bridge, held high above the river by steel cables connected to massive concrete stanchions.

They began crossing the bridge toward the riverside town of Cape Girardeau, Missouri. But another roadblock was set up at the west end of the bridge. Three pickup trucks were arranged across the west-bound lanes, and four men waved them to a stop. Unlike the last roadblock, there were no other vehicles waiting to pass. Perhaps the men, who were armed with what looked like deer rifles, had been letting cars through.

Lenny stopped the Jeep ten yards from the trucks, and one of the men began walking forward. Gideon opened his door, got out, and pointed his sidearm at the approaching man. He growled, “I don’t care what you have to say or why you’re in our way. I just want to know who’s the leader so I can shoot him first.”

The approaching man paused and frowned, “We don’t want violence. We’re just here because we don’t want any more people—”

Gideon shot the man. The guy screamed and fell to the road, clutching his thigh. Gideon pointed his pistol at the others. “Who do I need to shoot next?”

“Jesus, man, he was trying to tell you we don’t want violence!” one of the other men shouted. The guy’s eyes were wide, but he and the other two kept their rifles pointed at the ground.

Gideon walked over to the fallen man, picked up the dropped rifle, and heaved it over the guardrail. The trucks were positioned hundreds of yards from the river’s edge, so the rifle clattered onto the rocky embankment. “Move your goddamn trucks. Now!”

Without saying a word, two of the men got in their pickups and began moving them. The third man held his hands up, hoisting his rifle into the air to show that he wasn’t a threat. He nodded at the man Gideon had shot. “Rick’s got the keys to his truck. I’m going to help him, okay?”

“Throw your rifle off the bridge,” Gideon said.

The guy hesitated. “Come on, man, this thing cost me twelve-hundred bucks.”

Gideon leveled his gun at him. “You have three seconds.”

The man sighed and tossed his rifle over the side.

Gideon backed toward the Jeep and nodded toward Rick. “Get him off the road or we’ll run him over.” Gideon got in the backseat. His face was still covered with dried blood, and he was scowling like a madman. “Drive,” he said to Lenny.

After staring at Gideon in the rearview mirror for a moment, Lenny pulled the Jeep to the right and drove around Rick and the guy who was dragging him out of the way.

“Nice job,” Infinity muttered to Gideon.

“Wasn’t in the mood for more bullshit,” the guardsman replied.

Desmond swiveled around to look back at the men. A movement to the south caught his eye. For several seconds he stared, unable to believe what he was seeing. In the distance, the river was rising. He could actually see the water swelling, even though it was over a mile away. And the massive surge was moving north, directly toward them. Just as he was about to say something, the Jeep entered a cluster of trees surrounding the road, and he lost sight of the river.

“Lenny, listen carefully,” Desmond said. “I don’t care how fast you have to drive—get us to those hills on the west side of town. This place is going to be under water in about two minutes.”

They exited the cluster of trees, and the river to the south came into view again.

“Oh, crap,” Xavier said. “He’s not kidding, Lenny. Move it!”

Lenny punched the accelerator. Fortunately, Cape Girardeau was mostly abandoned, allowing them to fly through the town at eighty miles per hour.

Desmond couldn’t pry his eyes from the scene behind them. The water was surging through the streets, carrying vehicles, sheds, and smaller debris with it. The Jeep was now at least a mile past the bridge, but Desmond saw the enormous stanchions and suspension cables begin to snap and collapse from the water’s force. And the river was expanding, widening its destructive swath westward.

“Get this damn thing moving!” Infinity cried.

Lenny growled in frustration. “I’ll kill us if I go any faster.” He swerved to the right to dodge a car that was making a U-turn to flee the oncoming deluge.

The water was rising at an astonishing rate, tumbling over itself in gushing torrents, sweeping up anything not fastened down.

“The road arches over an interstate up ahead,” Lenny said. “You think it’s high enough?”

Still looking back, Desmond said, “Better than nothing. Go!” He took a quick glance at the overpass ahead. It seemed too far away for them to make it in time. He turned back to stare at the expanding river. The gushing water seemed unreal, like a scene from a disaster movie. It was relentless, swelling toward the Jeep with unnatural speed.

And then the water overtook them. Perhaps two feet deep, it surged around the speeding Jeep like a boiling tsunami. The vehicle skidded to the side and almost rolled, forcing Lenny to slam on the brakes. This stopped the Jeep’s forward momentum, but the water’s movement continued dragging the vehicle sideways to the north.

“If it takes us into the ditch, we’ll never get back on the road,” Xavier said, gripping the safety handle with both hands and staring out at the gushing water.

Lenny gunned the Jeep and turned it toward the overpass. By angling southward, he was able to overcome the current and move west at the same time. The only way Desmond knew they were still on the road was by watching the signs and vertical marker posts.

Water began pooling on the floorboards, and Desmond silently willed the engine to keep running. Foot by foot, the Jeep moved toward the bridge. Finally, with the engine beginning to sputter, Lenny drove up the slope onto dry pavement. He stopped at the highest point on the overpass. Everyone got out and stood in the middle of the road, staring at the sea of flood water around them.

* * *

4:19 PM

“It’s flowing south again,” Xavier said. “And I think it’s getting shallower.” He was standing at the guardrail. Everyone else was sitting on the road in the shade of the Jeep, where they’d been for the last half an hour.

“The gas tank’s a tad under half full,” Lenny said. “And it looks like we’re about 120 miles from SafeTrek.” He was looking at the screen of his smartphone. He shook his head. “Why in the name of Frodo does everything have to be down to the freaking wire?”

Their supply of extra gas had been in the Humvee, which was now at the bottom of the river somewhere. It was possible they’d find an open gas station before running dry, but it was more likely that they wouldn’t. Of course, they wouldn’t be going anywhere if the flood didn’t recede. Fortunately, Xavier was right—the water was lower now than it had been a few minutes ago.

Desmond noticed that Gideon was staring into the distance. “Gideon, I’m sorry about Joaquim. Have you known him long?”

The guardsman snapped out of his trance. He shook his head. “Met him a few days ago. Organization of labor back at SafeTrek is screwed up. They shuffle us around constantly. Joaquim was a good guy. Had a wife and little girl.” Gideon shook his head. “Most guys I know who have family have already bugged out. But not Joaquim.” He shook his head again.

Xavier approached and sat in the shade of the Jeep beside Lenny. He looked at Gideon and said, “You mind if I ask you something? Did they promise you a spot in one of the colonies?”

Gideon frowned. “No promises were made, but I know some of the guys are counting on that. As for me, sure, I’d jump at the chance for a spot. But either way, I wanna do something that might make a difference.”

“So you think this whole effort to save a few thousand people is worthwhile?”

Gideon looked toward the flooded town of Cape Girardeau for a moment. “Is it true that everyone left behind is going to die?”

“That’s seems to be the consensus,” Xavier replied.

“Then it’s probably worthwhile. Now, it’s my turn to ask you a question. You’re all bridgers, right?”

Desmond spoke up. “Infinity’s the real bridger. I’ve been on two excursions. Lenny and Xavier, only one.”

Gideon shrugged. “That’s more than most people. So how do you feel about this whole effort? Is what you’re doing really okay? I’m not saying we shouldn’t try to save as many people as we can—survival is in our nature. But is this the right way?”

“How do you mean?” Xavier asked.

“I know what he’s getting at,” Infinity said. “He’s asking if it’s ethical to bridge humans to other worlds—to colonize them.”

“Yeah,” Gideon said. “That’s it. You bridgers are sending colonies of humans to places without humans. And to places where humans have turned out to be different from all of us. Isn’t that kind of like… contaminating all these other worlds with a species that has a piss-poor record of doing things right? We wipe out ecosystems and wildlife. We fight with each other. Hell, we even fill the air waves with crap like reality TV.”

Lenny let out a brief laugh. “And there it is, kids. The unvarnished truth.”

“Here’s how I look at it,” Xavier said after a moment of contemplation. “As preposterous as it seems, the reality is that infinite universes really does mean infinite. Even if we manage to successfully bridge a thousand colonies, those thousand worlds are only a drop in the bucket. There are still an infinite number of worlds that don’t get contaminated by humans.”

Gideon grunted. “Hell, there are eight billion people on this world. By your logic, it shouldn’t matter that Joaquim was killed today.”

Xavier looked down at his crossed legs. “I didn’t really mean to say—”

“I know.” Gideon waved a hand dismissively. “I ain’t mad at you, brother. Just making a point. When you bridge a colony, it might matter to whoever or whatever lives on that world. What I’m asking is, how do you bridgers feel about that?”

They were all silent for a moment. Was Gideon right?

Infinity said, “The way I see it, there’s no right or wrong about it. Like you said, Gideon, fighting to survive is human nature. So that’s what we do. End of story.”

Gideon gazed at her for a moment and then nodded.

Desmond got up and stepped to the guardrail. The water below the bridge was nearly gone now. It had left behind all kinds of debris and strangely-beautiful patterns of mud. An object by the edge of the road below drew his attention. He couldn’t be sure, but it appeared to be the mud-caked body of a German Shepherd.

* * *

6:41 PM

Desmond stared at the thousands of perfectly good vehicles that had been abandoned beside the last stretch of County Road UU leading to the SafeTrek facility. Hundreds of people were walking the road toward SafeTrek, some of them wearing backpacks or pulling various carts loaded with supplies. Others had nothing but the clothes they were wearing. These weren’t people selected for official spots in the colonies—the chosen refugees were always brought directly to the gates in buses. These people were hopefuls, leaving everything behind for the slim chance of being allowed to join a colony.

Over three hours behind schedule, and with the gas gauge needle in the red, the Jeep approached SafeTrek’s gates. Countless people were gathered outside the fence, most of them camping in tents. These hopefuls weren’t blocking the road, but hundreds of them swarmed close, making desperate pleas to be considered for a colony.

Lenny lowered the driver-side window. “Sorry, you guys, we don’t have the power to help you. Good luck. Good luck to you. And to you, too, man.” He continued apologizing until the Jeep was at the gate.

No fewer than a hundred National Guardsmen were standing near the gate. Since the gathered hopefuls were being peaceful, the guardsmen apparently had little to do at the moment, and they gathered around the Jeep and started asking questions about the condition of the world beyond SafeTrek’s gates. But then one of them saw Joaquim’s body in the back and quickly instructed another to open the gate.

Once they had passed through, Gideon got out of the Jeep and helped several other men unload the body. Gideon then came back to the Jeep and leaned in Lenny’s window. He said, “Good luck to you all. We’re losing guardsmen every day as guys take off to spend their last days elsewhere. For now, I’m planning to stick it out here. If you need my help, you know where to find me.

They all thanked him, and Lenny started driving up the winding road toward the facility.

Infinity sighed. “If we actually do get a chance to bridge one-way with a colony, I vote we take that guy with us.”

As they made their way up the half-mile road, Desmond gazed at the mangled trees that had been blown over in the recent storm. Scattered amidst this devastation were the tents, RVs, and bunkhouse trailers that housed people who had actually been chosen for colonies. Supposedly, these were the lucky ones. But based on Desmond’s bridging experiences so far, lucky wasn’t the word he would choose.

Hundreds of refugees were gathered beside the parking lot in front of the blocky, concrete SafeTrek building. Andrea Van Loon and Gavin Pushing stood before them on a raised platform, addressing the crowd with a PA system. Andrea and Gavin were the official representatives of colony ST5, which was about to be the fifth colony of 718 refugees to be bridged out from the SafeTrek bridging facility.

Desmond glanced at the clock on the Jeep’s dash—almost 7 PM. This colony’s bio-probe was returning in four hours, at 11 PM. If the test animals returned alive, these people would begin bridging to their destination world at midnight. And since Desmond and Infinity were the only experienced bridgers currently available at SafeTrek, it was their job to assist the colony.

It was a good thing Desmond had gotten a decent night’s sleep at his mom’s house.

4

Armando

September 1 - 8:27 PM

Sitting cross-legged on the floor of her bunk room, Infinity focused on a bottle of protein water she had placed in front of her. She allowed her eyelids to relax but not close completely. She pursed her lips, inhaled through her nostrils, and formed a mental image of the air moving up her nose, through her forehead, over the crown of her skull, down her spine, and into her abdomen, where it gently swirled until it vanished.

She exhaled slowly, trying to clear all anger and fear from her consciousness, an important prerequisite to achieving the desired effects of the meditative state known as Mokuso. She took another deep breath, repeating the visualization of air entering and soothing her body.

But it wasn’t working. Disturbing visions kept invading her mind: rampaging flood waters, Joaquim’s dead face and shredded eyes, Roslyn’s last wave to her son. When she pushed these visions away, others from recent bridging excursions took their place: enraged human-like orcs four times her size tearing the limbs from terrified refugees, intelligent bird men who delighted in hunting and torturing their victims, the faces of Razor and Hornet, the two bridging partners she had lost in recent excursions.

Infinity sighed. She gazed at the variety of easily-digestible foods on a tray on the floor beside her—a half-empty tube of protein paste, a bag of raw almonds, and a bowl of lightly-cooked, lean ground beef. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast at Roslyn’s house in Kentucky, but she wasn’t particularly hungry. She glanced at the clock. 8:30 PM. The bio-probe would return in two and a half hours. If the test animals were alive, she and Desmond would bridge out with the first eighteen members of Colony ST5 at midnight. Not much time to recover from the last disastrous excursion.

She picked up the tube of protein paste, the only item she’d managed to start on, and squeezed a lump into her mouth. She sat chewing the lump, even though it didn’t really need to be chewed.

Someone rapped lightly on her door.

She spoke around the mouthful of paste. “It’s unlocked.”

The door popped open and Armando Doyle poked his head in. “You decent?” He saw that she was naked and pulled his head back. “Um, do you mind?”

Infinity sighed and got up from the floor. She pulled on a t-shirt and shorts. “Alright, come on in.”

Armando peeked in again, and then he entered timidly.

“You’ve seen me without clothes a hundred times,” Infinity said.

Armando closed the door behind him. “Yes, but that’s in the bridging chamber. Here in your room it doesn’t seem appropriate.”

Armando was Infinity’s boss, or at least he had been before the government had taken over SafeTrek. Almost five years ago he had recruited her from a dead-end life in the lower ranks of professional fighting with the promise of adventure, meaningful work, and good pay. Infinity had been so grateful at the time that she could have easily been coaxed by Armando into a sexual relationship, even though he was old enough to be her father. But Armando wasn’t that kind of person.

He looked at the protein water and tray of uneaten food on the floor then tapped his watch. “Three and a half hours before bridging out again. Cutting it kind of close with your meal, aren’t you?”

She shrugged without answering. Armando was referring to the fact that the bridging process would strip away any food that hadn’t been broken down and drawn into her bloodstream. With only three and a half hours, she wouldn’t get to keep much of what she was able to get down.

He gazed at her with a fatherly look she had always found annoying. “You okay, kiddo? Your behavior lately is somewhat concerning.”

She glared back at him. “Tough times. And some of us have to actually bridge out with refugees and watch them die.”

He frowned, looking sincerely hurt.

She studied him for a moment. His eyes were red and sunken. His usual bowtie was missing, and his white shirt appeared to be in its third day or so without being removed or washed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That wasn’t fair. All of this is just wearing me down, I think.”

His face relaxed a bit. “Understandable.” He nodded toward the only chair in her room. “Do you mind if I sit?”

Again she shrugged. As he sat down, she gathered the items from the floor and put them on the desk beside her bed. She sat on the bed, grabbed the bowl of ground beef, and shoved a spoonful of it into her mouth.

“You and Desmond cannot be expected to continue at this pace,” Armando said. “Tomorrow I’m going to recruit some new bridgers. There are several strong candidates among the refugees of ST6.”

“Don’t forget the National Guardsmen,” Infinity offered. “The guy who made it back with us today—his name is Gideon—would be a good choice.”

Armando nodded. “Good to know.”

They sat in silence for a while. Infinity was convinced there wouldn’t be many more colonies bridging out. Bizarre storms were becoming more frequent, and earthquakes were occurring at least every few hours. SafeTrek was only 150 miles from the New Madrid fault near the Kentucky border, and at any second there could be a quake strong enough to bring down the facility.

As if Armando were reading her thoughts, he said, “I learned today that the Norwegian bridging center has been destroyed. Not by quakes, ironically enough, but by rioting mobs.”

She stared at him. “In Norway?”

It was his turn to shrug. “As you said, tough times. We are fortunate that SafeTrek is situated far from large populations. Otherwise we’d need a lot more than two thousand guardsmen protecting us.”

“So only three bridging centers are still functioning?”

He nodded grimly.

“How many colonies have been bridged out successfully?”

He rubbed his chin, thinking. “Thirty-three at last count. Although the ultimate success of these colonies is somewhat dubious.”

Armando was understating the situation. Infinity and Desmond had only bridged out one colony. But close to a third of the 718 refugees had been killed during the first thirty-six hours, while Infinity and Desmond had still been there to help them. Infinity would never know if the rest of that colony had survived. That had been Colony ST3. Since then, Colony ST4 had been assisted by the bridgers, Viper and Falcon. Again, 718 colonists had been bridged out. The world should have been viable, but at the end of the thirty-six-hour excursion, Viper and Falcon had bridged back dead. No discernible cause of death. And no one would ever know whether the refugees they’d assisted had suffered the same fate.

“Thirty-three,” Infinity mused aloud. “Something like twenty-three thousand people. If our goal was to save the human species, I think we’ve failed.” It was worse than that, though. Their bridging had been the cause of the earth’s irreversible collapse in the first place. “Talk about one hell of a guilt trip.”

Armando nodded, a deep, knowing sadness in his eyes. “Indeed.”

Infinity gazed at him. “You don’t come to my room often. Why are you really here?”

He shook his head slightly, as if pushing aside grim thoughts. “Yes, of course. Well, I felt compelled to share a bit of discourse with you regarding something important. Important to me, anyway.”

She raised her brows, waiting.

He cleared his throat. “You’ve been in this business with me from the beginning. Five years. You were one of my first bridgers, and now you and Desmond are the only ones left.”

“What about Trencher and Wraith?” These two had assisted with the bridging of Colony ST2 but had come down with a nasty illness soon after returning. As far as Infinity knew, they were still quarantined but alive.

He shook his head. “Still alive, but they haven’t gotten any better. It doesn’t look good.”

If Trencher and Wraith didn’t survive, then it was likely the 718 refugees they’d bridged out would die of the same illness. In fact, Infinity had half-expected to get sick, as she’d had close contact with Trencher and Wraith after they’d returned.

“What I’m trying to say is this: I’ve always thought—no, hoped—that perhaps you’d survive bridging long enough to get tired of the game. Maybe you’d retire. God knows you surely have earned enough with all the excursions you’ve led. I thought maybe you’d settle down somewhere. Get a house, a good man, maybe even have a kid or two. Then I could come visit you. Like a father visiting his daughter. Or a grandfather visiting his grandchildren. That’s what I imagined might happen one day, kiddo.”

She tried staring at him but instead had to focus on her bottle of protein water. Armando had an actual daughter, although he’d told Infinity once that his daughter lived in Utah and wouldn’t have anything to do with him. That had probably been his doing—he could be difficult at times. Infinity decided this wasn’t the time to mention his real daughter.

“That would have been nice,” she said. “But nice isn’t usually what this world offers. Or any other world, for that matter.”

He shook his head thoughtfully. “No, it isn’t. But I wanted you to know. It was important to me—telling you that.”

Damn. The world really was going to hell if Armando Doyle was getting sentimental. “Are you telling me this because you don’t think you’re going to see me again?”

“Perhaps. There’s more than a negligible chance that this building will be destroyed while we’re bridging out colony ST5. If that happens, you and Desmond will be stuck on the world with the colony.”

“From what I saw yesterday and today on the trip to Kentucky, you may be right.” Infinity took a deep breath. Now that Armando had opened this can of worms, she might as well share something that had been on her mind as well. “So I have a request. Will you do your best to grant it?”

“If it’s within my power,” he said.

“If SafeTrek is still functional, and Desmond and I return alive, I want you to retire.”

He frowned. “What? You know what’s at stake here. I can’t—”

“You can!” she said, more forcefully than she’d intended. “You can. You’re in charge of this place, regardless of what Eagleton says. And if there’s going to be an ST6, you can designate yourself as the leader of those colonists. I want you to go with them.”

He was shaking his head. “I picture myself more as the captain going down with his ship.”

But Infinity wasn’t finished. “If you do this, Desmond and I will volunteer to lead Colony ST6. And we won’t dose ourselves with the radioisotope marker. We’ll bridge one-way with you and the other refugees.” She paused to let this sink in. “Maybe the future you imagined doesn’t have to be out of reach.”

He stared at her for what seemed like a full minute. “You’re serious.”

“Yes. And Desmond will be on board—I’m sure of it. He and I both know it’s unlikely we’ll get to join the last outgoing colony. Because there will never be a last colony. SafeTrek will keep sending them out until this building collapses. That could be tomorrow or a month from now. Armando, I’d like to see it all the way through with one colony—to know that I’ve done one damn thing that actually helped. Instead of living my last few days thinking about the fact that I’m at least partially responsible for killing eight billion people.”

He was still staring at her, his eyes slightly wide. “You really are serious.”

“I’d suggest we do it tonight, with Colony ST5, but I know you won’t go without the chance to put things in order. Maybe recruit some new bridgers, get Celia ready to take your place, whatever else.”

Celia was Armando’s assistant, and lately she’d been running things part of the time anyway so Armando could get some sleep.

Armando looked down at his hands with furrowed brows, and at that moment Infinity knew he was seriously considering it. She decided to keep piling it on. “You’re telling me if Desmond and I do end up having kids, you don’t want to be around to see the little rugrats?”

This did it. She could see it in the way he pursed his lips and tried not to smile. He was giving in to the idea. Of course Infinity had no real intention of having kids, especially not on some hostile alternate version of Earth. Besides, she’d been stabbed in the stomach three times—and kicked more times than she could count—so she doubted she could even have them. But everything else she’d said was true.

“There is one other thing,” she said. “If we do bridge one-way with ST6, I want Lenny and Xavier to be included in the colony. And that National Guardsman, Gideon.”

Armando nodded. “None of that sounds especially prohibitive.” For several more seconds he considered the idea. Finally, he sighed loudly and shook his head. “Right now you need to focus on bridging Colony ST5. And returning from the excursion alive. If this facility is still standing and functional, we’ll see what happens next.”

Infinity nodded. “You got it.” He was right, of course. She needed to focus on ST5. But she knew she had planted a seed of hope in his mind. And at the same time, she’d also planted one for herself. In spite of avoiding hope her entire life—because hope usually led to disappointment—she found herself enthralled by the possibilities.

Armando got up and walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the door knob. “Perhaps we can discuss this further when you and Desmond return from bridging ST5.” He turned and leveled his gaze at her. “You are going to return, are you not?”

“I haven’t found a world that can beat me yet.”

He opened the door and stepped out. “That’s the spirit, kiddo.”

5

Bio-probe

September 1 - 10:39 PM

Desmond stared at Infinity, who was sitting across from him in the grass on the training lawn behind the SafeTrek building. “You think he’s seriously considering it?”

She nodded, her features illuminated by the green glow of an immense aurora borealis in the night sky above. “I could see it in his eyes.”

Desmond struggled to digest this news. He had wanted his mom to believe he and Infinity would become part of a refugee colony, but he hadn’t actually thought it would happen. The possibility was exhilarating. And gut-wrenching. “What about Colony ST7, or ST8?”

“You and I can’t do it all. We can’t keep bridging over and over at this pace. It will kill us both. Armando’s going to recruit some new bridgers. Besides, do you really think there’s going to be an ST7 or ST8?” She glanced up at the brightly-lit night sky.

Desmond gazed up at the aurora. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen, even in photos. Green streaks of light shimmered from horizon to horizon, so rich in various hues that they were beyond beautiful—they were downright terrifying. As if affirming his fears, the ground began trembling. The horizon to the east suddenly glowed orange. The orange grew in intensity and then quickly faded, followed seconds later by a low boom that echoed through the surrounding hills and off the backside of the SafeTrek building. Something massive must have exploded.

Infinity was right. The SafeTrek facility had proven itself to be strong, but it wasn’t indestructible. At any time there could be an earthquake strong enough to destroy it. Four of the six other bridging facilities had already failed. The building might not even last long enough to bridge out all of Colony ST5. Not to mention ST6 or beyond.

A thought occurred to him. “What happens if the bridging device is destroyed while we’re still on the excursion helping ST5?”

She shrugged. “No one knows. It’s kind of a bridgers’ myth that you would die when the thirty-six hours is up. But most likely, we simply wouldn’t bridge back.”

A much darker thought occurred to him. “So we don’t really know if these colonies of refugees even continue living after the thirty-six hours. They may all die the moment we bridge back.”

“That has occurred to me,” she said. “But it would mean we’re doing all this for nothing. So shut the hell up.”

He looked at her, but she was staring up at the green sky without expression.

“Fair enough,” he said.

She scooted over between his legs and leaned back against his chest. Still staring up at the sky, she sighed. Desmond hoped it was a sigh of contentment, but something about it suggested sadness.

After several minutes, Desmond glanced at his phone. “The bio-probe will return in ten minutes. I guess we should go inside.”

“Didn’t you just agree to shut the hell up?”

* * *

10:57 PM

The moment they walked into the bridging chamber viewing room, Desmond knew the conversation wasn’t going to be pleasant. Because Reece Eagleton was there. Infinity hated the man. Desmond found him unpleasant but knew he was just doing his job. Armando Doyle was also there, as well as the reps for Colony ST5, Andrea and Gavin. Surely their presence would help keep the peace.

Celia’s voice sounded over the comm system, “Three minutes.”

“We were beginning to wonder if you intended to join us,” Eagleton said to Desmond and Infinity.

Infinity surprised Desmond by ignoring Eagleton and turning to watch through the window of the bridging chamber.

Desmond decided he would take up the slack. “The only reason we’re here is to learn at least a little about what we’re getting into next. We assume you’re going to insist we bridge the colony regardless of the results of the bio-probe.”

“Well, you’re half right,” Eagleton replied. “If the test animals come back dead, with telltale signs of an inhospitable environment, we’ll scrap that world as a possibility. But we’ll still begin bridging out Colony ST5 at midnight.”

This was too much for Infinity. “It’s bad enough you’ve already eliminated the assessment excursions—you intend to bridge 718 refugees without even doing a bio-probe?”

“Bio-probes take thirty-six hours,” Eagleton said. “It’s a luxury we can no longer afford. This will be the last bio-probe we conduct.”

Desmond tried to swallow but found it difficult. Instead, he cleared his throat and started talking. “Mr. Eagleton, I assume you’re aware the Bridging Center Code of Operation was created by the combined intellectual efforts of ethics and human rights experts from fourteen countries. The Code of Operation was signed by the leaders of all fourteen countries, including President Millwright. Section 39, devoted to ethically responsible risk avoidance, states, ‘Due to inherent uncertainties regarding physical, geologic, climatic, and biological parameters, no human excursion will be allowed without adequate measures assuring a reasonably safe and habitable destination—e.g., a bio-probe meeting or exceeding guidelines as detailed in Section 14.”

Eagleton furrowed his brows at Desmond.

“Uh, Desmond has a rather unique, photographic memory,” Doyle offered as explanation. “And he does make a good point.”

“Photographic memory is a myth,” Desmond said, not sure why he was even bothering to explain, considering the bombshell announcement Eagleton had just dropped on them. “I happen to be good at committing certain things to memory.”

“Regardless,” Eagleton said, “the Code of Operation became null and void the moment we learned the human race was going extinct.”

“One minute,” announced Celia.

Desmond turned to Infinity, and she met his gaze. This seemed like madness—bridging a colony without a bio-probe or assessment excursion. If they survived this excursion with colony ST5, the next excursion would be to a completely untested world where they intended to live out the rest of their lives.

The uncertainty and finality of it was terrifying. So they both silently turned to the bridging room and waited.

Suddenly the plexiglass window bulged out briefly. Twelve test animals appeared in the center of the bridging chamber, dropped to the floor, and scattered in panic. They were all alive. The airlock door opened and white-clad techs with various probes rushed in to capture the animals and take measurements.

Desmond scanned the panicked creatures, looking for injuries or other signs of a harsh environment. He noticed nothing unusual. But then his eyes fell upon one of the medium-sized creatures. It was hunkered against the stark white wall, and two of the techs were standing there staring at it through their bio-suit faceplates. The creature was about the size of one of the cats, or perhaps one of the rabbits. But it wasn’t a cat or a rabbit.

Armando Doyle pressed the button to turn on the comm system. “Report please. What is that thing?”

The two techs nearest the creature turned and surveyed the chamber, presumably counting the other animals. Finally, one of them said, “No idea, sir. But we’re missing one of the cats.”

“Then it has to be the missing cat,” Doyle said, impatience in his voice. “It’s impossible for it to be anything else.”

One of the techs reached for the animal and picked it up. The creature struggled and let out a warbling shriek that sounded like no animal Desmond had ever heard. The tech approached the viewing room window, holding the creature at arm’s length. “See for yourself, sir.”

Desmond and the others stepped closer to the plexiglass. The creature was definitely not the missing cat. Its skin color was somewhere between green and aqua blue, and it had a gray belly. It was hairless, of course—the bridging process guaranteed that. But the pattern of pale stripes on its back made Desmond think it must have been naturally hairless. A long, prehensile tail had coiled around the tech’s arm. The creature had six long legs, one pair attached at the back hips and two pairs closer to the shoulders. At the end of each leg was a hand with four long, slender fingers. The animal’s head, about the size of a cat’s, was as round as a tennis ball, and two small, black eyes glanced back and forth, looking warily around the room. It shrieked again, and for an instant Desmond thought the thing was actually trying to talk.

“What in the name of God?” muttered Andrea.

“That’s impossible,” Doyle said. “The only thing that can bridge back is the body tissue of the cat.”

“It’s clearly not a cat,” Desmond said.

“But it has to be,” Doyle insisted. “How….”

Infinity turned from the viewing window. “Am I the only one here who sees the more disturbing question? How can a version of Earth that diverged only 150 years ago have a creature that looks like that thing?”

The room was silent for several long seconds.

The tech on the other side of the window said, “Sir, what would you like me to to do with this thing? It’s trying to chew through my glove.” The creature was growling and grunting as it chewed. Its long tail released the tech’s arm, whipped about in the air for a moment, and then wrapped around the tech’s other arm.

“I have no idea,” Doyle said, shaking his head. “I guess take it to the quarantine lab. Keep it alive, if you can. We’ll figure out what it is later.” As the tech headed for the airlock, Doyle muttered, “It has to be the cat’s body tissue. Nothing else is possible.” He turned to face Infinity and Desmond. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

Gavin cleared his throat. “I certainly don’t understand either, but we’re scheduled to bridge our first group in less than an hour. We chose a world with a divergence of only a 150 years because we have no intention of roughing it in the wilderness. We intend to negotiate with the human occupants of the world so that we can become a useful part of their society. If this creature really is the same one that departed here thirty-six hours ago, as you say it must be, then that convinces me the people of our destination world have some kind of advanced biological technology. An advanced society is exactly what we are looking for. Mr. Eagleton here tells us that we can bridge either to the world you just bio-probed or to another randomly-selected world. Personally, I prefer to stick with this world.”

Andrea said, “I suppose I agree, considering the two choices we’ve been given.” She turned to Doyle. “I have no idea what that creature was, but I suppose Gavin could be correct—it may indicate a technologically-advanced destination world. Not only that, but I’ve felt two tremors in the last hour. I agree that the urgency of our situation precludes doing another bio-probe. And so I also agree with Gavin that our best chances are with the world we’ve already probed.”

Before anyone else could speak up, Eagleton clapped his hands once and said, “That settles it then. Mr. Pushing and Ms. Van Loon, prepare your people. Mr. Doyle, prepare the bridging device.” He then turned to Desmond and Infinity. “Bridgers, shall I assume you’re on board?”

Desmond met Infinity’s gaze. She shook her head slightly, obviously as confused as Desmond and Doyle were about what they’d just seen. She turned to Eagleton. “Do we have a choice?”

“Of course,” Eagleton replied. “You can choose to resign your responsibilities. In which case I’ll have you both escorted off SafeTrek property.”

“Then I guess we’re on board,” Infinity said.

* * *

11:51 PM

The first eighteen members of Colony ST5 filed silently through the airlock into the bridging chamber. They gathered around Desmond and Infinity as if they thought they’d be safer just being close to the two bridgers. Doyle’s assistant, Celia, followed them in, carrying an armload of clear plastic bags for their clothing.

“As you’ve been told,” Celia said to the refugees, “your clothing and hair will be stripped away during the bridging process. If you wish to remove your clothes now, place them in one of these bags.” She held the bags out, but not a single refugee took one.

“We’re not coming back,” a woman said. “So it doesn’t matter what happens to my clothes. I prefer to retain my dignity.”

The other refugees nodded in agreement. Desmond felt a twinge of the angst these people must have been feeling. They were leaving their world forever, without knowing what awaited them. On the other hand, he and Infinity had taken their doses of technetium-99m, the radioisotope tissue marker that would allow the bridging device to pull them back to their own version of Earth after thirty-six hours. This was a one-way trip for the refugees.

Desmond and Infinity glanced at one another, and then they both removed their clothes and placed them into bags. They handed the bags to Celia.

“We’ll do the last-minute instructions, Celia, if you don’t mind,” Infinity said. “Please record the next five minutes and play the audio back to each group following us.”

Celia nodded. “Understood.” She went to the airlock and then turned back to face them. “Good luck to all of you. In the bridging world, we use the term “neverland” to describe a beautiful and hospitable destination world. May your new home be a neverland.” She then stepped through the airlock and closed the hatch.

Desmond scanned the refugees’ faces. The eyes of at least half of them were glazed over and bloodshot. They had obviously drugged themselves up, even though they’d been told specifically not to. This group was clearly a different mix of people than the last colony he and Infinity had bridged. Most of the people here appeared to be within ten years of the upper age limit of sixty. And according to Andrea and Gavin, all 718 members of ST5 were people of influence. Some of them were obviously pushing the upper weight limit, and most were in questionable physical condition. Apparently the selection process was relatively relaxed when it came to the wealthy.

“You have chosen a divergence of only 150 years,” Infinity said. “So it’s likely you’ll get what you want—a world very similar to ours, with a society that is also similar to ours. But keep in mind that the SafeTrek facility is positioned in a fairly remote region of Missouri. It was built here intentionally, to allow research of alternate evolutionary timelines. So even if your new world is almost identical to ours, we’ll likely find ourselves far from the nearest town. We will almost certainly be in a forest like the one surrounding SafeTrek. How many of you have been naked in a Missouri forest at midnight?”

After several seconds of waiting, nobody had raised a hand.

“Well, it can suck,” she said. “Ticks, chiggers, and mosquitoes. And if you start wandering around in the dark, you could fall into a ravine. The plan is simple. We bridge in, we move to the side of the bridge-in site to make room for later groups, and we wait. The next group will arrive an hour later, and the next an hour after that. You will sit together on the ground and wait. If it’s cold, huddle up. Sunrise will be at 6:40 AM. By that time, we’ll have almost 150 people waiting. Once the sun comes up, we can assess our surroundings.”

Gavin spoke up. “Actually, if there is evidence of a farm or town nearby, we’d prefer to approach them immediately. We’ll explain what’s happening and convince them to call the authorities and have buses or whatever type of transportation they have available come and pick us up. We are going on the assumption that people will accept us and provide us with clothing and shelter.”

Infinity frowned and shot a glance at Desmond.

“Gavin,” Desmond interjected before Infinity lost her temper. “There are more things wrong with that assumption than we have time to discuss. Keep in mind we’ll be bridging in at midnight. You can’t—”

“Damn right, you can’t,” Infinity said. “I don’t care who you are or what you think is happening here, but for the first thirty-six hours, until your entire colony has bridged in, and Desmond and I are gone, you’ll follow every goddamn order we give you.”

“Three minutes,” Celia said over the comm system.

All eighteen refugees were staring at Infinity, some of them nodding in compliance, some glaring as if she had no right to speak to them that way. A few stared with drugged grins, unaware of or indifferent to what was happening.

“We’re here to help you survive the first thirty-six hours,” Desmond said. “We’ve only bridged one colony before this, but none of those colonists would have survived without Infinity’s leadership.”

“We heard at least two hundred of those colonists died before you even bridged back,” one of the men said.

Again, Desmond exchanged a glance with Infinity. She just shook her head.

“All 718 would have died without Infinity,” Desmond said. “Look, we hope this world is exactly what you want it to be. But you have to follow our instructions and allow us to do our job.”

Infinity stepped forward. “Have we made ourselves clear?” With her brows raised, she waited several long seconds before continuing. “When we bridge, you’re going to drop several inches to the ground, so hold your legs apart, bend your knees slightly, and put your arms out for balance, like this.” She demonstrated. “Everybody give it a try.”

The refugees followed her lead, spacing themselves out for room.

“One minute,” Celia announced.

Desmond said, “We’ve found that with groups this big, people usually become disoriented and fall to the ground. And it doesn’t help that you’ll feel like you need to throw up for a minute or two after bridging. When the nausea passes, calmly get to your feet and help each other up.”

“Thirty seconds.”

“It’s going to be dark,” Infinity said. “The moon is only half full tonight here, and it will be the same there. If we’re in a forest, or if it’s a cloudy night, it could be pitch black. Don’t panic. Stay quiet and listen for my voice or Desmond’s.”

“Ten seconds.”

Infinity pointed at their feet. “Get your legs apart and be ready to drop. It won’t hurt. You’re going to be fine.”

Desmond held his arms out to facilitate the bridging device’s scan of his body. There was a wet, prickling sensation on his skin, and the bridging chamber disappeared.

6

Quandary

September 2 - 12:01 AM

The bridging chamber’s harsh light was replaced by blackness. Infinity’s feet dropped only a fraction of an inch before finding solid ground. She tried to hold steady, to let her eyes adjust so she could study her surroundings, but the refugees became a floundering, retching pile of arms and legs. She quickly got her nausea under control and disentangled herself from the group. Their stomachs would be relatively empty after bridging, but on occasion she had seen a surprising amount of fluid expelled by tourists.

While backing up, she bumped into a kneeling figure and almost tripped over it. She grabbed the figure by one arm and pulled the person to their feet. “Desmond, is that you?” Her voice was almost drowned out by the confused cries of the refugees.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said. She felt his hands grip both her shoulders. “Can’t see a thing, though.”

Infinity looked up and was able to see several stars. She shifted her head from side to side. The stars disappeared, but a few others came into view—they were below a forest canopy. The moon wasn’t visible, either below the horizon or obscured by clouds.

“Colonists, listen to my voice,” she said.

The group became only slightly quieter.

“Your nausea will pass. As soon as it does, calmly get to your feet.”

A man’s voice rose above the others. “You said this wouldn’t hurt! I think I’ve skinned my knee on a rock.”

Infinity gritted her teeth and took a breath. “We’ll assess your injuries once you’ve quieted down and moved to the side of the bridge-in site. Can all of you hear my voice?”

The group finally became relatively quiet. “That was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced,” a woman complained. “Now I’ve got dirt in places dirt should never be.”

Infinity felt Desmond’s hand on her shoulder. “Infinity, there’s a light. To your right, maybe a hundred yards out.”

Infinity turned and stared. He was right. A faint glow, mostly blocked by trees. “It may be a cabin or farm house,” she said.

“We should go there,” a woman said. “If their lights are on, they may be awake. Surely they’ll take us in.”

“I agree,” said the scraped-knee voice. “I already feel things crawling on my skin.”

“Quiet!” Infinity ordered. She stared at the glowing light. It had an odd purplish hue, and it seemed to flicker or throb, as if things were moving in front of it. Maybe it was the breeze blowing tree limbs back and forth. But she could detect no breeze against her skin.

“No one goes near that light until Desmond and I have checked it out,” she said. “I want all of you on your feet, but don’t move from where you’re standing yet. Desmond, make sure there’s a safe, open area for them to move to.” She listened as he felt his way to a space to the right side of the group, his feet shuffling through sticks and dead leaves.

After a minute or so, his voice penetrated the darkness. “This area is okay. Link your hands together and move toward my voice until you’re sure you’re clear of the bridge-in site.

They began shuffling toward him. As they moved into place, Infinity told them to sit. Several of them said they weren’t comfortable sitting on the ground. That was fine. They could spend the next six hours standing there for all Infinity cared, as long as they didn’t wander off. Infinity had them get into groups of three. She instructed them to know where their two partners were at all times, including when one of them had to step away to take a leak.

Infinity looked again toward the distant light. It still wavered like it was moving, or like something in front of it was moving.

She sensed Desmond stepping up beside her shoulder.

“Should we go ahead and check it out?” he asked.

Her eyes were starting to adjust, and now she could see his outline inches from her face. “Maybe we should,” she replied. “There’s something weird about that light. It’s going to bother me until we at least know what it is.” She spoke to the refugees. “We’ll be back in a few minutes. You are all under strict orders to stay here. Anyone who leaves this spot will answer to me.”

Infinity and Desmond left the group and carefully picked their way through the darkness toward the violet light. She led the way, and he followed behind with a hand on her shoulder to avoid getting separated. She held her arms in front of her face, clearing away spiderwebs and pushing aside vegetation.

Gradually they closed in on the light. But the closer they got, the more Infinity’s apprehension grew. The light definitely wasn’t from a farmhouse window. It was much larger than that. And as they drew closer, the wavering brightness became more pronounced.

At about twenty-five yards, she and Desmond stopped and stared. Infinity remained silent because she could think of nothing coherent to say. The light was coming from within an oval-shaped structure. Or maybe it was the structure’s outer wall that was glowing—it was hard to tell. The thing resembled a huge plastic bubble, maybe fifteen feet tall and sixty feet in diameter. And it was moving, the walls briefly expanding in certain places while contracting in others. This created a throbbing, life-like appearance. But the structure was far too large to be a living creature.

It was so large that several trees had been partially engulfed within it. Due to the bubble’s semi-transparent nature, the trunks of these trees were visible, their shapes distorted by the bubble’s glowing, pulsing surface.

“There’s something moving inside,” Desmond whispered in Infinity’s ear. He pointed.

She squinted at where he was pointing. At first she didn’t see anything but the fluid-looking interior of the bubble. But then she saw something move. The moving object was only slightly less transparent than the material around it, but it was definitely moving, shifting back and forth every few seconds. Not in a symmetrical, pulsating way. Rather, each of the movements was different from the last, as if the object were a living creature occasionally shifting its weight to find a comfortable position.

Infinity’s unease was now off the charts. She had bridged to countless alternate worlds, but she’d never seen anything like this. And what she was seeing made no sense. Until 150 years ago, this world had been identical to her own. What could possibly have happened in such a short time that could explain the existence of something like this? It was certainly possible that the people of this world could have taken technology in different directions, but this thing didn’t appear to be man-made. It was eerily biological.

“I don’t like this,” she whispered. “We have no idea what this is or what it can do.” She turned to Desmond, his face now illuminated by the violet glow. “Your thoughts?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea what to think. I say we leave it alone. Maybe after the sun comes up we’ll be able to learn more.”

Infinity nodded.

They silently pulled back and began making their way toward the bridge-in site. After traversing at least a hundred yards of dark forest, they stopped to listen for the eighteen refugees. Nothing. Reluctantly, Infinity called out to them as quietly as she could.

“We’re over here!” one of the refugees replied, speaking much louder than Infinity had.

She and Desmond had missed the bridge-in site by what sounded like thirty yards. They made their way to the group.

“Is it a farmhouse?” one of the refugees asked. It sounded like Gavin.

“Definitely not a farmhouse,” Desmond said quietly. “To be honest, we have no idea what it is. And until we do, we’ve decided to keep our distance.”

“What do you mean you don’t know what it is?” Gavin asked.

Infinity took a deep breath, but Desmond replied first. “Remember when we asked you to let us do our jobs? This is where you do that.”

“You speak, but why?”

The entire group became silent. The voice had come from the side, beyond the refugees, and it’d had a strange, wavering quality to it. Infinity wasn’t sure if the voice had come from a man or a woman.

“Now you don’t speak,” the voice said. “And why?” Again the voice had a wavering quality, almost like someone was talking into a spinning fan.

“Who are you?” Infinity asked.

“You must know. Yet you do not. And why?” The voice had moved, as if the person were circling the group. Infinity could see the figure’s dark outline, and she caught a whiff of an odd smell coming from the same direction. But not the smell of body odor—more like greasy rags from the floor of a garage, perhaps mixed with garlic.

Desmond spoke up. “We’re new here. We just arrived. So we can’t possibly know who you are. We’d like to be friends. We are peaceful people, and we have no intention of hurting you.”

“I reckon that’s good. But good only for you.” The voice had now circled to the side opposite of where it had started, and the smell had become stronger. “You are speaking. But what is the explanation?”

Fortunately, the refugees were remaining silent. The last thing Infinity wanted now was more confusion in this conversation. She asked the moving figure, “Do you have a light? We’d like to see who you are.”

“You want light. And you speak. I reckon you’re new here, yes. But how new? And from where?”

Infinity heard Desmond sigh, likely as puzzled as she was.

“It would take some time to explain where we came from,” Desmond said. “We’ll explain it all later. For now we just want you to know that we would like to be friends, and that more of us will be here soon. Hundreds of us.”

The dark figure had been crunching sticks and leaves as it paced around them, but now the crunching stopped. “Hundreds of you coming. You will explain later. But I’ve a notion to ask my questions now.”

“Thirty-six hours from now, there will be 720 of us here, in this spot,” Desmond said. “We are peaceful people, and we just want you and your people to allow us to enter your society. We have skills that will be useful to you.”

“You are peaceful. You have skills. Seven hundred and twenty of you. This is a quandary, you see. But a quandary only for you. If I were you, I would return whence you came.”

“This is ridiculous,” exclaimed Gavin. “You’re not making any sense. Perhaps you could take us to someone who could help us. Is there a town nearby? Can you take us to the nearest city?”

The figure began pacing again. “Many of you speak. Perhaps all of you speak. Your quandary thickens. I fear you are in peril.”

Infinity interjected, “You’re saying we’re in danger? Danger from what?”

The figure didn’t reply for several long seconds, during which a movement in the distance caught Infinity’s eye. No, not a movement so much as a brightening of the violet light.

“Many of you speak,” the figure beside them said. “Like a pack of coyotes. Now your quandary becomes peril. Danger, as you have said. But danger only for you. Or perhaps no danger. The mongrels will decide, as they are now coming.”

The violet light grew in intensity. Now Infinity could see the shapes of the refugees sitting on the ground before her. She looked at the stranger, who was gradually becoming visible.

“What is that thing?” a woman said. “It’s beautiful!”

Infinity turned back to the glowing object. The violet bubble was moving toward them. She watched as the thing engulfed several trees, passing around them like a massive amoeba. Second by second, it drew nearer, and soon Infinity could hear dry leaves crunching under its weight. A few of the refugees cursed and got to their feet.

“Everyone get up!” Infinity ordered.

As she was about to order the refugees to run, the thing stopped, its leading edge no more than ten feet away. Three translucent figures were moving inside the bubble, just on the other side of the membrane-like wall. Infinity couldn’t make out their specific shape, but they were definitely alive, their movements animal-like. Machines simply didn’t move like that.

“The mongrels observe. They wonder why you speak. Great peril.”

“Infinity, you need to see this,” Desmond said.

Reluctantly, she turned away from the glowing bubble to face the almost-forgotten stranger who had been speaking to them.

The stranger was now illuminated by the bubble’s shimmering light. “Great peril,” it said again. It had a long tail that was curled around the trunk of a nearby tree. It was crouching on two thin legs. A pair of arms extended from its shoulders, with a second, nearly-identical pair just below the first. It casually lifted one of its lower arms and scratched the top of its rounded head, contemplating the group of humans. The violet light of the glowing bubble made it hard to tell the creature’s color, but Infinity was willing to bet its belly was gray and its back and limbs were somewhere between green and aqua blue. The thing was a larger, human-sized version of the creature that had returned with the bio-probe.

“Your quandary has become a grave predicament,” the creature said. “But only for you.”

7

Conversation

September 2 - 12:44 AM

Desmond stared at the creature, struggling to make sense of its appearance and its presence here. And the fact that it was talking. In English.

The refugees were all on their feet now, and most of them had moved behind Desmond and Infinity for protection.

Infinity spoke to it again. “How can we avoid danger? We don’t want trouble.”

The creature released its grip on the tree beside it, its tail sliding over the bark’s surface like a snake. The creature then moved toward Desmond and Infinity, walking smoothly on its spindly back legs and lower pair of forelimbs, which Desmond now saw were longer than the upper pair of arms. The creature’s hands and fingers were surprisingly long, making up at least a third of each limb.

Out of the corner of Desmond’s eye, he saw Infinity crouch into a fighting stance as the figure came closer. The creature noticed this and paused, appraising her. It raised its upper right hand slightly, revealing that it was holding something. The object, apparently a weapon, was about fifteen inches long with a narrow handle gripped by the creature’s delicate fingers. Desmond looked closer at the object’s larger end, and his gut tightened. He’d been wrong. The thing wasn’t an object—it was a living creature. Pairs of jointed legs protruded from its sides, perhaps eight pairs in total, each leg tipped with a single needle-sharp claw. Inch-long mandibles gnashed the air at the weapon’s distal end. The object—or creature—looked very much like the head and first sixteen legs of a massive centipede. The bottom six inches appeared to be nothing more than a handle. The strange purple glow that now illuminated the area certainly didn’t do anything to make the weapon seem less sinister.

The creature crept forward and stopped only a few feet before them. It reeked of a strange chemical smell, like it had been dipped in tar or oil. It dropped to a sitting position and coiled its tail around its base, stabilizing itself. Its face was now about three feet above the ground. It gazed up at them with round, black eyes. Every few seconds it blinked, first one eye and then the other, as if the two eyes were independent of each other.

Desmond noticed that the centipede object’s legs were now twitching. He pointed to it. “Is that a weapon? If so, you won’t need it. We don’t want any trouble.”

The creature stared at them for several more seconds, still blinking. “You don’t want trouble. But you speak. Such contradiction. Such disparity.” The creature then looked up at the glowing purple bubble looming nearby. “The mongrels become curious. This is good. But perhaps only for you. Perhaps they will only observe. But I reckon with the morning’s light will come trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” Infinity asked.

The creature turned its head slightly to gaze at her. “You come to the bailiwick of another herd, and you know nothing of the vexation you provoke. Curious, indeed. With the morning’s light will come the herd. They’ll come to feed. They’ll discover you in their bailiwick. Trouble will follow, as the herd don’t take kindly to trespassers.”

Desmond shook his head, frustrated. He didn’t understand most of what the creature was saying, although nearly all of it sounded like bad news. He turned to check on the refugees. They were standing to the side, gaping either at the immense purple bubble or at the six-armed creature holding a centipede weapon.

Desmond turned back to the pungent creature. “Can you explain what you are, exactly? We came here expecting to find humans, like us. You are definitely not human.”

It scratched its head with the back of the hand that held the centipede weapon, being careful to avoid contact with the pointed claws and fangs. “You come to find other humans. But other humans will find you, when the herd comes to feed.”

“You’re saying the herd is actually a group of humans?”

“Humans, yes.”

Desmond exchanged a glance with Infinity. She was frowning. “So, what are you then?” she asked the creature.

“My ancestors came with the mongrels. I ain’t indigenous here.”

No shit it wasn’t indigenous, especially on a world with a divergence of only 150 years. Desmond pointed to one of the translucent figures on the other side of the bubble’s outer membrane. “Are those the mongrels?”

“Mongrels, yes. You seem to have confounded them a bit. I reckon that’s why you are still you.”

“How did you and the mongrels get here?” Desmond asked.

The creature paused as if thinking. “I have a suspicion that you—”

Confused cries suddenly filled the air. The twenty refugees of group two had arrived, tumbling over each other with even less grace than the first group.

Infinity went to the new arrivals to assist them, but Desmond turned to the three semitransparent figures within the purple bubble—the mongrels—to see how they would respond. The mongrels had moved together to a spot that was closer to the bridge-in site. In fact, the bubble’s wall in that spot was visibly expanding, bulging outward, presumably allowing the mongrels to observe more easily.

Infinity continued helping the new arrivals get over their nausea and onto their feet.

“Hundreds of you will be coming, you say.”

Startled, Desmond realized the six-armed creature was now standing right beside him, watching the new refugees. The creature’s smell was now overpowering. “Yes. Seven hundred twenty of us.”

“And this is how your herd will arrive?”

Desmond turned to look at the creature. “Yes. We call it bridging.”

“Bridging,” the creature said, pronouncing the word slowly. “My goodness. My goodness gracious.”

In spite of its strange voice, appearance, and smell, Desmond had to remind himself that he was having a conversation with a creature that wasn’t even close to being human. Abruptly, something clicked in his mind. “Are you familiar with bridging? Is that how you got here?”

The creature was still staring at the new arrivals, most of whom were now staring back at it or staring at the glowing purple blob. “It is not. But as you surely must know, the mongrels came hither in this way. And they brung my ancestors with them.”

How was this possible? The revelation was staggering, although Desmond doubted it would help the colony survive. He turned to see whether Infinity had heard the creature’s words, but she was still busy moving the new refugees away from the bridge-in site.

“The mongrels were curious before,” the creature said. “But now your growing herd has seized their utmost attention and consternation.”

Desmond waited for the creature to say more, but it just stared at the frightened refugees. “Is that a good thing?” he asked. “That we’ve captured their attention, I mean.”

The creature hesitated and looked at Desmond. It thrust out the centipede weapon into the purple light cast by the mongrel’s bubble. Desmond involuntarily stepped back. The object, with its twitching, needle-like claws and fangs, was possibly the most frightening thing he’d ever seen.

“You inquired as to its purpose. Is it a weapon, you asked. I reckon it is and it ain’t. But even when it ain’t, it is. The humans of my bailiwick call it a venomcrook. It’s a living critter, thus to be tamed and controlled. Under my will, the venomcrook metes out pain you could scarcely comprehend. Or, if circumstances require, it can administer rapture—a pleasure so mighty that you’ll forever align your allegiances with mine in pursuit of more rapture.” The creature paused as if letting this sink in. “The mongrels made my venomcrook, and its power is akin to theirs. They may enrapture you, or they may bring you to naught. Either way is good, but not for you—only for the mongrels.”

Desmond turned to gaze at the three nearly-invisible figures behind the membrane. Whatever the mongrels were, they’d be nearly impossible to spot within the luminescent fluid if they weren’t constantly shifting their positions. He took a step closer to the bubble’s membrane. In response, the figures shifted again, turning and moving slightly toward him.

Although Desmond couldn’t discern the details of the mongrels’ shapes or structures, he couldn’t help but feel that they were staring back at him.

8

Weapons

September 2 - 1:22 AM

Staring at Desmond, Infinity’s mind reeled from the enormity of what he’d just told her. She should have seen it coming. She should have known immediately that these things hadn’t originated from Earth. But then, if they had bridged here, they would have originated from Earth—just not this version of Earth. But she had never seen anything remotely like these creatures in any of the versions of Earth she had visited. Goddammit. She shook her head and tried to focus.

“They bridged here?” she asked.

Desmond nodded. “Probably some time in the last 150 years.”

“One hundred two years heretofore, I am told,” the stinking, six-armed creature said. “The year of 1927.”

Infinity stared at the creature. It looked like something that should be climbing trees in the jungle and eating fruits, not sitting around talking with words like heretofore. She had too many questions and no idea what to ask first. She turned to scrutinize the thirty-eight colonists, who were huddled together, strangely illuminated by the violet glow of the looming bubble. They had become surprisingly quiet, although many were reflexively touching their now-bald scalps, as most first-time bridgers felt inclined to do. They were solemn, likely beginning to realize that their well-laid plans for an easy transition into an existing civilization were falling apart.

She decided to focus on what she knew best. She turned back to the creature. “You said humans would come here in the morning, and they’d be angry we’re in their territory. We’re happy to leave their territory, but we have to stay here until all the members of our group have arrived. Will we be safe, or do we need to prepare to defend ourselves?”

The creature spread its two lower hands like it was showing they were empty. “You wish to protect your herd from harm. Yes, of course. There will be a dispute. Perhaps a squabble. Perhaps even a fracas. One, or the other, or the other. This will be good, but not for you. Only for the mongrels, for they are ardent watchers of such strife.”

Infinity shook her head. “What the hell does that mean? Will we need to defend ourselves or not?”

The creature spread its lower hands again. “It is likely.”

“I assume our attackers will be well-armed?”

The creature tilted its head to the side. “I do not understand well-armed.”

“Well-armed, as in guns. Firearms. Rifles or pistols. Weapons.”

It hesitated a moment. “You have come to this land ignorant of its history. No such contrivances are to be found here.”

Infinity exchanged a glance with Desmond. He turned to the creature and said, “This world was identical to ours until 150 years ago. There were certainly firearms here then.”

“Yes, I have heard tales of such weapons. Generations before my time. They ain’t to be found here now. Mongrels don’t allow such contrivances. They prefer to watch indigenous critters in their primitive state.”

Infinity shook her head again, still struggling to understand the creature’s responses. But one thing was clear—a group of combative humans was likely to appear in the morning, and they wouldn’t be armed with guns. This scenario was something she could understand and prepare for. She turned to Desmond. “We’ll need to make some weapons, maybe some stabbing tools and spears.” She nodded toward the creature. “If this thing is telling the truth, we need to be prepared.”

“I prefer not to be called a thing,” the creature said.

Infinity stared at it. “So what’s your name?”

It hesitated. “Some humans call me Abel. It’s the name I prefer. Others call me a musk monkey. That one may be derogatory, but I don’t much give a care.”

In spite of the obviously dire circumstances, Infinity almost smiled. Musk monkey? It was a fitting name. “We’ll call you Abel, then,” she said.

“I’m Desmond,” Desmond said. “And this is Infinity.”

“Pleased to meet you, Desmond and Infinity, but the pleasure, I fear, is only for me.”

Infinity was glad the musk monkey didn’t try to shake hands. “I have a question,” she said. “Thirty-eight hours ago, we sent a group of animals here. It’s what we call a bio-probe. To make sure the world is survivable. One of the animals came back in a different form, looking like a smaller version of you. Can you explain that?”

The musk monkey stared at her, its eyes blinking out of sync. Finally, it said, “Oh my goodness. My goodness gracious.”

“What?” Infinity and Desmond both said.

“Did you touch it? Did you touch the smaller musk monkey?”

“No,” Infinity said.

“Did others touch it? Other humans?”

Infinity glanced at Desmond, who was frowning. “Yes,” she said, “but with gloves on. So, no, not directly. It was put into a containment chamber.”

“My goodness gracious,” the creature repeated.

“What’s wrong?” Desmond asked. “Why do you want to know if we touched it?”

The creature finally got up off the ground and stood fully erect, about five feet tall. “Perhaps it don’t matter. The runt musk monkey must have been mongrel shenanigans. But perhaps they intended no ill will. Perhaps.”

Infinity and Desmond exchanged another glance. Even if the smaller creature was a danger to people back home, they wouldn’t be able to warn Armando until they bridged back. “But how was it even possible?” Infinity asked. “The bridging device can only bring back the animal it sent out, or the body tissue of that animal.”

The musk monkey let out a series of hiccuping sounds that sounded very much like forced laughter. “Yes, yes. Mongrel shenanigans. Mongrels take pleasure in fiddling around with the essence of living flora and fauna. They’re capable of such things. This is good, but only for them. You will take no pleasure in it.”

Infinity sighed. “Is there anything about this situation that’s good for us, not just for someone else?”

The musk monkey hiccupped again. “But of course. You’re still you. And you’re still alive. Come the morning’s light and the herd, however, a different story may be told.”

“How many are in the herd?” Infinity asked.

“Fifty will come to feed. Thereabouts.”

“You said they would not have firearms. What kinds of weapons will they have with them?”

“The mongrels don’t fancy human-made contrivances. They’ll have no weapons.”

No weapons? Infinity did some quick math in her head. By sunrise there would be almost 160 refugees here. Even though most of them were soft, unskilled lawyers and civic leaders, the odds would be in their favor. She turned to Desmond. “I’ll show the refugees how to make weapons. If there’s going to be trouble, we’ll be ready for it.” She started to step away.

“The mongrels don’t fancy human-made contrivances,” the musk monkey repeated. “You will not be allowed such weapons.”

She stopped and turned. Then she stepped closer to the musk monkey. The creature raised the clawed object it still held in one of its upper hands as if preparing to defend itself. She pointed at the thing. “That looks like a weapon to me. Why are you allowed to use one?”

The creature made a sound like it was clearing its throat. “The venomcrook is mine. I wield it in service of the mongrels. Assisting the mongrels is my purpose.”

Infinity glared into the musk monkey’s eyes. “My purpose is to protect these humans. Are you saying you’re going to use that venomcrook to stop me from doing that?”

The creature hesitated. So Infinity turned and headed for the refugees. As she walked away, she heard the musk monkey say, “I don’t reckon I’ll have to.”

* * *

3:12 AM

Only seventy-eight refugees had arrived, and Infinity had already grown weary from wrangling them and trying to explain the most relevant information to each new group. After the arrival of the most recent group, she had chosen a dozen seemingly-capable people to take charge of the task for the remaining thirty-two groups. If there was one thing these refugees excelled at, it was talking. Soon they would probably form a committee with several subcommittees to systemize the task. Which was fine with Infinity. Anything to keep them occupied.

“How’s it coming, Arty?” she asked as she approached the three weapons assembly lines she’d organized. Arty Heath was the guy Infinity had put in charge of weapons production. Mainly because he had volunteered. He also appeared to be fit and very sure of himself, despite now being naked.

“Getting close to fifteen of each,” he said. “Of course, once we use up the raw materials in the immediate area, we’ll have to start searching beyond the perimeter of available light.” He nodded toward the giant bubble emanating violet light.

Four refugees were collecting straight saplings or limbs, four were busy breaking them down to about five feet long and stripping away the lateral branches, and four were sharpening the tips against several large rocks Desmond had found. Another team was working on weapons that were the same other than being only twelve inches long, to be wielded in close-quarters. A third group was making much longer, forked spears. These spears had two or three sharpened prongs at the end of an eight-foot shaft, and could be used to stop opponents from closing in for hand-to-hand combat. Of the seventy-eight refugees who had arrived so far, only seven of them had training in martial arts, wrestling, or any other type of fighting. If the people in the so-called herd had any skills at all, then close quarters fighting would need to be a last resort.

Of course, the goal was to avoid fighting altogether. The refugees—especially Gavin—had been reminding Infinity of this every couple of minutes, if not more often. Infinity knew that they needed to convince the locals to let them peacefully occupy this territory just long enough to gather the entire colony. She figured if anyone could do this, it would be this colony of refugees. They could probably talk a bear out of shitting in the woods. Infinity wasn’t opposed to diplomatic solutions, but if a fight was inescapable, she wasn’t going to be caught unprepared.

She turned and gazed at the massive glowing bubble. The entities within it—the mongrels—had moved away from the outer membrane and were apparently now somewhere deep within the fluid interior. She wondered whether their waning interest in the activities outside the bubble was good news or bad.

Desmond had been talking to the musk monkey for at least an hour, but now he stepped away from the creature and approached Infinity. “Okay, here’s what I know, or at least what I think I know. The mongrels bridged here over a hundred years ago. They brought Abel’s ancestors here with them, as slaves, or pets, or something like that.” He paused like he was thinking about this.

“I already know all that,” Infinity said. “Why are they here?”

He frowned slightly. “Well, that’s not clear yet. Abel answers some questions freely, but others—not so much. They’ve obviously been here longer than the standard thirty-six hour excursion, so assuming their bridging technology is the same as ours, they must have bridged without the radioisotope marker. Which means they came here to stay. Which in turn means they are probably refugees, like our colony.”

Infinity considered this. “You think they destroyed the version of Earth they came from in the same way we’ve destroyed ours?”

“Abel was elusive when it came to that question. But why else would they bridge here one way?”

Infinity looked up at the bubble. “I can think of possibilities. Maybe they ran out of room. Maybe they wanted a change of scenery.”

“Well, if they’re refugees, then we have something in common. That could be used to our advantage.”

She continued staring into the glowing bubble. “Maybe.”

“I learned a few other things,” he said. “There are more mongrels. A lot more. According to Abel, they’re all over this planet. They live in these big bubbles, and each bubble oversees the territory around it. Abel calls the territories bailiwicks.”

“Not very sociable, are they? Aside from socializing with those in their own bubble.”

Desmond nodded. “And in case you’re wondering, Abel learned to speak English from the local humans.”

“That explains a lot,” Infinity said.

“Here’s one thing Abel said over and over: the mongrels like to observe the flora and fauna. He even hinted that this was the reason they came here in the first place. They like watching the wildlife, especially in its natural state. Human-made contrivances aren’t allowed.”

She turned to him. “Yeah, I heard that part. What does ‘aren’t allowed’ mean?”

Desmond shook his head. “No idea. It’s just what he kept saying. He also said the herd of humans comes here every morning to feed. He said it like he was talking about birds coming to a feeder. To be honest, this place is starting to creep me out.”

Infinity looked back at the refugees. They were working busily on their tasks, obviously trying to hide their fear. She said, “What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?”

* * *

5:36 AM

The three piles of weapons had grown to over sixty weapons in each stack. And with sunrise about an hour away, it was time to prepare the refugees for the possibility of conflict. Infinity waited for the sapling-gatherers to return, and then she and Desmond called the colonists together. All 118 of them.

Infinity picked up one of the longer, three-pronged spears. She then moved within twenty feet of the glowing bubble to take advantage of its light. “Can all of you see me and hear me?”

Without answering, the colonists quieted themselves and shifted positions until they could see. They formed a semicircle facing the mongrels’ bubble, perhaps unwilling to have their backs to it or approach it more closely. Most of them were wide-eyed and tense, and Infinity felt a brief pang of pity for them. They were neither physically nor emotionally prepared for an attack. She shook the feeling away—shit happens. Now it was her and Desmond’s job to give them at least a fighting chance at survival.

“If you’re lucky,” she said loudly enough for them to hear, “you won’t have to use these weapons. But we’ve been told we’re trespassing on the land of some locals who may not appreciate us being here.”

“We’re here as refugees,” Gavin said. “It makes no sense that a group of people would attack us for simply showing up on their land, especially since it’s not our fault. I’m sure they’ll understand. Besides, if they really intend harm, they’ll bring guns. How are these primitive sticks going to—”

“We don’t have all the answers!” Desmond interrupted.

Good for him.

“But we’re going on the information we have,” he continued. “We’ve been told the locals won’t be armed.”

“Then why do we need these?” Gavin asked, nodding toward the weapons.

Desmond started to answer, but Infinity cut him off. “Let us do our goddamn job! We’re preparing you for the worst. After we’re gone, do whatever you want.” She glared at him until he looked down at the ground.

She held out the three-pronged spear. “If the locals become aggressive, you may have to defend yourselves. Unless you’re confident you’d be effective in a close-quarters fight, your goal is to stay out of reach of any attacker. Your gut reaction will be to run away. But if you do that and get lost alone and naked in these woods, it won’t end well for you. But with these weapons”—she thrust the spear forward—“you should be able to hold an unarmed attacker at bay. But keep the weapon moving.” She jabbed twice more, quickly pulling the spear back each time. “Don’t allow your attacker to grab it.”

“Please pardon my interruption,” said the warbling voice of Abel, the musk monkey. The creature came around from the side of the mongrel bubble, still holding the venomcrook in its upper right hand. Its two lower hands were cupped together, holding a glob of glowing violet gel. “I act in service of the mongrels,” it said. “The mongrels do not fancy human-made contrivances, particularly tools for conflict.” The creature stepped over to the pile of pronged spears and flung the blob of gel, splattering luminescent droplets all over the weapons.

The musk monkey then turned and walked on its now-empty lower hands and hind feet to the outer membrane of the mongrel’s bubble. The creature raised itself up again and thrust its lower hands into the bubble, extracting another glob of the gel. It ambled over to the pile of shorter stabbing spikes and splattered them with the gel.

“What are you doing?” Infinity demanded.

“I act in service of the mongrels,” the creature replied as it went for a third glob of gel.

“Infinity,” Desmond said.

She glanced at him and then followed his gaze to the pile of pronged spears. She blinked. The spears were moving. She stepped closer. No, they weren’t moving. They were melting—sagging and dripping into a dark mass of useless goo. She snapped her head to look at the pile of spikes. They, too, were beginning to melt.

“You come to this land and say you ain’t looking for trouble,” Abel said, carrying the third handful of goo toward the last pile. “Yet you speak, and you make tools for conflict. My goodness gracious, such contradiction.”

Infinity shook away her shock at what she was seeing and rushed at the musk monkey, blocking the creature’s path. At that moment, Gavin appeared beside her, apparently determined to help her stop Abel.

“We’ve spent hours making these!” Gavin shouted. “You have no right to do this.”

Infinity held out her pronged spear, forcing the musk monkey to stop.

Pffitt. The sound came from the direction of the looming violet bubble. Almost instantly something hit the spear in Infinity’s hands—she felt the impact resonate through the wooden shaft. She stared at the spear as it abruptly folded in half, separating in the middle as the pronged end dropped to the ground. The remaining portion began melting, sagging at the end, and she threw the shaft to the ground before the destruction reached her hands.

Gavin stepped forward and got in the musk monkey’s face. “We may be new here, but we have rights! Please back away from—”

The musk monkey flicked its upper right hand, lightly striking Gavin’s shoulder with the venomcrook.

Gavin slapped at his shoulder. “Ow!”

“Prepare yourself for rapture,” Abel said. “You’d be wise to lay yourself upon the ground.”

“What do you mean, rapture?” Gavin asked. But then he moaned and dropped to his knees. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto his face.

Abel sidestepped Gavin’s body, skirted around Infinity, and flung the glob of gel, splattering the last pile of spears.

Gavin moaned again, his face pressed into the dirt and leaves of the forest floor. He rolled to his side and moaned even louder, eyes still rolled back. He began convulsing and twitching as if having a seizure.

Infinity realized the other refugees were backing away, some of them gasping and cursing, but she focused her attention on Abel. As jarring as his attack on Gavin had been, she sensed that the real threat was the glowing bubble and the creatures within it. She took a step toward Abel, contemplating how best to kill the creature with her bare hands while avoiding the venomcrook. But she paused. The musk monkey was watching her warily. Its face was completely alien but somehow managed to look frightened and remorseful.

“Will he die?” she asked, nodding toward Gavin’s shuddering body.

“No,” the creature replied. “I have no hankering for killing. But the mongrels….”

For several long seconds, she faced off with the creature, staring into its eyes as it stared back at her. Was it trying to start a conflict or trying to prevent one?

Abruptly, Gavin’s moaning and shuddering stopped. Seconds later he sat up, tears streaming down his face. At first he seemed confused, but then he spotted the musk monkey staring down at him. “Please do it again,” Gavin said.

Abel took a step back. “The first dose has served its purpose. A second dose would be unwise.”

Gavin’s eyes widened. “Please, do it again!”

Abel took another step back. “I act only in service of the mongrels.”

Gavin got to his feet. “Please! Do it again!” He lunged toward the musk monkey, trying to grab the venomcrook.

The creature launched itself upward and grabbing the lowest branch of a tree, moving faster than Infinity had previously thought it could. It scrabbled about for a moment and ended up with its tail wrapped around a limb, hanging there out of reach, watching Gavin.

“Please!” Gavin begged. Now his voice sounded truly desperate.

Desmond approached Gavin and put a hand on his shoulder. “Get ahold of yourself. It said it would be unwise.”

Gavin wheeled around and shoved Desmond. “What the hell do you know?” Gavin then fixed his eyes on the huge glowing bubble. Ignoring everything else, he headed straight for it.

“Such brazen effrontery is unwise,” Abel said from the tree.

Gavin didn’t stop until he was inches from the membrane. “Hey, are you in there? Please, I need more. I’m begging you!”

Infinity saw movement within the bubble. Something barely visible moved closer to Gavin, flowing gently through the fluid. Infinity stepped up to Gavin, ready to put him in a chokehold if he turned on her. “Move away from it, Gavin.”

Gavin thrust out a hand without warning and pushed against the membrane. “Please! I’ll do anything. Do it again!”

“Gavin, stop!” Infinity took him by the neck and pulled, but he shook her off and pushed his arm through the membrane all the way to his elbow. Infinity saw his hand within the fluid grasping desperately at the ghostly creatures only a few feet beyond his fingers.

And then Gavin froze. “Yes! Thank you, yes!” He pulled his hand out and turned, a stupid, mindless grin on his face. But seconds later his grin faded. “This isn’t it,” he said. He raised his hand and stared at it. “This isn’t right. What is this?”

His arm was changing shape. His fingers shortened until his hand was no more than a stump.

“This isn’t right!” he screamed. “This isn’t right!” He lowered his stump and looked at Infinity. “Something’s happening!”

Infinity stared at him, instinctively keeping her distance.

He opened his mouth to speak again, but no sound came out. And then he crumpled to the ground, his limbs convulsing.

“What the hell?” Desmond said, but to Infinity his voice seemed distant, like it was coming from inside a tunnel.

She took another step back from Gavin. But it wasn’t actually Gavin anymore. His body was changing shape, curling up on itself. Bones cracked as his limbs bent in unnatural ways. As his body morphed, his pale skin became darker. Suddenly he began thrashing, making it hard to tell what was happening to him. Pieces of dirt and leaf debris flipped into the air, thrown by his wildly whipping extremities.

And then the thing was upright, standing on four legs. It blinked its bulging black eyes as it swung its head around. Panicked, it bolted. Everyone remained silent as it crashed through the brush. Its sounds gradually became quieter until it was too distant to hear.

“That was a deer,” Desmond said, barely above a whisper. “A white-tailed deer.”

“Such effrontery was most assuredly unwise,” the musk monkey said. It then released its grip with its tail and dropped gracefully to the ground. “Gavin’s new condition is good. But not for Gavin. You fine folks must be pleased that you are still you.”

9

The Herd

September 2 - 6:45 AM

The first rays of the rising sun pierced the late-summer foliage, illuminating clouds of water vapor hanging in the forest air. Desmond paced around the circular formation of sixty-one men and women who had volunteered to form a defensive perimeter surrounding the other seventy-six refugees and the bridge-in site. A few refugees had created rudimentary clothing by weaving together grasses and weeds, but most were still naked. Nobody in the group was armed because, apparently, the mongrels didn’t allow weapons.

Desmond had no idea how the mongrels had so quickly destroyed the weapons, or how they had transformed Gavin into a deer. Clearly these creatures had entire categories of technology humans hadn’t even dreamed of. Unfortunately, the mongrels’ abilities were not paired with a sense of compassion. Nobody had seen the deer that Gavin had become since it had run off. Desmond was pretty sure Gavin could now be considered dead. The mongrels were dangerous, and their presence here cast significant doubts on the human colony’s prospects for success. But he wasn’t about to share this thought with the refugees.

Desmond approached Arty Heath, who was circling the formation in the opposite direction. Arty had organized the thwarted efforts to build weapons, and he was now proving to be useful in calming and orienting the new refugees arriving hourly, as well as keeping them occupied with useful tasks, such as gathering plant fibers for making clothes. Arty had been a U.S. Army Ranger before going into politics and becoming a New York State Senator. He was a lean, muscled hulk several inches taller than Desmond, which helped him command respect from the other colonists.

Arty stopped beside Desmond. “Considering the circumstances, I think we’re reasonably prepared,” he said with confidence.

Desmond glanced over at Infinity. She was sitting cross-legged at the base of a tree, meditating or somehow sleeping. “According to Abel,” he said, “about fifty will show up here to feed. I have no idea what that really means, but if there are only fifty, and they’re unarmed, they’ll think twice about making trouble.”

Desmond scanned the area. Still no sign of Abel. The creature had disappeared into the forest soon after the incident with Gavin. Somehow, Abel’s absence was disconcerting to Desmond. Abel had served as a kind of liaison—a moderator, or even a buffer—between Desmond and the mongrels. Without Abel’s help, understanding the mongrels’ intentions seemed impossible.

Without a word of explanation, Arty grabbed Desmond’s elbow and led him away from the refugees. When they were out of earshot, he stopped and said, “These folks are scared shitless. Hell, I am too. I have to hope that once all our people are here, we can migrate away from this area, get far away from this fucking alien bubble and whoever is in this local herd. But as far as I can tell, there’s no civilization here. You’ve done this before. If I’m right—if there’s nothing here but wilderness in every direction—do you think we’ll have any chance in hell of surviving? The weather will start turning cold in a few months.” The man was still holding Desmond’s elbow, and he finally let go.

Desmond gazed at him, trying to formulate an honest answer. “I’ve done this before, but each time is different. This place is unlike any of the worlds I’ve seen. If there’s really nothing here but wilderness, it’s going to be tough. But there must be cities. The divergence point was only—”

“Desmond!”

He turned to Infinity. She was now on her feet, approaching him but staring into the forest behind him. He followed her gaze. At first he saw nothing but trees and shafts of morning sunlight, but then there was movement. He blinked and squinted. It was a woman, staring back through the haze. Her tan hair was cropped short, less than an inch long. Desmond would have mistaken her for a man if it weren’t for the fact that she was completely naked. Most of her body was painted with symmetrical orange and brown patterns. Only her face, hands, and feet were their original pale color.

Something moved to the woman’s left. Another woman, naked and painted with alternating stripes, like a tiger’s but green and black. Another movement—a bearded man, painted solid green from chin to feet.

More people—natives of this world—continued to appear, cautiously approaching the refugees. They were naked and painted with various colors and patterns, some with natural greens, oranges, and browns, others with bright reds and blues. The natives were fanning out to the left and right, surrounding the bridge-in site. If this was the herd, then Abel had been right—there were about fifty.

The solid green man paused and picked up a fist-sized rock—clearly a hostile gesture.

“What do you want us to do?” said one of the men in the defensive formation.

“Don’t do anything yet!” Infinity commanded. She was now standing at Desmond’s side.

The painted natives stopped. Every one of them looked toward the looming mongrel bubble, apparently expecting something to happen. Now that the sun was up, the bubble no longer appeared purple. Instead, it simply looked like a shimmering, house-sized soap bubble filled with colorless fluid. Desmond could no longer see the bubble’s occupants.

The green man took several steps closer to the refugees, holding his rock ready to throw. He was frowning. “You speak,” he whispered, barely loud enough for Desmond to hear.

Desmond stepped forward. “Of course we speak. We’ve been told that we are in your territory. We apologize. We would like to—”

The man suddenly hurled his rock at Desmond’s face. Desmond instinctively flinched to the side. The rock flew by his ear and struck something behind him with a solid thunk. Several refugees cried out, and Desmond whipped his head around to look. One of the men in the perimeter formation was sprawled on his back, holding both hands against his bleeding face.

Desmond snapped forward again in time to see Infinity charge forward. She raised a fist like she was going to punch the green man but then ducked and flew into his stomach, taking him to the ground. The man grunted and struggled, but she was already on top of him, one hand gripping his throat, the other pummeling his face in a blur of punches. By the time Desmond had scrambled to her side, she had struck the man several dozen times and was already back on her feet. The man groaned, beaten too senseless to even put his hands to his pulverized face.

Infinity addressed the crowd of natives, holding up her blood-stained fist for all to see. “This man hurt one of our people! So I’ve hurt him. If anyone else tries something like that, we’ll either hurt you or kill you. I want to make sure that’s very clear.”

The natives stared at her, some of them with wide eyes, others with murderous scowls. A few were searching the ground for more rocks.

The situation was about to escalate into a full-blown battle.

“Wait!” Desmond cried. “We don’t want trouble! We will leave your territory tomorrow at noon. That’s when the last of us will arrive. Once we’re all here, we’ll leave and go somewhere else. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The painted people kept moving closer, one cautious step at a time, many of them now ready to throw the rocks they’d found.

“Why do you speak?” one of them hissed, keeping his voice low. This man had yellow limbs and a black torso.

“Return to the wild land!” another whispered.

Desmond shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean by that. We speak because we want you to know we are not looking for trouble. I don’t know what the wild land is. Can we please just talk about this? Please—we don’t want violence.”

The yellow and black man hesitated, glancing at several of the others. He then turned to the mongrel bubble before turning back to Desmond. He cupped his hand to the side of his mouth and whispered, “You took our food. You speak not a stone’s throw from the mongrels. You are fools, and we shan’t abide your trespass.”

Desmond realized the man was trying to conceal his voice from the mongrels. Perhaps these people worshipped the mongrels and didn’t speak in their presence out of respect? Desmond lowered his own voice. “We haven’t taken your food.” He waved his hand back toward the main mass of refugees. “We don’t have any food. We’ll be happy to leave the moment our last group arrives, at noon tomorrow.”

Cries of confusion suddenly filled the air. The yellow and black man widened his eyes and stepped back. “What in tarnation?” he said in a much louder voice.

Desmond looked behind him. Group eight had arrived. They tumbled over each other and began retching, their cries turning into anguished dry heaves. Arty and several others rushed to the bridge-in site to calm the new arrivals and begin orienting them.

Desmond turned back to the yellow and black man. “Those are our people. They arrive in groups of twenty. After they’ve all arrived, we’ll leave.”

Infinity spoke up. “You and your friends back off. There are now 160 of us. You’re outnumbered. If you try to force us to leave before all our people have arrived, we’ll fight. People will die. Your people mostly. Is that what you want?”

The yellow and black man was still staring at the new arrivals, possibly not even having heard Infinity’s words. Finally, he shifted his gaze and looked at her and Desmond. “This is mongrel shenanigans, but you ain’t no mongrels.” Then he seemed to realize he was speaking aloud and cupped his hand to his mouth again. He whispered, “What in hellfire damnation are you?”

“We’re humans, just like you,” Desmond said softly. “We’re refugees, trying to escape from our dying Earth. We came here hoping to make a new home.”

The man eyed Desmond suspiciously. Like all the other native men and women, his hair was cropped short, but not in a neat, styled way. Instead, it appeared to have been sawed off with a steak knife. Similarly, the man’s beard and paint-covered pubic hairs had been haphazardly hacked to less than an inch long. The paint on his body, although striking in appearance, was smudged in places. His face, hands, and bare feet—the only parts not painted—were scarred and dirt-stained.

“Whatever you are,” the man hissed, “you ain’t taking our food, and you ain’t got no right to our bailiwick or our raptures. As for my kin being outnumbered, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Oh, shit,” Infinity said.

Desmond looked. More natives were approaching—a lot more. They were moving steadily through the forest in a pack, at least two hundred of them. Among them were children, also painted in various colors and patterns. Many of the approaching people held rocks in their hands, prepared to throw them.

“Find rocks to use as weapons!” Infinity called out to the refugees behind her. “Be ready to use them!”

The refugees whispered to each other and shuffled through the dried leaves looking for rocks. For whatever reason, the mongrels didn’t seem to mind the use of rocks, although they obviously had a problem with spears. The mongrels do not fancy human-made contrivances. That’s what Abel had said.

The painted people advanced silently until they were standing in a mass behind the yellow and black man. Most of them stared at the refugees, occasionally glancing toward the mongrels’ bubble, as if the bubble’s proximity made them every bit as nervous as the human intruders did.

“You all ain’t the first trespassers hankering for our bailiwick, and you shan’t be the last,” the yellow and black man said, this time speaking loud enough for all to hear. “We will smite you and all who follow.” He turned to the mass of painted natives behind him. “Send these prattling miscreants to hell’s infernal bowels!”

The natives advanced, still glancing frequently at the mongrel’s bubble. Several rocks were thrown and Desmond heard another refugee get hit.

Infinity grabbed Desmond’s arm and pulled him back toward the others. “Get ready to fight for your lives!” she shouted. “Find any weapon you can, and—”

“Zeeee-zeeee-ooooo!”

The high-pitched cry almost hurt Desmond’s ears. Everyone fell silent.

“My goodness gracious,” a warbling voice shouted.

Desmond turned and spotted Abel, dropping from a tree near the mongrel bubble. The creature curled its tail into a tight spiral, raised its clawed venomcrook above its head, and walked on four of its six limbs until it stood before the yellow and black man.

“This fracas is no concern of yours, musk monkey,” the yellow and black man said, his voice returning to a whisper channeled by his cupped hand.

“Strangers come from afar to your bailiwick,” Abel said at full volume. “They come in the way mongrels come. And you want to smite them all. Without a parley? Without speaking to your dear friend, Abel?”

The man’s eyes widened slightly. “This ain’t your concern, Abel.”

Abel leaned toward the man, raising the venomcrook slightly. “Nehemiah, I hereby rescind your forthcoming rapture.”

The man—Nehemiah—shook his head, his eyes growing even wider. “No, please. My turn was in four days!”

Abel gazed at him for a few seconds. “It is rescinded. Will your scornfulness result in rescindment of yet another?”

Nehemiah’s face reddened, and Desmond saw tears forming in his eyes. Nehemiah looked down at the ground. He shook his head.

Abel turned in a circle, studying the painted natives and then the refugees. “Goodness gracious,” the creature said. “I was resting my weary bones. Such a troublesome night. And now this. I’m feeling rancorous.” He stepped closer and faced Desmond and Infinity. “The herd does not fancy your trespass. A conflict is brewing. Perhaps a battle. This is good, but not for you—only for the mongrels, as they delight in such spectacles.”

“We told you before—we don’t want to fight these people,” Infinity said.

The creature inflated its green cheeks and then let out a long breath, which sounded very much like a sigh. “No, I reckon you don’t. But you soon will.”

10

Abominations

September 2 - 7:27 AM

Powerless. That’s how Infinity felt. For whatever goddamn reason, weapons weren’t allowed, but rocks were fair game. The colony couldn’t migrate to another location until the remaining groups had bridged in, but staying meant they’d be attacked by 250 multi-colored maniacs who were apparently addicted to getting hit with a venomcrook. And if Gavin’s response had been any indication, this rapture drug took addiction to a whole new level.

With every passing hour, the fate of Colony ST5 was looking more dismal.

Since the painted natives had backed off an hour or so ago, Infinity had been helping Desmond train a group of refugees who had volunteered to take a crash course in hand-to-hand fighting, but she needed a break from the endless complaints about being expected to fight. They complained that this wasn’t what they’d signed up for. That they’d had a better chance of surviving back in their own universe. They asked why they hadn’t been allowed to bring bodyguards with them. And the best one, could they return to their own version of Earth after thirty-six hours if they held tightly to Desmond and Infinity at the moment of bridge-back?

Infinity’s sleep deprivation was starting to impair her ability to be patient, so she stepped away from the colonists to clear her mind. She gazed at the painted natives. After Abel’s intervention had de-escalated their confrontation, about half of them had grudgingly gone back to wherever they’d come from, including the green man she’d beaten senseless. He had been helped to his feet and led away by a yellow and red woman. Those who had stayed behind—over a hundred of them—were now gathered near the mongrels’ bubble, waiting patiently as if they expected something to happen.

“It is time for them to feed.”

Infinity suddenly realized Abel was at her side. The damn creature had a knack for appearing out of nowhere. She caught a whiff of its scent before asking, “The humans? What are they going to feed on?”

“Any vittles the mongrels are of a mind to dish out. This place is the indigenous herd’s bailiwick, at least until your herd lays hold of it.”

She turned to the creature. “We don’t intend to take their land from them.”

Abel gazed back at her, black eyes blinking out of sync. “Your herd will need to feed.”

“Can’t my people go somewhere else and establish a colony?”

“Elsewhere you will find more bailiwicks, each with its own herd equally keen on smiting trespassers.”

“What about cities? How far is the nearest city?”

Several more out-of-sync blinks, but no answer.

“Towns,” Infinity said. “Villages. Places where thousands of people live beside each other.”

Still more blinks. “Thousands? I know of no such bailiwick. Mongrels don’t fancy such unnatural herds.”

“But there were cities here 150 years ago! Big cities. Some with a million or more people.”

Abel made a chortling sound. “Preposterous!” After a moment, the creature continued. “Still, had such abominations existed, the mongrels most assuredly would have brought them to naught. The mongrels would never allow it.”

Infinity stared at the creature. Then she turned to the shimmering bubble. Could the mongrels have destroyed all of Earth’s cities? Could they really be that powerful? If so, this colony was royally screwed. “Is there anywhere we can go that is not controlled by mongrels?”

Abel remained silent for a few seconds. “Your ignorance is remarkable. Truly you have come from afar. I reckon this is why the mongrels allow you to speak. The land between bailiwicks is free of mongrel rule. It is the wild land, rife with troublesome rascals and scalawags, scraping sustenance from the land. Ferals, they’re called. Too weak to seize a bailiwick, or too prideful to accept sustenance from mongrels.”

In spite of her exhaustion, Infinity perked up. “This wild land—how far away is it?”

“Near to a mile, give or take.” It held out its twitching venomcrook as a pointer, aiming it over her shoulder. “Thataway.” It then pointed the weapon to its left, right, and behind. “Thataway, thataway, and thataway.”

Infinity perked up even more. “Then our colony will move to the wild land.” She nodded to the painted herd gathered beside the bubble. “Could we avoid conflict with these people by doing that?”

Abel glanced toward the herd. “Perhaps. Question is, will you want to? Your herd must feed.”

“Maybe my people can learn to grow crops.” Even as she spoke these words, Infinity knew this wasn’t likely. Not with these refugees. Besides, it was already September.

The green and tan skin around Abel’s eyes and mouth had pulled tight, creating vertical ridges. This was no doubt a facial expression, but Infinity had no idea what it meant. “You should pay a visit to the wild land,” the creature said. “Yes, that’s what you should do. And I, Abel, will guide you there. Upon which you will root out the merits of your notion.”

Infinity gazed at the thing’s nonhuman face. “Are you serious? Now?”

Another chortle. “Those who wait to feed go hungry. Yes, I will guide you to the wild land. It would please me. But first, I must attend to a less pleasing task. I beg your pardon.” The creature then leaned forward until its lower pair of hands were on the ground.

As Abel walked toward the painted herd on two hands and two feet, Desmond and Arty approached Infinity.

“I’m not an expert on evolution,” Arty said, watching Abel, “but that thing’s body structure is unlike any other animal on Earth. Insects are the biggest animals with six arms. Or six legs, or whatever those are. It can’t be from a different version of Earth, can it?”

Infinity looked at Arty, surprised he was even taking the time to consider such things when his entire colony was in danger.

“Abel has to be from another version of Earth,” Desmond said. “And so do the mongrels, as different as they may seem. It all depends on how far back in time their divergence was. Assuming Abel is not an invention of the mongrels, he must have come from a version of Earth that diverged from ours before the first vertebrate animals with limbs appeared, which was over 350 million years ago. Because as soon as the basic structure of four legs evolved, that became the normal pattern for all limbed vertebrates that followed. Creatures with two legs and four arms never existed, as far as I know.” He then nodded toward the house-sized transparent bubble and sighed loudly. “As for the mongrels, though, I have no idea how far back the diversion point would’ve had to be. I don’t even know if they have cells, let alone arms and legs.”

“Why do they have to be from a version of Earth?” Arty asked. “Couldn’t they be aliens from another planet?”

Desmond furrowed his brows and glanced at Infinity.

“Don’t look at me,” she said. “I just need to know how to kill them if I have to.”

He returned his gaze to Arty. “I like science fiction movies as much as the next guy, but that kind of space travel isn’t really possible.”

Arty flashed a dubious frown. “You do know we just traveled between universes, right?”

Desmond shook his head. “It’s not the same thing as space travel. We didn’t travel thousands of light years to get here. In fact, we didn’t travel at all. We simply bridged to the exact same place, at the exact same time, but in an alternate universe.”

Arty didn’t appear convinced. “Well, they look like aliens to me. I mean, the little dude is green, with six arms and a wicked club made out of some kind of giant bug. In the encyclopedia, its picture should be next to the word alien.”

Desmond smiled. “Well, I agree with that. And I suppose if another civilization could develop bridging technology, it could also develop advanced space travel. But I have a hard time believing any civilization has figured out how to overcome a limitation as fundamental as the speed of light. I have to believe Abel and the mongrels bridged here from a different version of Earth, the same way we did.”

Infinity rolled her eyes, bored by this entire conversation. She turned to watch Abel. The creature was talking to the remaining members of the herd. Seven of the painted natives were lined up before him, one behind the other. Abruptly, Abel flicked his venomcrook, striking the first person in line, a red woman with blue shoulders, elbows, and knees. The woman cried out, collapsed to her knees, and then curled up into a fetal position on the ground.

Infinity instinctively took a step toward her, adrenaline surging. But then she stopped. The woman had begun moaning as if in the throes of ecstasy.

“What the hell?” Arty muttered. He and Desmond were now also watching the natives.

The next person in line, a red man with random black splotches, stepped around the woman and stood before Abel. Seconds later, he too had been struck and was lying on the ground, moaning. This continued until all seven of the painted rapture junkies were writhing with pleasure.

Infinity exchanged a concerned glance with Desmond.

Abel ambled over to the giant bubble’s membrane and touched it with his venomcrook. Immediately, some of the herd gathered around the spot, blocking Infinity’s view. The remaining natives, except for the seven who were still writhing on the ground, formed a semicircle around their companions as if guarding them. Most of the guards held rocks ready to hurl if necessary. Seconds later, people began emerging from the semicircle, carrying armloads of what appeared to be formless, brown mud. Those burdened with loads headed off into the forest, presumably toward their village, or settlement, or wherever they lived. By this time, the seven who’d been struck by Abel’s venomcrook were staggering to their feet with stupid grins on their faces.

Abel turned from the herd and ambled back to Infinity, Desmond, and Arty. “I reckon they’re pleased your herd didn’t seize their vittles. You were wise to wait.”

“Their vittles?” Desmond asked. “That was food? From the mongrels?”

“The mongrels ain’t cruel. They provide for the herd. And they provide for other critters of their bailiwick, but humans require more care. I declare, things would be a mite easier without the herd, but the mongrels fancy them being around.” The creature looked from Infinity to Desmond to Arty. “I reckon you folks and your herd are gonna throw the balance out of whack. If the mongrels allow you to live, that is.”

Once again, Infinity didn’t even know what to ask first, which was starting to piss her off.

“Why wouldn’t they let us live?” Desmond asked.

“Fickle, they are. One day they fancy having 400 in the herd. The next day they decide that’s too many, so they curtail the vittles. Now there’s only enough for 250. Makes for interesting conflicts in the herd. The mongrels do enjoy watching the consequences of their shenanigans.”

A chill ran up the back of Infinity’s neck. The whole scenario was turning out to be a goddamn nightmare. The colony had to get away from all this. She asked Abel, “Are you still taking me to the wild land?”

Confused cries suddenly rang out from the bridge-in site, drawing glances from everyone, including Abel and the painted natives.

“That’d be group nine,” Arty said. “If you folks would excuse me.” He turned and made his way toward the twenty new arrivals, most of whom had tumbled to the ground in a thrashing, retching heap. He joined several others in trying to calm the newcomers.

“My goodness gracious,” Abel said, staring at the new arrivals. “It’s no wonder your herd has the mongrels so vexed. What are they to do with you? I’ve a notion to go back to sleep, as I fear what I may otherwise witness.”

Annoyed, Infinity snapped her fingers in Abel’s face. She quickly regretted it and took a step back, eyeing the venomcrook. “The wild land,” she reminded the creature.

“Yes, yes,” it said, pulling its gaze away from the new arrivals. “A musk monkey’s job is never done. And I reckon a walk to the wild land is a dandy excuse to beat a hasty retreat. Pick your direction, and I’ll take you there.”

“What’s going on?” Desmond asked.

Infinity hesitated, taking a deep breath, uncertain she could justify leaving the bridge-in site. So she decided not even to try. “I’m going with Abel to the wild land. He says it’s only a mile away. So I hope to be back in an hour or two.”

Desmond stared at her, frowning. “You two are leaving?” He tilted his head toward the painted herd. “Abel is the only reason those people haven’t attacked us.”

“You can shuck your agitations,” Abel said. “I have reached an accord with the herd. For the moment, since you didn’t seize their vittles, they’ll give you a wide berth. But come feeding time tomorrow morning, if your herd is still here—well, the mongrels will indeed have some entertainment. I’m sad to say it’ll be my job to poke the hornet’s nest.” Abel then released a long breath, seemingly attempting to imitate a human sigh.

Infinity turned to Desmond. “I’m going with him to find out whether the refugees might be able to escape all this bullshit by moving to the wild land.”

“Indeed,” Abel said. “Exhaust all foolhardy options, thus making it more palatable to you when you must seize the bailiwick.”

The musk monkey was starting to get on Infinity’s nerves. “We need to know if there’s any chance the colony could survive in the wild land,” she said to Desmond. “We’re running out of options.”

He studied her for a few seconds. “Then I’ll go with you.”

She shook her head. “One of us needs to stay here. The refugees need to know a bridger is with them.”

“Then you should be the one to stay, and I should go. I’m more qualified to determine whether the wild land can sustain the colony.” He raised his brows. “Biologist, remember?”

Infinity felt her jaw muscles tighten. “If you’re just trying to protect me, I’ll beat you to a—”

“No! I know better than that, Infinity. The refugees need a real bridger here—not me. You stay here and do what you do best, and I’ll go and do what I’m more qualified to do. You have to admit it makes sense.”

She considered this. Reluctantly, she nodded. “Take Arty with you, maybe a few more. Look for anything that might suggest the colony could survive there, even for just the first winter. Look for roads or any evidence of cities. Their best bet is to—”

“I know, Infinity. I’ve got this.” He flashed an annoying grin that didn’t make her feel any better about things.

The musk monkey shifted its position impatiently. “Seeing as how the wild land will not suit either of you, your parley is hardly worth the breath used to spawn it. I could be resting high in my favorite tree. Are we going, or ain’t we?”

“We’re going,” Desmond said. Then he eyed Infinity. “We’ll explore for two or three hours, tops. Even if we don’t find much, at least we’ll have more information than we do now.”

“They will be safe in my company,” Abel said to Infinity, raising his venomcrook as if to reinforce his point. “If, before we return, you decide to seize the bailiwick, I ask that you wait. I find bloodshed and savagery to be unsavory, but the mongrels will transfigure my sorry carcass into a possum if I fail to arbitrate the fracas.”

Infinity closed her eyes for a moment to calm her mind. Finally, she opened them again and nodded. “If you’re not back when group thirteen arrives at noon, I’ll assume you’re dead.”

11

Wild Land

September 2 - 8:29 AM

Progress was slow through the oak-hickory forest’s late-summer undergrowth. The group had been hiking for about twenty minutes, and Desmond still hadn’t seen any signs of civilization, not even a cleared swath where a road may have once been. Arty and a woman named Gretchen Watkins had volunteered to come along. Both of them were more physically fit than Desmond, but neither was accustomed to hiking barefoot, which slowed the group’s progress. These were pretty much the same woods in which Desmond had trained near SafeTrek’s facility, but even his feet were bleeding in two places.

Abel had remained mostly quiet so far. But Desmond needed to talk, to get his mind off what might be happening to Infinity and the refugees. Getting straight answers from the musk monkey had already proven to be a challenge, so he decided to try a new approach.

“Abel, if you were new to this place, like we are, what information would you most need to know about the mongrels?”

Abel’s body was clearly designed for moving through the trees, but for some reason the creature had decided to walk on the ground beside the humans. The musk monkey paused briefly and gazed at Desmond, although Desmond was never sure exactly what Abel was looking at, given that the creature had no whites in its eyes.

“Clever human,” Abel replied. “I reckon I know what knowledge you’re fishing for, so here it is. I’d be obliged to know that the mongrels reign over this land. A domicile of mongrels rules each bailiwick. The mongrels might provide sustenance if they find you’ve an aptness for amusing them. If you ain’t got such an aptness, you’re better off making yourselves scarce. Problem is, bailiwicks already got herds. You can join a herd, you can drive a herd out of a bailiwick with violence and savagery, or you can join the ferals in the wild land. That right there is the gist of it—the meat and the marrow.”

Arty spoke up. “I don’t suppose a group of over seven hundred of us could join a herd, could we?”

Abel released a burst of air that ended as a brief whistle. “I hear tell of a bailiwick somewheres to the south with a tad more than three hundred. My mongrels provide sustenance for 250. The mongrels to the east provide for less than a hundred. Those to the north provide for only thirty, which explains why ferals run them off and take their bailiwick every new moon, only to be run off and replaced again. Not enough in the herd to hold strong. That’s good, but only for the mongrels. The mongrels fancy a good fracas.”

“So the answer is no,” Arty said. “Great.”

“What’s your role in all this?” Gretchen asked the musk monkey. It was the first time she’d spoken since they’d started walking. “Why are you here, and why are you helping us?”

Abel unfurled his long tail, snaking it up around his neck, where it then hung loosely, as if this were an easier way to carry it. “I act in service of the mongrels. Likewise did my ancestors.”

“So you’re a slave?” Gretchen asked.

Abel glanced at her without breaking stride. “Musk monkeys ain’t slaves. We are free to go elsewhere if we’ve a hankering to. So happens I prefer the hospitality of my mongrels. They give sustenance, and I do chores they find thorny and arduous, such as speaking to you folks. Or holding sway over the herd. Or doing just about anything needs being done. I’m a jack-of-all-trades.”

Desmond looked at Abel, and the creature twisted its face, exposing a mouth with jagged black ridges instead of teeth. It was an expression that might have been a musk monkey’s version of a smile.

“Sounds like a slave to me,” Gretchen muttered.

Abel stopped and wheeled around to face her. The creature shook its venomcrook in her face, and she pulled back warily.

“So speaks the plump varmint who looks to have nary missed a feeding. Your sentiments may wear a more obliging face come tomorrow, or tomorrow’s tomorrow.”

“Okay, okay,” Gretchen said, her eyes wide.

Abel lowered his weapon and continued walking as if nothing had happened.

Desmond eyed Gretchen to make sure she was okay.

“Who the hell is he calling plump?” she said as she resumed following Arty and the musk monkey.

Gretchen was a big woman, but she was all muscle. In fact, she had earned a brown belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu, which was why she’d volunteered for this hike to the wild land. She looked almost as fierce as Infinity, minus all the scars. But when compared to the comparatively gaunt natives, Desmond could see how Abel might consider all of the refugees to be plump.

* * *

8:50 AM

Abel led them alongside a barely-trickling stream into a valley between two hills. On either side of the stream rose increasingly impressive limestone and shale bluffs. Desmond hadn’t seen these bluffs while exploring the woods near SafeTrek, and they would certainly exist in his version of Earth, so he assumed the group had moved beyond SafeTrek’s 400-acre property.

“Abel,” Gretchen said, “can I ask a personal question? I don’t mean to offend or upset you.”

“Musk monkeys do not get upset,” Abel replied.

She paused. “Okay, well… are you a male or a female? Because I can’t really tell.” Gretchen’s curiosity apparently outweighed her caution.

“Your conjecture is as good as mine,” the creature said.

“You mean you don’t know?”

“Ain’t never known and don’t care.”

This piqued Desmond’s interest, so he asked, “How does your kind reproduce?”

Abel stopped walking and looked up at the bluffs to the right, and then to the left. “That ain’t the way things work. Maybe long ago it was. But these days? If I get a bug up my butt and decide to leave, or if a tree falls on my sorry carcass, the mongrels will make a new musk monkey to take on my chores. Simple as that.”

“So, how do mongrels make new musk monkeys?” Gretchen asked.

“I can’t explain mongrel shenanigans. Sometimes they make musk monkeys from humans in their herd, sometimes from other critters. Me, I don’t know what I was summoned up from. Tadpoles and minnows, maybe.”

Desmond thought of Gavin being transformed into a white-tailed deer. The mongrels definitely had technology—or abilities—humans hadn’t even imagined.

Abel cupped three of his hands to his mouth and cried out, “Ferals! Yoo-hoo. Show yourselves.” He lowered his hands and waited.

A barred owl hooted in the distance, but nothing else happened.

“Ferals,” Abel commented. “Scarce only when you need ’em.” He then started walking again.

Desmond, Arty, and Gretchen exchanged glances and then followed.

“I got a question of my own,” Abel said. “Why would you folks come to this place if you’ve no inkling of musk monkeys or mongrels? Seems a mite bit ill-considered to me, like eating a toadstool without knowing if it’ll turn your brain to mud.”

Desmond didn’t see any reason to hide the truth from this creature. “Our world is collapsing. Everyone on it is going to die. Eight billion people.”

Abel turned to look at him but didn’t say anything.

Desmond went on. “We’ve been bridging colonies of people to different versions of our world, trying to save as many as we can. Time is running out. We sent some animals here to make sure the place was livable, and all of them came back alive, although one was in the form of a miniature musk monkey.”

“Mongrel shenanigans, no doubt,” Abel said.

“Yeah, I guess,” Desmond said. “Anyway, we decided to go ahead and send the colony here. Infinity and I will bridge back to our world after the last group of twenty arrives. But everyone else will be here to stay. That’s why we need to figure out where the colony can live. We have been counting on them living with the humans here.”

“In cities,” Arty said.

Gretchen added, “With grocery stores and coffee shops and apartments.”

Still walking on his feet and two lower hands, Abel stared straight ahead for what seemed like a full minute. Finally, he spoke softly. “I dare say, you have picked the wrong toadstool.”

After they had hiked another five minutes or so in silence, Abel stopped and cupped three hands to his mouth again. “Ferals! Do you think me a fool? I know you’re here!”

“Go back, musk monkey,” a man’s voice called out. “You and the vassals ain’t welcome here.”

Desmond tried to spot the man who had spoken. It had come from ahead and above, among the crags of the rocky bluff.

“These folks ain’t vassals,” Abel replied to the unseen feral. “You might consider showing them some hospitality, seeing as how they’re contemplating taking up residence in the wild land.”

A shuffle came from above, and a pebble bounced its way down the bluff. Another shuffle—this one from a different location. Desmond glimpsed a brief movement in a third location, perhaps someone’s shoulder or head.

“We got no need for more ferals here.” The voice sounded closer this time. “Autumn’s coming and we’re full up.”

Abel let out a warbling grunt and muttered, “Dunderheaded ferals.” Then much louder, “I figured as much! Which is why I brought them here. They’re the kind that needs showing, not telling.”

More shuffling above, along with muffled voices. A head and pair of shoulders appeared over one of the crags—a black man with a haphazardly-cropped afro and beard. His shoulders were bare, rather than painted like the bodies of those in the herd had been. Another head appeared a few yards from the first, this one with paler skin, but not white—the person appeared to be Native American.

“They don’t look like ferals,” the black man said.

“If you’d be courteous enough to come down, we could explain,” Abel replied.

Another voice came from the bluffs on the opposite side of the stream. “Either lose the venomcrook or back away a good distance. Then we’ll come down.” It was another black man, this one almost bald.

Abel grunted again, but then he walked to a rocky slope fifteen yards away, crawled atop a half-buried boulder, and sat on his haunches. “This distance suit you?”

More shuffling above, this time from all sides, and soon about ten ferals were clambering down the rocks. Four of them were clearly black. The others ranged from pale white to brown. And then two unusual figures caught Desmond’s eye—musk monkeys.

Seconds later, Desmond, Arty, and Gretchen were surrounded by two musk monkeys and eight gaunt, unpainted, nearly-naked humans. The musk monkeys’ oily garlic smell was nearly rivaled by the unmistakable odor of unwashed human bodies. Although the musk monkeys were naked, the humans—all of them men—wore ill-fitting shorts made from crudely-woven fibers. The best of these were filthy and ragged, the worst nearly disintegrated. Each man wore moccasin-like coverings on his feet, appearing to be made of animal hide. Three of the men carried bags made of woven plant fibers, bulging with hidden contents. Several long seconds of silence passed as the ferals studied the newcomers.

“You folks vassals?” asked the man who had spoken first.

Desmond cleared his throat and stood up straight. “We don’t know what vassals are.”

“Vassals are them who live in bailiwicks,” Abel said from his rocky perch. “Humans are either vassals or ferals. Musk monkeys, too, if you hadn’t noticed.”

The feral musk monkeys simultaneously let out warbling grunts. One of them said, “Abel’s a vassal, no two ways about it. Carries that dad-blamed venomcrook around like he’s a king. But Abel ain’t nothing more than a mongrel’s squire.”

“You look to be freshly washed,” one of the men said, staring Gretchen’s body up and down. “And I don’t see a hair on you. Did the mongrels conjure you folks? Is this mongrel trickery?”

“They look broad in the beam to me,” another man said. “Gotta be mongrel-made—else how’d they get so plump?”

“Gotta be mongrel-made,” another man agreed.

“For crying out loud!” Abel said. “Refrain from spouting nonsense long enough for them to explain. You might be interested in what they got to say.”

The ferals fell silent but continued eyeing Desmond and his two companions with suspicion.

“There are about seven hundred of us,” Desmond said. “We’re not friends of the mongrels. We don’t even know anything about mongrels. But I think we came to this place in the same way the mongrels did, by bridging from another version of this world. Only two of us are going home. The rest have to stay here. We’re looking for help. We need a place where seven hundred people can live.”

The ferals remained silent, exchanging glances.

“Seven hundred of you?” one of the men asked.

Abel spoke up again. “They’re inquiring if they can come here to the wild land and live among you ferals. Every last one of them.”

Again, there was a long period of silence. Finally, the man who had first spoken from the bluffs stepped forward and put his hand on the top of Desmond’s head. He caressed the bare scalp slowly, as if he’d never felt anything so smooth. He looked Desmond in the eye. “My name’s Prudence.” He pulled his hand from Desmond’s scalp and pointed to the other ferals one at a time as he introduced them. “This here’s Respect, Proficience, Calm, Wonder, Tact, Resolve, and Patience. Them two musk monkeys, they’re Perseverance and Resilience.”

“I’m Desmond. This is Gretchen and Arty.”

The man flicked his eyes toward Desmond’s companions for a brief second. “We don’t wish to agitate a herd of seven hundred, as we’re but forty-six humble ferals. Your herd could seize our parcel of wild land without hardly trying. And every parcel within a day’s walk. So maybe you should come with us. I’d like you to witness with your own eyes what you’re figuring on seizing.”

“Exactly my sentiments,” Abel said. “Show them.”

“Will you come?” Prudence asked. He looked down at Desmond’s bleeding feet and frowned. “It ain’t far.”

Desmond nodded. “We’d appreciate any help or information you can give us.”

The men and the two musk monkeys then turned and began walking. Abel hopped down from his perch to follow them. “Shan’t take long, I reckon. Not much to see.”

Together they followed the ferals, making their way along the nearly-dry stream bed.

12

Shenanigans

September 2 - 10:19 AM

Infinity stood before the mongrels’ bubble with her hands up, palms forward, hoping the creatures within it would understand the gesture and stop approaching. The bubble had been creeping closer to the bridge-in site every hour, after the arrival of each new refugee group. It was moving at this moment, and its leading edge was beginning to encroach on the site’s trampled area. The bridging device had never bridged anyone into a solid object—it had built-in safeguards that would shift the bridge-in site to avoid solid objects—but Infinity had no idea whether the mongrel bubble would even register on its sensors. If the bubble continued its advance, the next incoming refugees could find themselves swimming in glowing goo.

That would no doubt end badly.

The bubble stopped, causing its outer membrane to jiggle. Had it stopped in response to her gesture? There was no way to know.

After waiting a few seconds to be sure the bubble wasn’t simply pausing, she walked around its entire perimeter trying to see the mongrels inside, but she didn’t see anything. Most of the painted natives were now gone, although she could still see five of them watching her from a distance, perhaps stationed as lookouts.

Infinity leaned against a tree near the bridge-in site and observed the refugees. There were now over two hundred, and the newest group of twenty were just starting to lapse into somber silence as they realized their hopes for an easy life here had been squashed. Most of the men were sitting or lying on the ground, talking quietly with one another or trying to catch a few minutes of sleep. While the men seemed content being idle, the women had joined together in a coordinated effort to gather grasses, which they were weaving into mats to sit on. Some had even created wrap-around skirts. The women, it seemed, were not only less tolerant of idleness, they were less willing to sit bare-assed in the dirt and dead leaves. This was probably good because in a few months cold weather would come, and the ability to make clothing might save these colonists’ lives. The refugees would also have to master a reliable fire-starting technique. And they’d need insulated shelters, enough for over seven hundred people. And they would need warm clothing.

SafeTrek had provided regular survival training sessions for refugees waiting in the makeshift encampment outside the compound. Most of these people, however, probably hadn’t bothered to attend the sessions.

Infinity sighed and rubbed her scalp. Her lack of sleep was catching up with her, and the multitude of uncertainties about this situation were making it difficult to pick a course of action. Until Desmond returned with more information about the wild land, though, she could at least start training the refugees in some basic skills.

She pushed away from the tree. “I need fifteen volunteers to learn a set of survival skills and then teach what you’ve learned to the others.”

Over two hundred refugees turned and stared at her in silence.

“Since we don’t know what you’ll be faced with in the coming days, we’ll begin with how to make a fire.”

Still they stared.

One hand went up. “I’ll volunteer,” the woman said.

A man got to his feet. “I’ll do my best.”

Infinity crossed her arms and waited. One at a time, people continued volunteering until there were enough.

“Follow me.” Infinity made her way through the brush with the volunteers until they were at least fifty yards from the bubble, in case the mongrels had a problem with humans making fire. Once the volunteers had gathered around, she said, “Basically, you have three choices: a fire plow, a bow and drill, or a two-man friction drill. All three involve creating heat from the friction of wood against wood. I prefer a bow, but for that you’d need strong cord made from animal hide or dried intestines. That’s something you’ll want to obtain later. For now, we’ll work with what we have. You’re going to need a wood base, a friction stick, tinder, kindling, and fuel, and procuring each of those involves its own set of skills. We’ll start with the wood base and stick.”

She proceeded to show them how to search for the driest wood, which was usually on the interior of dead limbs that had not yet fallen to the ground. She found a thick limb about seven feet from the ground and instructed several of the heavier men to pull down on it, aiming to split it at the base, creating a flat wood surface. Once they had done this, she used a sharp-edged rock to gouge a groove the length of the dry interior wood.

Next she located a relatively straight stick less than an inch in diameter and blunted the end by rubbing it against the rock. She demonstrated how to use the stick as a plow, pushing it quickly and repeatedly along the groove, which not only created heat from friction, but also created wood dust that would eventually become embers.

Next came one of the more challenging tasks—finding suitable tinder. The best material for this was a wad of cotton from the cottonwood tree, but the trees had shed their cotton several months ago, in June. The best alternative was dry, crumbled leaves. She showed them how to find the driest leaves and how to grind them up by rolling them between their palms.

As the refugees set about doing this, a loud chattering drew their attention to the mongrel bubble. Infinity moved close enough to see what was happening. The noise was coming from birds. Hundreds of them, and more were streaming in every second, joining the others on the ground to one side of the bubble.

“They’re feeding,” said a woman standing beside Infinity. “The mongrels probably feed them at a certain time every day. That’s how they know to come here all at once.”

The birds kept pouring in until they were scrambling over each other to get to whatever food the mongrels had provided. Blue jays, red cardinals, yellow finches, black and brown birds of several types, all of them chittering and scrabbling for their share.

Watching the spectacle, Infinity couldn’t help but think of the herd of painted humans. A foreboding chill surged through her as the reality of their situation set in—the mongrels probably considered humans to be little more than local wildlife coming to a backyard feeder. Was this to be the future of the colony? Would they end up living as wild creatures, fighting over scraps of food?

Gradually, the birds began to disperse, having depleted the food.

“The herd’s coming back,” said the woman next to Infinity.

Six painted men were walking toward the main mass of refugees. The painted men were led by Nehemiah, whose yellow limbs and black torso contrasted with his companions’ wildly varying colors. Nehemiah spotted Infinity and changed direction, heading straight for her.

She heard the refugees behind her rooting around for rocks, and she instructed them to hold steady. Nehemiah and his companions weren’t carrying rocks and didn’t appear to be looking for trouble.

Nehemiah stopped a few yards away. He made a show of placing a palm over his mouth, pointing with his other hand to an area farther from the mongrels. He and his group began walking in that direction. He turned and gestured for Infinity to follow.

Infinity didn’t move. “What do you want?” she asked.

Nehemiah flinched as if she’d yelled in his ear. He glanced at the bubble and then whispered, “I’d fancy a powwow with you and your herd if you’ll grant it. Out of mongrel earshot.”

Infinity turned to the refugees beside her. “Care to join me?”

“I don’t see what these primitives can possibly offer us,” one of the men said. “When we’re all here, we’ll march to the nearest city and make our case for integration.”

Apparently some of the refugees weren’t yet aware of the deep shit they were in. And there wasn’t time now to explain.

“Stay here if you want,” Infinity said. She followed the natives. She heard feet shuffling through the leaves behind her as at least some of the refugees followed.

Nehemiah and his group stopped when the bubble was well out of view, perhaps 150 yards out. His companions sat down in a row on a long fallen log, but he continued standing, his hands clasped together in front of his painted crotch.

Nehemiah cleared his throat. “What possesses you folks to speak in the mongrels’ presence?”

“Why shouldn’t we?” Infinity asked.

Nehemiah creased his brows. “I don’t give a care if you’re looking to transfigure your whole herd into varmints, but you’re just as likely to befall the same fate upon our herd. We won’t abide it.”

“What do you mean?” Infinity asked. “Pretend like we know nothing about the mongrels, which is true.”

The man studied her for a moment as if trying to decide whether she was lying. “The mongrels don’t fancy human speech.”

“Why not?”

“Fiddlesticks, woman. The why of it don’t matter. It’s what the mongrels will do that matters. I’m here to implore you to hold your tongues in the mongrels’ vicinity lest you bring their wrath upon us all.”

Infinity hesitated, but then she nodded. “I’ll tell my people to minimize their talking.”

Nehemiah nodded back. He then glanced at his painted companions before going on. “Our herd’s been settled in this bailiwick for nigh on seven years. We’ve run afoul of raiding herds time and again, upon which we drove them away or smote them from existence. Never has a musk monkey interfered in these affairs. We’re confounded by this turn of events. Pray tell us, what are your intentions?”

One of the men behind Infinity spoke up. “We intend no harm to you or your herd. We only wish to wait for all our people to arrive, and then we’ll leave. We’ll go to the nearest city if you’d be kind enough to tell us how to get there.”

Nehemiah frowned. “Cities ain’t real. They’re the stuff of stories we tell our young ’uns at nightfall.”

A long silence followed.

“What’s the biggest town you know of?” the refugee asked. “The biggest settlement or village?”

Nehemiah scrunched his mouth to one side, forming a sneer. “You hard of hearing? Ain’t no cities. Ain’t no towns.”

One of the refugee women said, “If there are no cities here, then what’s the plan?”

The refugees all started asking questions at once, and Infinity turned and held up both her hands to silence them. She turned back to Nehemiah. “To answer your question, we won’t know what our intentions are until we know more about this world. We have to find a place where seven hundred of us can establish a colony. We’ll do whatever we have to do to make that happen. We’ll even fight if we have to.” Perhaps the natives would be more helpful under the threat of violence.

Nehemiah glared at her without blinking. After several long seconds he said, “We’ve a notion to parley. Will you hear us out?”

Infinity nodded.

“Nineteen young ’uns. Aged three to ten.”

Infinity stared at the man. “Excuse me?”

“You can have them all if you leave us be—go your way and seize another bailiwick.”

“You want to give us nineteen children?”

Nehemiah nodded once. “That’s all we got.”

“Why would we want your children?”

The man furrowed his brows in puzzlement. “You don’t seem to have none of your own. Birthing them ain’t allowed in most other bailiwicks. Nineteen young ’uns is a fair deal.”

“Are you for real?” asked a woman behind Infinity.

Again Infinity silenced the refugees, this time with gritted teeth.

“We got nothing else to give you,” Nehemiah said. “You’ll find the young ’uns to be useful. Or you could trade them away if need be. It’s a fair deal.”

Infinity wasn’t sure how to respond. She studied Nehemiah for a moment. He looked to be about fifty, although in his smudged and weathered state, he could have actually been in his thirties. “We don’t have a need for your children. But thanks for the offer. What we need is a place where seven hundred people can live.”

“Our mongrels provide hardly enough for our herd, and we’re but 254. If you seize our bailiwick, you’ll find it sorely wanting in sustenance.”

Infinity chewed her lip, thinking. This situation wasn’t getting any better. If Desmond returned with bad news about the wild land, what options would be left? “Nehemiah, do you think we could reason with the mongrels, convince them to provide sustenance for a larger group? If so, then we could join forces with you. Your herd would be almost a thousand strong. You’d never again have to worry about another herd seizing your bailiwick.”

Nehemiah and the other painted men stared back at her with pursed lips, as though wondering if she were insane.

“Infinity?” the woman behind her said. “I don’t speak for everyone, but I’m sure most of us have no intention of living like this herd of wild animals.”

Infinity wheeled around. “Shut the hell up!” She was struggling to keep her voice low. “First, don’t antagonize them. Second, you may not get to choose how you live. Maybe this isn’t what you expected, but it’s what you’ve got. Your survival is what matters now. Everything else can come in its own time.”

The woman’s eyes widened. She turned abruptly and stomped off—in a prudent, tenderfoot sort of way—back toward the other refugees.

As Infinity watched her go, she heard a swelling of voices filter through the forest from the bridge-in site. Group twelve had arrived. Infinity wouldn’t be needed, though—she’d assigned a guy named Oliver Hanley to orient the newcomers in Arty’s absence. She turned back to Nehemiah.

But then the voices from the bridge-in site surged to an alarming level.

“Infinity!” It was the woman who’d just stomped off.

Infinity whipped around again, her gut tightening. A deer ran by, followed by two more. A pack of smaller animals came hurtling through the forest after them—coyotes, foxes, raccoons, and other creatures bounding by too fast to identify. Birds, both large and small, flew overhead, squawking and twittering. All the animals were headed directly away from the bridge-in site.

“Mongrel shenanigans,” Nehemiah said.

The other natives were now on their feet. “Speaking’s what done it,” one of them said. “There’ll be hell to pay now.”

Without waiting for further explanation, Infinity took off running for the bridge-in site, drawn by increasingly frantic cries of terror and pain. She passed more fleeing animals and nearly tripped over a dog as it switched directions at the last moment in its panic. Refugees began running past her, their eyes wide with fear.

“What’s happening?” she cried. They didn’t answer.

She stopped twenty yards from the mongrels’ bubble. Most of the refugees had scattered, but at least fifty were cowering in a huddle beside the bridge-in site. Several others were sprawled on the ground writhing in pain. Infinity stared. What the hell was wrong with them? And then it hit her—the writhing refugees were transforming, quickly becoming things not human.

A man lying at the edge of the bridge-in site suddenly stopped squirming. His body split into smaller parts, and as Infinity watched, each part became an animal. A creature that may have been a badger took off from where the man’s leg had been, nearly running headlong into the huddled refugees, and prompting another chorus of cries. Several large black birds lifted off from the spot with raucous calls, leaving behind all that was left of the man—a pile of arm-sized fish flopping on the ground.

The same thing was happening to each of the other refugees sprawled on the ground, a sight so bewildering that Infinity felt her mind lapsing into a defensive state of denial. But the scene before her was real. It had to be. She had heard Abel’s words, and she’d seen Gavin transform into a deer—she knew she wasn’t hallucinating.

“God help us!” a woman cried.

Infinity tore her eyes away from a swarm of insects rising from a transforming mass of flesh that used to be a refugee. Just as she spotted the woman who had cried out, a projectile from the mongrel’s bubble splattered against the side of the woman’s neck.

The woman wiped at the spot it had hit and stared at her hand. “No!” she cried. She stumbled toward Infinity but didn’t get more than a few steps before going down, twitching like she was having a seizure.

Infinity ran toward the remaining huddled refugees, waving her arms to catch their attention. She put a finger to her lips, still waving her other hand. She wanted to scream shut the hell up but didn’t dare open her mouth.

Several of the refugees saw her and quieted down, shaking the shoulders of those within reach and signaling for them to shut up. Gradually, the entire group became silent except for muffled weeping.

With her finger still to her lips, Infinity turned to the mongrels’ bubble. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw at least one of them moving just beyond the membrane, a slight rhythmic fluctuation in the translucent fluid. She turned and scanned the surrounding forest. How many refugees had escaped? And how many had been killed, the victims of mongrel shenanigans? No way to know until the others came back. If they came back.

Silently, she watched the last few writhing refugees until their bodies’ components had run, flown, crawled, or slithered away.

13

Reason

September 2 - 9:06 AM

Desmond felt another hand caress his scalp from behind. He glanced back. This time it was the emaciated, brown-skinned man named Resolve.

“How’d you shear it so short?” he asked.

“I didn’t have to shear it. This is a result of the way we travelled to here. It’s called bridging, and it strips away our clothing and hair.” Desmond nodded toward Resolve’s erratically-cropped hair. “Why do you all keep your hair so short?”

Resolve grunted. “Hair’s a domicile for lice. You ain’t got lice where you’re from?”

Desmond considered explaining that lice were easily controlled by medication but decided against it. These people obviously had no such medicines. He decided instead to ask, “Why don’t you just shave your hair completely?”

“If I could do that, don’t you think I would? Respect used to have a steel blade,” he nodded toward the man walking about ten yards in front of them. “Kept it honed sharper than a kestrel’s talon. Mongrels caught wind of it, though. Sent that damn vassal, Abel, their musk monkey squire, to take it.”

Desmond glanced back at Abel, who was following the group far enough back to placate the ferals. “Your group doesn’t even have a knife or razor?” he asked Resolve.

“I just said we used to. Mongrels didn’t fancy our having it.”

Desmond was tempted to ask what tools these ferals did have, but again he decided to keep quiet. He pointed to the woven bag Resolve was carrying over his shoulder. “What’s in the bag?”

Resolve hefted the bag from his shoulder and held it open. It was filled with orange and white mushrooms. Desmond recognized the largest, a chicken of the woods, a blossom-like fungus that looked like it might weigh fifteen pounds on its own. Piled around it were hundreds of smaller orange chanterelles.

“Looks like enough for a feast,” Desmond said.

Resolve closed the bag and lifted it back to his shoulder. “We’ll be drying them in the sun. Sustenance for the winter. If your herd seizes our parcel and cache, I reckon we’ll starve.”

The wild land’s prospects were looking increasingly bleak. “We don’t want to seize anything from anyone.”

Resolve gazed at him for a moment but didn’t comment.

After they had been walking with the ferals for perhaps half an hour, the group came upon a clearing. Numerous horizontal poles were arranged in rows, a foot or so above the ground and supported by forked sticks embedded in the soil. Arranged atop the horizontal poles were rows of berries, roots, mushrooms, finger-sized pieces of meat, and even earthworms and cream-colored grubs. All of these were drying in the sun, no doubt to be added to the ferals’ winter sustenance cache.

Two bony women and two wiry men were tending to these drying racks, and they stopped what they were doing to stare.

“What are them vassals doing here?” one of the men shouted.

“For mongrels’ sake, they ain’t vassals!” Abel said as he emerged from the forest.

“And what’s that vassal musk monkey doing here?” the man asked.

Resolve and the other mushroom-hunting ferals ignored the man’s questions and made their way through the rows of drying foods to the far side of the clearing. They walked a short distance into the shadows of the forest and came upon an opening in a rocky crag beside a dry creek bed. The hole, perhaps eight feet wide but only four feet tall, revealed a dark cavity within. It was the mouth to a cave. Smoke wafted from the opening, smelling of burning wood.

The ferals stood in front of the opening. Prudence said, “Before you folks go fixin’ to seize our parcel, you’d be well judged to get a measure of what good it’ll do your herd of seven hundred. We’re but forty-six ferals, and this here cave’s our domicile. As you’ll see, it’s a tight squeeze for forty-six.”

“You people live in there?” Gretchen asked, making no attempt to hide her disgust.

“Keeps winter’s chill from claiming our souls,” Prudence said. “Nine of every ten of us lived to see the spring this year. We count ourselves lucky to have it.”

Desmond, Arty, and Gretchen exchanged solemn glances.

“Can’t you build log cabins or huts or something?” Arty asked.

Prudence narrowed his eyes. “How can plump vassals like y’all be so ignorant? The mongrels don’t allow domiciles built by the hands of men.”

“What do they allow?” Arty asked.

“They allow us to draw breath, to walk the earth. That’s about the extent of it.”

Desmond asked, “Do you know of any colonies of ferals as large as seven hundred?”

Several of the men scoffed.

The man named Calm said, “Perhaps you ain’t wise to the logistics of the wild land. You won’t find feral herds more populous than what the land provides for. We’re but forty-six, and that ain’t due to the size of our cave—it’s due to what our parcel can provide. Every morsel of sustenance this land produces, we need. If mushrooms or grubs have a bad year, we lose people to starvation. Hell, your herd could seize ten parcels and still want for sustenance.”

Resolve added, “There ain’t no parcel anywhere from one ocean to the other that could sustain a herd of seven hundred. That’s the plain and simple truth of the matter.”

Carrying capacity. That’s what they were talking about. The carrying capacity of any natural ecosystem was the amount of biomass the system could support. It all depended on the land’s productivity, which was determined by climate, rainfall, soil fertility, and other factors. The land, in its natural state, could only support so many ferals. The only way to increase the carrying capacity was to manage the land methodically to produce fewer non-edible plants and animals and more edible ones. Agriculture.

Desmond feared he already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask. “Have you tried farming? Raising crops to provide more reliable sustenance?”

Again, a round of scoffs.

“Mongrels don’t allow it,” Prudence said.

With those four words—mongrels don’t allow it—Desmond’s hopes for the colony’s survival sank to a new low. The mongrels, whatever the hell they were, didn’t allow houses, or villages, or cities. They didn’t allow tools. They didn’t allow agriculture.

The wild land wasn’t the answer.

“Why do you live in the wild land?” Desmond asked. “Why not live as vassals under the care of the mongrels?”

Prudence grunted. “Care, did you say? Care? The vassal herds are naught but mongrel entertainment. They pander to the mongrels’ savage whims in return for scraps of sustenance and the promise of rapture every other fortnight.”

“You do know I’m here, within earshot, do you not?” Abel said, hanging from a low branch twenty yards away. “You ferals fail to grasp the mongrels’ good intentions, notwithstanding their fickle whims. They endeavor to cultivate this land’s most natural state. They are stewards of the land.”

Prudence gave Abel no more than a perfunctory glance. “Come,” he said to Desmond, “We’ll show you our domicile lest you get a hankering to seize it for your herd.” He gestured to the cave’s mouth.

Desmond hesitated. “I have another question,” Desmond said. “I’m desperate here, and I hope you’ll be honest with me. If you were in my situation—if you were responsible for the safety of seven hundred people who had come here to avoid certain death in their own land, what would you do?”

The ferals looked at each other, frowning. Abruptly, one of the feral musk monkeys—the one named Resilience—spoke up. “You want honest opinions? I’ll give mine. I was a vassal to the mongrels. A human vassal, if you care to know. It was mongrel mischief what transfigured me to a musk monkey. Coulda been worse, I reckon. As a vassal I partook of daily feedings. I hankered for my share of rapture. I was all what the mongrels wished me to be. Until the day I weren’t. You see, the rapture touches different folks in different ways. Me, well one day I had simply had one too many pricks from the venomcrook.”

Desmond glanced over at Abel.

“I know nothing about this,” Abel said. “Twas before my time.”

Resilience went on. “Anyway, as if my mind had broken, I suddenly could no longer wait my turn. I wanted rapture again, just after having received my allotted prick. Like a skeeter needs blood. There was no quenching my thirst for it. I hollered and cried like a young ’un fresh from the womb. The next thing I knew, I had four green arms, a tail, and a strange new mind that percolated thoughts in ways I couldn’t understand. I ran and ran, scared and not even sure where I was. But my mad craving for rapture still didn’t give up its hold on me. So I tried turning back, running back to the mongrels. I’d have done anything to get just one more prick from the venomcrook. But by that time I was as lost as a blindworm with legs. Prudence here found me. He saw my condition and tied me to a tree. I hollered and begged, thinking only of getting more rapture. Finally, my condition passed, and Prudence freed me. That’s how I became a feral musk monkey, and every word of it’s true.”

Desmond waited, wondering where this story was going. “I asked what you would do if you were me?” he reminded Resilience.

“Yes, yes. What I’m trying to convey, in no uncertain terms, is that I hate mongrels. I hate ’em like a human hates lice. But if I was you, well, I’d stuff that hatred away where the sun don’t shine and realize that your herd’s got no prospects of seeing the green sprouts of spring unless they become vassals to the mongrels.”

“That there’s precisely what I’ve been implying,” Abel said. “But who listens to Abel? No one, that’s who.”

Gretchen spoke up. “So I’m supposed to accept that our only two choices are to live like this,” she waved toward the cave, “or to live like the painted people in the herd?”

The ferals gazed at her without answering.

She turned to Arty. “I can’t wrap my head around this. It just can’t be happening!” She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and headed over to where Abel was hanging from his tree.

Desmond watched her for a few seconds. Her shoulders began shaking slightly as she stared out into the forest.

“Could you go talk to her?” Desmond asked Arty.

Arty nodded and walked over to her.

Desmond turned back to Resilience and spoke softly so Abel wouldn’t hear. “Is there any way to fight the mongrels? Can they be killed? Can we split open their bubble or something like that?”

Several ferals frowned and glanced toward Abel.

Resolve whispered, “You reckon we’d be living in this cave if there was any chance of killing mongrels? They’ll smite you the moment you try. Hell, they ain’t even really got bodies. They’re like water, changing shape at will. That’s why they’re called mongrels—they don’t look like nothing in particular.”

“And,” Resilience added, “you can’t kill ’em, any more than you can kill a cloud.”

Desmond sucked in a deep breath of air tinged with smoke from the cave. “Okay, I have an idea. It may be our only chance. The mongrels seem capable of doing pretty much anything they want. If they wanted to, they could allow seven hundred people to establish a colony in or near their bailiwick. If they wanted to. So I’m going to convince them they want to. I need to talk to the mongrels.”

The ferals eyed him without speaking.

“He’s mad as a woodchuck in rapture,” one of them said.

“You can’t talk to the mongrels,” Resilience said. “They ain’t got mouths.”

Desmond lowered his voice even more. “Abel talks to them, doesn’t he? How else would he know what tasks they want him to do?” He looked at the feral musk monkey, Resilience, and then shifted his gaze to the other, Perseverance.

“Don’t look at us,” Perseverance said. “We was both humans before. We got no inkling of how that pandering, vassal musk monkey gets his orders. Besides, you can’t trust Abel. And you sure as shit can’t trust mongrels.”

Desmond glanced over at Abel, who was watching them closely.

“Something tells me I’m being talked about,” the creature said.

When Desmond turned back to the group, he glimpsed Prudence shaking his head at Resolve, obviously part of a silent exchange.

“What?” Desmond asked.

“Tell him,” Resolve said to Prudence. “What’s the harm in it?”

Prudence sighed, frowning. He eyed Desmond. “It’s just that, well, there’s a fella in our herd claims he used to talk to the mongrels.”

Desmond’s pulse quickened. “Really?”

“He did talk to them,” Resolve insisted. “Swear to the moon he did. Else how’d he come back out alive? He weren’t transfigured into a varmint or nothin’.”

Prudence sighed again. “The feral he’s talking about is older than any of us,” he said to Desmond. “His name’s Reason. Claims to be over fifty. Maybe he is, maybe he ain’t, but he sure looks it. Some of us—me not included—believe they saw him talk to the mongrels. Nigh on ten years have passed since then.”

“I was there—I seen it,” Resolve said.

“I seen it too,” Resilience added. “Before I got transfigured. Reason was always hankering to speak with the mongrels, trying this and trying that, but never making no headway. Wanted their permission to build himself and his woman a domicile of logs from trees. Then one day, well, he must’ve figured it out, because the mongrels pulled him in. I was there, I watched it happen, swear to the moon.”

“What do you mean, pulled him in?” Desmond asked.

“Pulled him right in—into their domicile.”

Desmond blinked. “Into the bubble? He was inside that thing?”

“For a good long time, long enough to drown ten times over. Came back out alive. But the mongrels had tinkered with his wits. He didn’t talk so much after that. Left his woman and the vassal herd to become a feral. For a while, he was the best egg hunter we had, in spite of always hunting by his lonesome. Ain’t much spunk left in him now.”

“What did we miss?” It was Arty, who had just returned with Gretchen.

Ignoring Arty’s question, Desmond asked, “Can we talk to this guy, Reason? Is he here?”

Prudence nodded. “If there’s but a slight chance it’ll dissuade your herd from seizing our parcel, you’re welcome to try. Thisaway.” He and the other ferals crouched low and entered the cave.

Desmond motioned for Arty and Gretchen to enter first. As he followed, he heard Abel say, “Well, isn’t this keen as paw paw pith? Suppose I’ll sit here and chew the fat with my own waggish self. Ain’t like I got other chores need tending to.”

They followed the cave’s low, rugged antechamber for at least thirty yards, and they were forced to crawl on their hands and knees. Although the rocky floor had been worn smooth by decades of use, scrabbling over them was painful. Finally, the tunnel opened to a cavity tall enough to stand in. The back of the chamber was filled to the ceiling with fist-sized objects wrapped in dry leaves, no doubt the ferals’ food stores for the coming winter. The remaining space not occupied by food stores was only about ten yards deep and five yards wide. How could forty-six people live and sleep in this space?

Two small fires were burning near the food bundles, apparently tended by four gaunt women. The women had been busy rearranging the food bundles, but they stopped and stared when they noticed the strangers. Desmond assumed they had been rotating the food to periodically expose every bundle to the drying heat of the fires. This task probably had to be performed constantly, day in and day out, to avoid mold and microbe growth on the sun-dried foods.

“Reason,” Prudence said, gazing at a naked figure sprawled on the floor against one wall, the only other person in the cave. “We got some people here want to speak to you.”

The figure let out a barely-audible grunt and rolled over. “Them’s plump vassals. What in thunderation they doing here?”

Prudence stepped over to the figure and kneeled beside him. “Reason, you best hear my words. These plump vassals got a herd of seven hundred. They’re new in these hills, and they got no parcel nor bailiwick. You fathom what I’m saying?”

Reason turned and gazed at Desmond, Arty, and Gretchen. “Seven hundred? That’s a lie. Ain’t no herd of seven hundred.”

“Well, they want to speak to you, and I reckon you’ll do them the kindness, else we may find ourselves with no domicile come winter’s chill. You fathom that?”

Desmond made his way over and kneeled beside Prudence. He studied the older man, who was naked, for a moment. Reason was malnourished and sickly. In the dim light from the fires, the man’s skin appeared dark. Like the other ferals’ hair, his was cropped short, but his was the first silver hair Desmond had seen on a feral. The most striking thing about Reason, though, was the color of his eyes, light, perhaps pale blue, but with reflected flames dancing upon the corneas. Reason appraised Desmond. The man’s starvation-tightened skin and protruding cheekbones contrasted with a gaze as intense as that of a curious child.

Desmond swallowed and spoke. “Reason, I understand you’ve communicated with mongrels. Could you tell me how you did that? I want to talk to them myself.”

Reason’s eyelids widened slightly, making his eyeballs seem too large for his emaciated face. “Most folks don’t believe I’ve ever done such a thing. Fabulist, they call me. Fibber. Mad old coot. Around the bend. Out of my tree. Cockamamie yarns of a raving luna—”

“Reason!” Prudence interrupted. “He’s asking you, ain’t he?”

Reason thought about this. He then pushed himself up to a sitting position, sending a waft of his stench Desmond’s way. “The mongrels, they can talk, just not the way you’re thinking they should. Ain’t nothing can prepare you for confronting mongrels in their own domicile. You ever conject on what it might feel like to talk to God? Well, even that won’t prepare you for confronting mongrels. If you live to tell of it, you’ll forever wear the face of a chastened man. If you’re still a man, that is.”

Desmond felt prickles on his skin. “I need to talk to the mongrels. I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

A smile began to form at the corners of Reason’s mouth. “That a fact? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

Desmond stared at him. “You won’t help me?”

“Ain’t a matter of whether I will. It’s a matter of whether you’re up to the task. You see, I studied the mongrels for a good piece of a year. Watched their shenanigans. Listened to the utterances of the vassals that tended to stir up their mischief and fury. And, though you may think me a fool, I listened to the utterances of beasts and varmints in mongrel proximity—the peeps, the grunts, the cries, and all manner of critter vociferations. What I learned was there were certain sounds that not only pacify the mongrels’ fury, but, moreover, will draw them to you, like skeeterbugs to a fire. I learned to imitate them sounds, and then I learned to utter them together in a particular concatenation, one which rouses the mongrels’ curiosity. Took a fair heap of practice. I don’t reckon you’re up to it.”

Desmond felt a wave of relief. This wasn’t a problem at all. For anyone else, maybe, but not for him. “I might surprise you, Reason. Let me hear the sounds you learned, the sounds that convinced the mongrels to listen to you. I’m a fast learner.”

Reason let out a brief, huffing laugh. “Steadfast as a bout of typhoid, ain’t you? Well, I’ll oblige you, though I figure nothing will come of it.” He cleared his throat, which made a sound like someone shaking a box of rocks. “It’s been some time, but there are particular things that defy all your efforts to forget them.” He cleared his throat again.

What came from Reason’s mouth next resembled no human language. Instead, it was a sequence of seemingly random animal grunts, huffs, yowls, and squawks. The sequence continued for at least ten seconds, ending with what sounded like the piercing yelp of a woodpecker called the yellow-shafted flicker.

The cave was silent for several long seconds.

“He is a mad old coot, sure as hellfire,” one of the ferals muttered.

Desmond closed his eyes. In his mind, he ran back over the sequence of sounds, committing them to memory using a trick he’d invented when he was four years old. He formed a mental picture of a creature that may have made each unique call. Whether the visualized creatures were real or accurate didn’t matter. It was the association of each sound to a distinct mental image that made the trick work. He then lined up the mental images in the order in which the corresponding sounds had been produced and formulated a brief, almost nonsensical story, a sequence of actions carried out by each creature. One creature biting the ear of the next, the second then flying off while dropping a turd on the head of the third, and so on. This memorization process took about twenty seconds.

Desmond opened his eyes. He repeated the sounds, doing his best to emulate Reason’s voice. When he was finished, he was pleased with the result but sure he could do better with a bit of practice.

Again the cave was silent.

Reason’s expression was hard to read. Perhaps it was fear, or maybe pity. He looked Desmond in the eye. “I was once a young ’un like you, of a mind to do whatever my ornery notions conjured up. But the mongrels… the mongrels will steal away your youth’s vigor like possums steal eggs. Your moral fiber will vanish, just like that, until they go to shittin’ it out, but by then you won’t want it back.”

14

Venomcrook

September 2 - 11:58 AM

Infinity stared at the refugees on the other side across the bridge-in site. The tension in the air was palpable. She stood with these nineteen refugees around the portion of the site’s perimeter not occupied by the mongrels’ bubble, ready to act the moment group thirteen arrived. There was no way to know exactly when that would be, but it had to be getting close.

The man directly across from Infinity was standing poised with his legs slightly bent, ready to jump into the midst of the new arrivals. The woman to his right was watching the ground before her and narrowed her eyes. She seemed calm, but her chest was heaving as if she’d just been running. The man to her right was holding his eyes closed, looking almost peaceful but for the fact that his lips were moving slightly as if he were giving himself a silent pep talk.

These were good people, ready to risk their lives, and Infinity was encouraged by their mettle. They were doing this because she had asked for volunteers. Perhaps these nineteen would inspire the others.

A blast of displaced air hit Infinity’s face, forcing her to blink. Twenty bodies appeared a split second later within the bridge-in site and dropped several inches to the ground. Infinity and the nineteen volunteers rushed forward, as they had rehearsed. Each picked a new arrival, threw one hand around to grasp the back of the person’s neck, and clamped the other hand over the person’s mouth.

But the new arrivals doubled over in their need to retch, closing the gaps between their bodies. Some volunteers had to push their way past others to get to the new arrivals in the center of the formation. One of the volunteers tripped, knocking over several others. Some of the newcomers cried out in alarm before their volunteers could reach them.

“What the hell are—” a man began to shout before being silenced.

Infinity heard the now-familiar splatter of a mongrel projectile hitting the man’s skin. She silently glared at the volunteers, hoping they’d remember what they’d trained to do in this scenario. And they did—they each gripped their chosen newcomer and forced the person to look them in the eye rather than watching the man who’d spoken. Infinity saw that the man was already buckling at his knees. Admirably, his handler, a woman in her forties, stayed with him, stifling his cries the best she could.

Infinity’s newcomer, a pale guy with wide, terrified eyes, tried to turn his head toward the source of the muffled screams. But Infinity forced him to look at her. Still gripping the back of his neck and covering his mouth, she waited for him to get past the worst of his retching and then began backing away from the bridge-in site, pulling him with her. The other volunteers were doing the same, and soon the entire group—except for the transforming man and his handler—had moved silently out of the bridge-in site.

Over the shoulder of the guy in her grip, Infinity saw the fallen man begin to writhe. And still his handler refused to release him, trying her best to keep him from panicking the other new arrivals.

Infinity continued guiding her newcomer through the forest until she could no longer see the mongrel bubble. Only then did she speak in a whisper. “Your life depends upon you staying silent. Do you understand?”

The man, still wide-eyed, nodded.

She released his neck and mouth and put a finger to her lips. She heard several other nearby volunteers whispering the same words to their newcomers. Your life depends upon you staying silent. Do you understand?

Soon all of the volunteers and their newcomers had joined the remaining refugees another fifty yards out from the bridge-in site. At this point, Oliver Hanley and several others took over. They took the newcomers aside from the other refugees and began orienting them to the nightmare they’d bridged into.

Infinity watched in the direction of the bridge-in site until one last refugee appeared, the woman who had stayed behind with the doomed newcomer.

The woman approached and stopped before Infinity. Her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying.

“That was damn impressive,” Infinity said. “You saved lives by keeping him quiet. What’s your name?”

The woman wiped her eyes. “Lottie.”

“You have my respect, Lottie. We have twenty-three more groups coming. Can I count on your help with them?”

Lottie pursed her lips and nodded. “He started changing shape, turning green. I couldn’t watch anymore—I left him there. I didn’t even know his name.”

“There was nothing you could have done.”

Lottie nodded again. But there was a vacant look in her eyes, as if she understood the hopelessness of their situation. She stepped over to join the others.

Infinity did another head count. She came up with 164. Since group thirteen had just arrived, there should have been 260. That meant that ninety-three had died or had gotten lost after fleeing the bridge-in site. Assuming Desmond, Arty, and Gretchen were still alive.

In spite of this appalling loss of people under her protection, her mind turned to Desmond. She had told him if he hadn’t returned by group thirteen’s arrival at noon, she would assume he was dead. But now that noon had come and gone, she wasn’t ready to make that assumption. In fact, she’d go looking for him if she had to.

Movement in the forest drew Infinity’s attention in the direction of the bridge-in site. Another figure was approaching. Seconds later the figure came into full view, walking on two feet and two hands. Infinity felt a rush of relief. It was Abel. She scanned the area around the musk monkey but didn’t see Desmond, Arty, or Gretchen. Her relief turned to alarm.

She looked at the approaching figure again, squinting. It wasn’t Abel. It had larger eyes, which were farther apart. Its forehead had more gray than Abel’s. But like Abel, it carried a venomcrook.

The creature stopped a few yards from Infinity and rose up onto its hind legs. It was definitely taller than Abel.

Several of the refugees were now standing at Infinity’s side, staring at the musk monkey.

Infinity wondered briefly if she should speak aloud but then decided to go ahead. “Who are you?”

For a moment the creature remained silent, gazing at her. “That is an interesting question. I’m not entirely sure. My memories seem to be… somewhat scrambled. What I am sure of is my purpose.”

“Okay, then what’s your purpose?”

The creature raised its weapon. “I wield this venomcrook in service of the mongrels. The mongrels have determined that you—all of you—are a threat to the natural state of this land. My purpose is to persuade you to go elsewhere, far from this bailiwick.”

Infinity took a deep breath, silently cursing Reece Eagleton for forcing the colony to bridge to this godforsaken world. “We can’t leave this area until the rest of our people get here. One day—in exactly one day, at noon tomorrow, the last of our people will arrive, and then we’ll leave. But not before.”

The musk monkey gazed at her without changing its expression. “Few things are clear to me at this moment. Who I am, for example, and why I have memories that make no sense to me. But my purpose is perfectly clear. I suppose that’s what matters.” The creature raised its weapon even higher. “This device is quite astounding. It can persuade people—people like you—with pain or with pleasure. But did you know it can be instructed to do other things? I can apply pressure to this area right here,” the creature pushed with its finger on what looked like an exposed tendon spanning the length of the weapon’s handle. “Just the right pressure will instruct the venomcrook to modify the substance administered by the claws. The venom, if you will.”

Infinity felt adrenaline starting to flow through her body. Her muscles tensed.

The musk monkey went on. “I received a rather cursory tutorial on this device’s functions mere minutes ago. The lesson was invigorating, but I believe some information was withheld, perhaps so that I could have the pleasure of experimentation. Well, no matter. I do know how the pleasure and pain functions work. And I do understand one other function.” It pushed on a particular area of the tendon near the top of the handle. “This configuration is perhaps the most useful. It will cause your bodies to transmogrify into creatures more suitable to the natural state of this land. I believe you have seen this work, have you not?”

“Please just leave us alone,” a woman near Infinity said. “We’re planning to leave tomorrow at noon.”

“My purpose is clear,” the creature repeated. It leapt at the woman without warning, striking her arm with the venomcrook. It then swung to the side with startling agility, striking a man’s shoulder.

Infinity rushed forward, dropped to the ground, and swung her leg around, knocking the musk monkey’s feet from under it.

The creature went down hard, but it rolled to its side and got to its feet in a blur. “For you, pain!” it cried, focusing for a split second on its venomcrook as it made an adjustment.

This distraction was enough for Infinity—she might get only one chance. She feigned the same sweeping kick, and as the musk monkey leapt back to avoid her leg, she drove the knuckles of her right hand into the creature’s throat. She felt the satisfying impact of a solid hit, strong enough to disable any human. The creature’s neck structure was apparently not that different because the musk monkey crumpled immediately. The venomcrook flew from its hand as it grasped for its throat, and two of the weapon’s claws nicked Infinity’s thigh.

She stared down at the scratches, each about an inch long. They were superficial, but a thin line of blood was forming along each cut.

“Oh, shit,” she muttered. With the musk monkey gasping and writhing on the ground beside her, she pressed her hands to her thigh on either side of the cuts, forcing out more blood, hoping to purge the venom. But it was too late. Pain spread from the wound, as if her tissue were burning from the inside. Within a few seconds it had expanded to her lower leg and up to her hip.

Infinity tried unsuccessfully to stifle a scream. She thought she had felt every kind of pain a person could feel. But this was beyond all of it. It was like the venom was seeking out every last nerve ending and abrading it with molten-hot sandpaper. Another involuntary scream erupted from deep within her.

Sensing she was about to lose control of her body and mind completely, she gritted her teeth and grabbed the venomcrook by its handle. For a moment, the growing pain in her abdomen made her forget why she’d wanted to pick it up. Digging deep for the willpower to focus, she crawled to the musk monkey and swung the weapon at the creature’s chest, puncturing its skin in at least a dozen spots. She then grabbed the loose skin of the creature’s face with her other hand and forced it to look at her.

“You—” Involuntary spasms in her throat interrupted her words as tormented moans rose from within her. Dark, colorless clouds began to obscure her vision. She grunted and pulled harder on the musk monkey’s face. “You feel that pain, motherfucker?”

The creature started moaning desperately, and its hands moved from its crushed throat to its chest.

Infinity continued gripping its cheek while holding the venomcrook inches from its face. “Show me what to do with this to make it stop! Show me, and I’ll stop your pain too.”

The creature’s mouth opened, emitting a totally alien, warbling cry.

“Show me!” Infinity screamed, slamming the creature’s head against the ground.

One of its lower hands shot up to the venomcrook’s handle, and its long fingers encircled Infinity’s grip on the weapon.

She blinked several times, trying to force away the clouds from her vision. The musk monkey’s finger pressed against the lengthwise tendon, sliding it to the side once, twice, and then a third time. The creature pulled its hand away and tried to say something, but only tortured grunts came out.

Infinity released the creature’s face and swung the weapon at its chest again. But its chest was covered by its four hands, so for good measure she struck its belly. She rolled away a few feet and tried to focus her attention on the musk monkey. Her arms and legs were now jerking involuntarily, and inhuman sounds were escaping her mouth with each violent jerk. She lost her grip on the venomcrook, and it fell to the ground.

It was too late. She could barely see the musk monkey to know whether its pain had been reversed, and she could no longer control her fingers anyway. She cried out, “Kill me!”

“Infinity, do you want me to hit you with it?” The woman’s voice seemed distant, and all Infinity could see now was clouds.

“Do it!” she screamed.

Something hit her thigh, just a light tap, barely detectable in the burning ocean of torment. Abruptly, the pain started to fade. A soothing numbness began spreading until her thigh no longer burned. But the numbness didn’t last. It blossomed from a simple lack of pain into a pleasurable sensation. The sensation spread, until half her body tingled with pleasure while the other half still burned. The physical clash of the two nearly broke Infinity, and blinding flashes of light filled her vision even though her eyes were closed.

The pleasure continued spreading, overtaking the last remnants of pain and becoming a full-blown, toe-curling explosion of bliss. Infinity allowed it to take her away, no longer caring about anything else.

She had no idea how long the feeling lasted, but suddenly she realized it was coming to an end. She opened her eyes. Naked refugees stared down at her. They were ugly and colorless, and she didn’t want to see their faces anymore. She saw the venomcrook in someone’s hand, and she reached out for it. The colorless idiot gave it to her, and she immediately flicked her wrist, puncturing her skin again.

The euphoria returned, and this time it had no pain to overcome. Infinity curled up and shut out the rest of the universe.

When she again opened her eyes, the ugly refugees were still there. Why didn’t they just leave her alone? Another flick of her wrist—back to the pleasure.

“Infinity!”

She moaned, trying desperately to cling to the last remnants of tingling euphoria.

“Infinity, it’s me, Desmond. What happened?”

“Rapture’s what happened,” another voice said.

Infinity remembered that voice. It was that goddamn green monkey, Abel. She flicked her wrist again, but this time nothing happened. She opened her eyes.

People were gathered around her, staring. And then she saw it—the venomcrook. It was in Desmond’s hand. The son of a bitch was holding it at his side like he owned the damn thing.

She got to her feet. “Give me that!”

He stepped back, taking it with him. “I think you’ve had enough,” he said.

Infinity kicked him in the head. Her heel struck exactly where she’d aimed, just above the bastard’s right ear. He went down, dropping the venomcrook.

She dove for it before anyone else could steal it from her, rolled onto her back, and dosed herself again.

15

Restraint

September 2 - 12:41 PM

White noise was all Desmond heard. Gradually, the noise began to recede, like a slow-motion wave on a beach. Then there were voices.

“Get it away from her!”

“I’m not touching that thing. You get it.”

Desmond opened his eyes. The light sent a piercing pain through his skull. He rubbed his temple. Damn, it hurt. Abruptly, he remembered why. Infinity had kicked him—hard.

He sat up, groaning. A few yards away lay the still body of a musk monkey. It appeared to be dead.

“Rapture madness, it’s called,” Abel said in his warbling voice. “I reckon she’s beyond help now. Best to go on and transfigure her into harmless varmints.”

Abel stepped toward Infinity’s body, which was lying on the ground near the dead musk monkey. Abel tweaked something on the handle of its venomcrook, then leaned in to strike her prone body.

“No!” Desmond tried to shout, but it came out garbled.

Abel paused. “I seen this before. If it don’t kill her like it did that poor soul,” he pointed to the dead musk monkey, “it’ll turn her brain to mud. It ain’t pretty. Best to transfigure her.”

Desmond got to his feet and staggered toward the body. “No! Don’t touch her.”

Infinity was on her side, eyes closed. Her lips were pressed together. Her chest heaved, forcing a long, heavy breath through her nose. She was still gripping the venomcrook’s handle. Desmond carefully pulled it from her for the second time. Her fingers twitched, but otherwise she didn’t react.

Desmond held the weapon out to Abel. “You take this. I don’t want it anywhere near her.”

Abel took it without replying. The creature then went to a nearby tree and effortlessly climbed to its branches. He wrapped his tail around a limb and suspended himself. “She ain’t gonna be happy,” he said.

Infinity began to stir. She opened and closed her fingers, feeling for the venomcrook. A growl came from deep in her chest.

Desmond kneeled beside her. “Gretchen, Arty, help me restrain her.”

Desmond and Gretchen each took one of her arms while Arty held her feet.

“If she’s going to start yelling again, you may want to move her even farther from the mongrels,” a woman said. “They have been killing anyone who speaks. We may have lost as many as ninety.”

Desmond looked up at the woman. “Ninety?”

Infinity groaned and tried pulling her hand from Desmond’s grip.

There was no time now for questions. Desmond scanned the area. About seventy yards farther from the mongrel bubble was a slope that led into a creek-bed ravine. Perhaps it would help dampen the sound.

He and Gretchen pulled Infinity to a sitting position. Desmond got behind her and grasped her under her armpits, locking his hands together over her chest. “You two grab her feet.”

Infinity started struggling as they lifted her. Together they began carrying her to the ravine, trying to hold her thrashing limbs.

“Where is it?” Infinity cried. “Goddammit, give it to me!”

They made their way down the slope. At the steep, six-foot ravine, Desmond backed over the edge, still holding Infinity’s chest. Arty and Gretchen lowered her legs over and then let go.

Infinity kicked wildly, trying to turn on Desmond. “I’ll kill you! Where is it? Give it to me!”

He held her as tight as he could as Arty and Gretchen slid down into the ravine, and together they pinned her to the ground.

“Infinity, listen to me,” Desmond said, trying to keep his tone soft. “We have a job to do, and you need to snap out of it. Do you understand?”

She continued to fight, nearly pulling from his grip.

“Stop fighting,” Gretchen said. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Infinity stopped moving, although her muscles remained contracted like knotted cables. Eyes wide, she said, “Desmond! Please. Just give it to me, okay? I really need it.”

“If you have any more, it might kill you, Infinity.”

Her eyes were full of incredulity, as if she couldn’t believe he’d willingly do something so cruel. Sweat was running into her eyes, but she didn’t try to blink it away. “I have to have it, Desmond. You don’t understand. I have to!”

He looked at her without responding, wondering if she was right. Would she actually die without the venomcrook? He had no idea, but it seemed she was more likely to die if she kept dosing herself with whatever was in the damn thing. He needed to know for sure. “Abel!” he shouted. “I need your help.”

Infinity’s muscles relaxed slightly. “Does Abel have it? Is he bringing it?”

Desmond didn’t reply.

Abel appeared at the ravine’s crest. “I’ve been told that affairs here have gone belly-up. Seems the mongrels have had enough of your herd’s yapping. It caused quite the fracas, it seems. Can’t say I’m sorry I missed it. Bound to get worse soon.”

“Desmond, tell him to give it to me,” Infinity said. She was staring at Abel, who was still holding the extra venomcrook. “Please. Make him give it to me.”

“She says she needs the venomcrook,” Desmond said to Abel. “What will happen if we don’t give it to her?”

Abel gazed down from above. The blackness of his eyes made it hard to tell who he was looking at. “Rapture does different mischief to different folks.”

“Will it kill her if she has too much?”

“Ain’t no doubt of that,” the creature said. “Of course, it might also do her in to have such a powerful hankering for it. Hard to say. I heard you conversing with that feral musk monkey, Resilience. Said he’d taken one too many pricks from the venomcrook, did he not? And yet, there he stood, just as alive as you or me.”

Desmond turned to Infinity.

Her desperate gaze flicked from Abel to meet his eyes.

“You’re too important to me, Infinity. I’m not ready to lose you. We can’t let you have—”

She spat in his face. “You son of a bitch! Make him give it to me or I’ll kill you!” She grunted, thrashing with all her strength, trying to break free.

Desmond had to straddle her arm to keep from losing control of it. Gretchen and Arty had to do the same, Gretchen on her other arm, Arty on her legs.

“Goddammit, let me up!”

Desmond saw a flash of green out of the corner of his eye. Abel was now at his side, and before Desmond could process what was happening, the creature hit Infinity’s belly with one of the venomcrooks.

“What are you doing?” Desmond cried.

Abel ignored him as Infinity stopped thrashing. She turned and looked at Desmond, no longer wide-eyed with fury. She blinked, and then her face went completely slack, eyes half open.

Desmond stared at her. “Infinity?”

“Considering recent calamitous affairs ’round here,” said Abel, “that woman’s yammering ain’t helping matters.”

“What’d you do to her?”

Abel held out one of the venomcrooks. “Rarely have I a need for other means of motivation besides rapture or pain. Hope I done it right.”

“What did you do?”

“I reckon she’ll rest a spell. Not too long though. Didn’t want to overdo it. I recommend you restrain her before she wakes. She’s a dad-blamed wildcat if ever I saw one.”

Desmond realized he wasn’t breathing and sucked in some air. “You mean she’s only sleeping?” He moved his hand to her wrist. He felt a strong pulse.

“She ain’t dead, if that’s what’s concerning you,” Abel said. “She’ll wake soon enough. I got tasks to attend to, and they ain’t ones I’m licking my lips over. If you don’t see me again, it’s because the mongrels have rendered me into the varmints from whence I came.” The musk monkey scrambled up the side of the ravine and then turned to look back. “You and your herd, you’re the most interesting state of affairs old Abel’s been a witness to. Come tomorrow, I hope you’re still you.” The creature then turned and left.

Desmond, Gretchen, and Arty turned and stared at each other.

“We need a better way to restrain her,” Arty said, nodding down at Infinity, “or she’s going to kill someone.”

* * *

5:12 PM

Desmond sighed. He dropped the grass fibers he’d been weaving and reached for Infinity’s neck to check her pulse. Still good and strong. It had been hours. Why wasn’t she waking up?

For perhaps the hundredth time, he checked the woven ropes he’d tied around her ankles. Then he went behind the small tree she was tied to and checked the ropes on her wrists.

Arty, Gretchen, and four other refugees had volunteered to hold Infinity down in case she awoke while Desmond worked on the ropes. Infinity had taught him to weave surprisingly strong rope from plant fibers on his first bridging excursion, which seemed like ages ago. Now that skill would help him prevent her from killing herself. Or from killing him.

He went back to working on the half-woven bundle of stems. He already had plenty of rope to keep her securely tied, but it couldn’t hurt to have extra. Besides, the work helped to keep his mind off the fact that she might never wake up, as well as the nightmare this colony’s situation had become.

Gretchen and another woman appeared at the top of the six-foot ravine a few yards away. “Group eighteen has arrived,” Gretchen said, keeping her voice low. “We lost two colonists this time. Couldn’t get to them in time to keep them from yelling. It took the mongrels all of half a second to target them. Nothing we could do.”

Desmond felt overwhelmed by guilt. He knew he should go to the mongrels and try to reason with them. But he wasn’t ready to leave Infinity’s side. Plus, the thought of confronting the mongrels was absolutely terrifying. One wrong move and they’d kill him. Or transform him into wild animals. Regardless of what happened with Infinity, he’d have to initiate some kind of dialogue with the mongrels soon, even if doing so was suicide. It might be the colony’s only hope.

“This is Lottie,” Gretchen said, putting her hand on the other woman’s elbow. “She’s a doctor. Would you like her to look at Infinity?”

“Please,” Desmond said. “I thought she’d be awake by now.”

Lottie made her way down into the ravine. “Actually, I used to be an orthopedic surgeon. I resigned four years ago when I got married.”

Rich husband, Desmond thought. But he didn’t comment, as he was too tired to feel much like having a conversation.

Lottie kneeled down next to Infinity and felt her neck and forehead, looked in her mouth, pried open her eyes, and felt her pulse. Then she sat back and sighed. “Her heart rate and body temperature seem normal, considering these… conditions. To be honest, with no equipment, I can’t really—”

Infinity coughed three times, shooting spittle onto Lottie’s face. Infinity then opened her eyes and blinked, obviously disoriented. She found Desmond and focused on him. “What…?”

Desmond put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay? I was getting pretty worried.”

She moaned and tried to move her arms. Realizing she couldn’t, she frowned and moaned again. “God, it hurts.”

“Infinity, my name’s Lottie. Remember me? We talked earlier. Can you tell me where it hurts?”

Infinity, her eyes slightly askew, looked at Lottie. “I don’t… oh, shit. Something’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong, hon? Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Infinity closed her eyes and then threw her head back, smacking the tree behind her. She dropped her head forward and did it again, this time harder. “I need it. I need the venomcrook.”

Lottie exchanged a glance with Desmond.

Infinity hit her head again. “Where is it?”

Desmond put his hand between her head and the tree’s trunk. “Infinity, please. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

She slammed her head twice in quick succession, nearly crushing the bones in his hand.

“Infinity, stop!” He gripped her head with both hands.

She growled and tried to bite him, forcing him to withdraw. She started slamming her head against the tree over and over. “Where is it? Where is it? Goddammit, give it to me!” She kicked her feet and arched her back, trying to pull away from the tree.

Desmond could see that the back of Infinity’s scalp was already mashed and bloody. He got behind the tree, reached around, and held her head tight against the trunk to stop her from killing herself.

Gretchen slid down the slope and threw herself onto Infinity’s legs.

The ropes were starting to cut into Infinity’s wrists and ankles, but at least they were holding her securely.

Infinity continued thrashing and fighting. Her skin was now drenched with sweat. After what seemed like at least ten minutes, Desmond began to wonder how much longer her body could keep going at this intensity. Gradually, she slowed down, and then she relaxed.

“You’re killing me,” she said. “Do you understand? You’re killing me!” She went back to fighting. But after a few minutes, her limbs began shaking, showing signs of fatigue. A sob escaped her lips, followed by another minute or two of weakened thrashing. Finally she seemed to be finished.

Still behind her, Desmond couldn’t see her face, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He’d never seen her cry, but she was sobbing so hard her entire body was shaking.

He released her head, and it dropped, hanging loosely above her chest. He crawled around to her side and sat, watching her. He heard Gretchen and Lottie sit back on the ground and whisper to each other.

The sobbing slowed down and then stopped. Infinity’s chest heaved as air rushed in and out through her nose.

“You going to be okay?” Desmond asked quietly.

She raised her head. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her face was covered with a mixture of sweat and tears. “I’m okay now, Desmond.”

He gazed at her face. Her eyes were still slightly askew.

“I’m better now,” she said. “You can let me go. I won’t hurt myself.”

Desmond continued studying her. He wanted—no, needed—her to be okay.

“Look at my ankles,” she said. “And my wrists. The ropes are hurting me. Let me go, okay? You can let me go now.”

He sighed. “When we bridge back we’ll get something to treat those cuts. But right now I don’t think it’s safe to let you go.”

Without warning she slammed her head back into the tree and started thrashing again.

* * *

8:39 PM

Something was touching the top of Desmond’s head. Fingers, massaging his bare scalp. He snapped his head up, disoriented. It was darker now. The last thing he remembered was watching through the forest canopy as the sky had turned orange and then faded to black.

A figure standing over him withdrew its hand. In spite of the darkness, Desmond knew it was a musk monkey by the oily garlic smell.

“Abel?”

“The one and only,” the warbling voice replied.

Desmond wiped his eyes and squinted up at the creature. He then looked over at Infinity. He could only make out her pale outline in the darkness, but he could tell she was slumped over, asleep. He crawled to her and put a hand on her arm. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

“Where have you been, Abel? What’s going on?”

“Been fretting a bit, stewing a bit more, and agonizing a fair share for good measure. Been off to see the herd. Those folks are agitated, to say the least. Also been to the mongrels. They anticipate witnessing a fracas come feeding time tomorrow. And do you know whose job it is to preside over said fracas?”

Desmond waited. Apparently Abel expected him to reply. “Yours?”

“Indeed. As interesting as all this ruckus might be, I’ve a mind to go and join the ferals.”

“The mongrels want us to fight the painted people?”

Abel gazed at him for a moment. “The fracas is gonna happen whether they want it or not. You’ve seen the wild land. You know full and well that your herd can’t live there. You have to seize this bailiwick. You know it and I know it. My job is to see to it the fracas takes place near the mongrels’ domicile, as they enjoy bearing witness to such disputations.”

“The mongrels only provide for a herd of 250,” Desmond said.

“True enough. But sustenance for 250 beats no sustenance at all.”

Desmond stared at the creature for a moment. “How do you communicate with the mongrels?”

Abel stepped forward and then sat on the ground. Desmond heard the creature’s tail snaking its way into a coil around its butt. “Why do you ask that?”

Desmond couldn’t think of any reason to lie. “Because I want to talk to them. I want to convince them to provide enough sustenance for our entire colony to live here. I’m responsible for this colony’s survival.”

The musk monkey gazed at him silently for what seemed like minutes. “I reckon you spoke with the feral named Reason. I figured as much after you followed them ferals into their cave.”

“Reason taught me what he had learned, how to get the mongrels to listen to him.”

“He’s a mad old codger. Ain’t been right in the head since the mongrels took him in to have a meeting of the minds. Problem was, his mind didn’t hold up.”

“Is it possible for me to talk to the mongrels?” Desmond asked.

“Take a good look at yourself. You ain’t built for it! Why do you think mongrels keep us musk monkeys around? Because we’re suited to the job of serving the mongrels. Have been since the beginning of time. Mongrels need us as much as we need them.”

“Then talk to them for me,” Desmond said. “You can convince them to help.”

“I’ll do no such thing! You know why I’m still me? Because I know better, that’s why. If you wanna go to them mongrels and have them suck the wits from your head or transfigure you into dung beetles, you go right ahead. It ain’t gonna stop the fracas they’re hankering to witness.”

Desmond glanced over at Infinity’s sleeping form. He knew that she would do anything to save the colony, regardless of the risk to her own safety. “I have to try,” he said.

“Chances are, you’ll raise the mongrels’ hackles just by attempting it. However, if by some confounded miracle they grant you an audience, remember this: it ain’t gonna be nothing like you thought it might. If you go to gettin’ agitated or losing your nerve, it’ll be over for your sorry carcass.”

Desmond sighed. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He paused. “So, what will it be like?”

The musk monkey let out a grunt and then got to its feet. “I ain’t got all night to explain what can’t be explained.” The creature held something out—a venomcrook. “You want this back? More rapture will likely kill that woman, but dying by rapture is a far cry better than what she’s going through.”

Desmond considered it. “No. I’d prefer never to see one of those again.”

Abel withdrew the weapon. “Never in my days… goodness gracious, ain’t you a conundrum.”

The creature climbed the slope and disappeared.

16

Darkness

September 2 - 11:51 PM

Infinity blinked. It was dark. When had it gotten dark? The forest was quiet except for a few whippoorwills calling in the distance. The back of her head hurt like hell. And so did everything else. She blinked again. She felt something pressing against her shoulder, holding her upright. It was a body, leaning against her. The body smelled of sweat, but it was a familiar, comforting smell. Desmond’s smell.

“You should know better than to sit this close to me,” she said.

His head popped, thumping the tree trunk behind them, reminding Infinity of the cause of the pain in her own head.

“Infinity, you’re awake!” He moved a few feet away from her.

“I could have torn your ear off with my teeth.”

“But you didn’t. I’ll take that as a good sign.”

She tried to read his expression, but the darkness shrouded it. “If I asked you to untie me now, would you?”

“Um, I don’t know. I’d need to talk to you for a few minutes first.”

She leaned her head back against the tree, eliciting another painful reminder of the damage she’d done. “Good. You shouldn’t let me go. Not yet.”

“Are you okay?”

She considered how to respond. “I don’t know. Do you have the venomcrook with you?”

“Abel offered it to me, but I didn’t want it near you.”

“Probably for the best. I’m craving the shit out of it.” Just thinking about it made her skin come alive with anticipation. She shook her head, trying to drive away the desire.

“At least you’re not kicking and screaming.”

She snorted a brief laugh, surprising herself. “I don’t suppose an apology is going to cut it.”

He scooted closer and put a hand on her knee.

Briefly she wondered if it would be possible to grip his hand between her legs, twist it into a submission hold, and refuse to let go until he called out for Abel to come and give her the venomcrook. She rolled her leg, pushing his hand away. “Don’t! Not yet. The way I feel right now, I could turn on you any second. There’s a goddamn war going on in my head.”

He sat back. “Understood.”

A wave of panic radiated from her gut, and she closed her eyes to suppress it. She tried swallowing, but her mouth was too dry. How long had it been since she’d had water?

“Infinity?”

She opened her eyes but didn’t reply.

“I thought I’d really lost you this time,” Desmond said.

“Yeah.”

He put his hand back on her knee, and again she had to fight the compulsion to turn on him. But this time she didn’t push it away.

“If we make it to bridge-back,” he said, “I think we should do what Armando suggested. We should go ahead and bridge out with colony ST6. Without the radioisotope marker. I don’t think we’ll get another chance. We’re lucky we’ve even made it this far.”

Infinity had been focusing on suppressing her desire for rapture, but hearing him say those words at this moment nearly made her forget the venomcrook entirely.

“We’ve done our share,” Desmond said. “We’ve done almost everything in our power to help two colonies survive. And we can help colony ST6. But someone else can help ST7, if they even get the chance to bridge.”

Infinity frowned at him, although he probably couldn’t see it. “Why’d you say almost everything?” There was something about the way he had uttered those words, like he was bothered by their meaning.

He hesitated before answering. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet. The wild land isn’t an option for the colony. The people living there, the ferals, they’re starving. They barely scrape enough food together to survive the winter, and only enough to sustain small groups. The land simply doesn’t provide enough for them, and the mongrels don’t allow them to farm or use tools. The ferals live in caves like animals because they’re not allowed to construct shelters of any kind.”

Infinity struggled to process this. Her desire for rapture was starting to surge again—with a vengeance. “Damn, that’s disappointing. So tell me what you think we haven’t tried yet.”

Again he hesitated. “I’ve been thinking about this. Most of the mongrel bailiwicks provide food for only a few hundred people, and Abel told me many of them don’t even allow a hundred. The refugees could split up and try to take over multiple bailiwicks. But the existing herds would still fight for their lives to keep them. I have doubts about whether our people could successfully drive them away. It would get ugly.”

Infinity was in too much pain to be patient. “You going to tell me your idea or not?”

“I think the colony’s only hope is to convince the mongrels to provide enough food for all of them.”

Infinity waited for him to go on.

“I’m going to talk to the mongrels,” he said.

“How the hell are you going to do that?”

“I met a feral who has done it before. The guy taught me what I need to do to get them to listen.”

She gazed at his barely-visible face. “The mongrels are dangerous. They’ve been killing refugees, maybe over a hundred now. Just for speaking.”

“Yeah, so I’ve been told.”

“What makes you think they won’t kill you?”

“Are you trying to talk me out of it?”

She considered this. Was she? Probably. Damn, her head hurt. She tried to focus. “Do you honestly think you have a chance?”

He shrugged. “I’ve learned a lot from you, Passerina. If this is the only chance the refugees have, then I don’t have a choice.”

Infinity decided she liked it when he called her by her real name. “My name’s Infinity. You can call me Passerina when we get to our new home with colony ST6.”

* * *

September 3 - 3:23 AM

Infinity awoke again as Desmond shifted his weight. Even though her back had been killing her, she had fallen asleep again—apparently the trauma from the rapture ordeal had forced her body to shut down.

“Desmond?” she whispered.

“Yeah, I’m awake.”

“You can untie me now.”

He rolled to his side and studied her. “The venomcrook is gone. I gave it to Abel, and he said he’d destroy it. How does that make you feel?”

She smiled. “Nice job. That’s exactly the kind of thing I’d ask if our roles were reversed.”

“You haven’t answered the question.”

She sighed. At least he was being careful. “Okay. Am I one-hundred-percent past the effects of the venomcrook? No. My head hurts, and every muscle feels like I just ran a marathon in medieval armor. But the last thing I want is another dose of rapture. I’m cognizant enough to get how dangerous it is. I’ve never lost control of myself like that before.”

“And how do you feel about me?”

She stared through the darkness at his face. Then she realized what he was getting at. “Yeah, I probably said some things. I don’t really remember, but I can imagine. I feel… like I’m lucky you’re my bridging partner.” Goddammit, that was lame.

Desmond continued watching her silently.

Infinity knew she should say more. If ever there was a time to put her feelings into words, this was it. “Look, I have some fuzzy memories of what I said and did to you. I was an asshole. If I could undo it, I would. You know you’re more than just a partner to me. I’ve had plenty of partners, but I’ve never… you know.”

“Are you trying to say you’re falling in love with me?”

“Are you trying to make me say it?”

He may have smiled, but it was hard to tell. “Do you want to say it?”

“Jesus, who’s being an asshole now?”

He huffed out a laugh. “I think you were right. It’s safe to untie you.” He started working on the knots at her ankles.

“I’m not like you, Desmond,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve met your mom. I know what kind of life you’ve lived. But you don’t know anything about me. I don’t… I don’t really know what love is, or what it should feel like.”

One of the knots came undone, and he removed the first rope. “I understand.”

“I don’t think you really do.”

He pulled another knot loose and then paused. “This is new to me, too. I’ve had a few girlfriends. But this desire to spend my last remaining time with you, even knowing I might die tonight? How could my life—which you say is so different from yours—have prepared me for that? Maybe we’re both just trying to figure this out as we go.” He quickly unwrapped the second rope and set it aside. He caressed the area around the torn skin on her ankles. “You’re going to need antibiotics when you bridge back.”

“Stop talking like you’re not going back with me. If you really think speaking to the mongrels is a suicide mission, don’t do it.”

He moved behind the tree and started on her wrists. “I’m tired of losing refugees. And we’re out of options.” The knots loosened quickly, freeing her wrists. He moved a few yards to the side and crouched, watching her.

Good—he was still being cautious.

“Relax, I’m not going to attack you,” she said. She inspected her wrists and then stretched her arms and shoulders, working out several kinks. “How far are we from the refugees?”

“Maybe seventy-five yards. There should be about 560 now, minus all those the mongrels have killed and those that have run away and not returned.”

“When do you think you’ll try to speak with the mongrels?”

He moved closer but remained in a crouched position, ready to move quickly if necessary. “Soon. Before daybreak. Definitely before the painted herd comes to feed.”

She held her hand out and waited until he took it. “Then there’s something I want you to do first.” She pulled him closer.

“Are you serious?”

“Damn right I’m serious, especially if you’re going to die in the next few hours.”

He sat beside her and ran his hand up her arm to her neck. “You know we’re both covered with sweat and muck, right?”

Instead of answering, she pushed him to the ground and climbed on top of him.

As they kissed, his hand roamed down her body.

“Wait,” she said, grabbing his hand. “This isn’t happening until I take a pee.”

17

Mongrels

September 3 - 4:58 AM

As Desmond and Infinity watched, group thirty appeared and dropped to the ground, illuminated by the purple glow of the mongrels’ looming bubble. Twenty volunteers rushed in with practiced efficiency, each grabbing a newcomer and clamping their hands over the their mouth, not only silencing them but also preventing them from falling into a floundering heap. The volunteers then kneeled beside them, hands still clamped over their mouths, as the newcomers doubled over with dry heaves. Within a minute, the newcomers had recovered and again stood upright. Without a single casualty, the volunteers led them away to join the other refugees.

Only Desmond and Infinity remained. Now, in the bubble’s glow, Desmond could see the true extent of Infinity’s self-abuse. Blood vessels had burst in her eyes, turning portions of the whites to a red that looked black in the purple light. Bruises and scratches covered the back of her body, especially her head. But at least she seemed to be past the rapture madness that had possessed her for so many hours.

Desmond pointed to a spot on the ground about ten yards from the mongrel bubble, silently telling Infinity he wanted her to stand there. She shook her head and glared at him, making it clear again that she thought this was a bad idea.

But she didn’t try to stop him, which Desmond took to mean she understood this was important enough to take the risk.

Desmond tried to smile but doubted it looked very convincing. His smile faded as he turned away from her and approached the bubble’s membrane. He stood transfixed by the mostly-clear fluid within. He saw movement. Suspended particles swirled in small eddies as something nearly invisible propelled itself closer to him. Another amorphous figure moved in and positioned itself beside the first. The two mongrels hovered in the fluid, moving slightly every second or so, the only evidence they were still there.

Soon a third shape appeared beside the first two. Desmond definitely had their attention. Now all he had to do was convince them to actually listen to him.

He held out his right hand, his palm inches from the membrane. Disturbances in the fluid just on the other side indicated one of the mongrels had moved some part of its body to the same spot. Desmond thought of Gavin’s horrific transformation into a deer. Was he seconds away from a similar fate?

He visualized the sequence of images he’d used to memorize Reason’s verbalizations. He opened his mouth and uttered the sounds, which wasn’t difficult—the sequence was made up of only eight separate sounds. Desmond had no idea what creatures had originally made some of the sounds, but he was sure of three: a deer’s wheezing snort, a fox’s screech, and a flicker’s yelp. He had practiced several times a good distance from the mongrels and was confidant he’d done a decent job of mimicking Reason’s impressions. When he was finished, he watched the mongrels for signs of a reaction.

The fluid near his outstretched palm swirled as something moved. Then the membrane itself bulged outward several inches. Desmond had to pull his hand back to avoid contact. The bulge in the bubble remained, as if waiting. Was this an invitation to touch the membrane? This seemed like the most logical explanation. But touching the bubble hadn’t ended well for Gavin.

Still, the bulge remained.

Desmond took a breath and pressed his palm against it. The surface felt like a water balloon coated with vaseline, and it was warm to the touch.

His heart pounding, he repeated the sequence of sounds, in case the mongrels hadn’t gotten his intent the first time.

His hand suddenly passed through the membrane up to the wrist. Something warm and solid closed around his fingers and gently pulled. In the fluid he could see nothing but slight distortions near his skin, but something was definitely pulling him. Within seconds his arm was in past the elbow.

And he hadn’t been transformed into an animal.

This was it. This was what he had been hoping for. But now he felt panic take hold of him. He turned to look at Infinity. She was staring, her brows furrowed with concern. But then her head tilted down in a simple nod.

That nod was all Desmond needed to solidify his resolve. Although Infinity would be powerless to help if things went south, at least she had acknowledged he was doing what had to be done.

Desmond was now in up to his shoulder. The side of his body was pressed against the membrane, which seemed to be dissolving at the touch of his skin. He turned away from the bubble and took a deep breath as it began engulfing his head.

Within seconds he was inside the bubble, eyes closed, suspended in thick, warm fluid.

The mongrels were still holding his right hand, but now they grabbed and began pulling his left hand, as well as both his legs. He opened his eyes, but all he could see was blurry purple fluid. The mongrels were pulling him toward the center of the bubble, away from the membrane and the life-sustaining air beyond it.

His lungs started burning for air, and within seconds the pain became unbearable. He started struggling, trying to get back to the outer membrane. But the mongrels held tight.

“Breathe.”

He stopped struggling. He’d heard the voice clearly, in spite of the fact that his ears were filled with fluid.

His lungs were burning, and he began struggling again. He was drowning.

“Breathe.”

The fluid pressed against his skin, against his nose and mouth. There was no air to breathe. The mongrels were toying with him. Instead of turning him into a creature, they would hold him inside their bubble and watch him drown. He felt himself try to scream as he fought to break their hold on him.

“Breathe.”

His whole body felt like it was on fire. He needed air now.

Something gripped his face and tried to force his mouth open.

He twisted and jerked. But it was too late. He didn’t even know which direction the outer membrane was. His brain relinquished control and his body forced a dying gasp for air. Warm fluid gushed into his mouth and filled his lungs, and he spasmed wildly with panic. He tried to cough but only sucked in more fluid.

He heaved over and over, trying to purge the fluid. But each heave only brought more fluid into his lungs.

Desmond’s mind began to clear. He wasn’t dead. In fact, the burning in his lungs was subsiding. He sucked in more fluid and then forced it out. In again and then out. In spite of the horrifying sensation of breathing liquid, he began to relax.

The mongrels released their grip on his legs and his left hand, now holding him only by his right hand.

He sucked in fluid, forced it out. In and out. The fluid was apparently loaded with oxygen, keeping him alive.

“From whence did you come?” It was the same voice, and the words were loud and clear, but obviously not spoken with sound waves.

Desmond tried to speak but only managed to move fluid in and out of his lungs. His vocal chords apparently needed air to function.

“Converse with your wits, not your mouth.”

With his wits? What was that supposed to mean? Desmond squinted but could only see the purple fluid surrounding him.

“Concoct your words with your wits. Cogitate them such as you wish to speak them. We ask you again, from whence did you come?”

Desmond tried to think, still struggling with the strange sensation of breathing liquid. He concentrated and formed a series of words, silently moving his lips as he focused on the sounds each word would make. “Do. You. Understand. This?”

“We understand. From whence did you come?”

Desmond let out a silent, astonished laugh. They were actually understanding his projected thoughts. He tried forming words more smoothly. “We came from a different version of this world. An alternate timeline.”

“Yes. How’d you learn to do such a thing?”

Desmond could see no harm in being honest. “We discovered a radio signal transmitted through space from a distant civilization. The signal had instructions for building a machine that would allow us to do this. But the machine is destroying our world. We came to this world to avoid the destruction of our species. But today you have killed many of our people. I’m here to ask you to help us.”

Seconds passed without a response. The force gripping his right hand tightened slightly.

“You seek our help. But we know nothing of who you are.”

“What do you want to know?” Desmond waited for an answer, sucking fluid into his lungs more easily now.

“Who you are, who you ain’t, who you wish to be, and who you fear becomin’.”

Desmond tried to make sense of this. He was about to ask for clarification when the glowing fluid around him vanished.

He looked around, startled. He was in a darkened room. Light from a streetlamp entered through window blinds to his right. Red numbers on a digital clock glowed on a dresser to his left, reading 5:16 AM. He was lying in a bed. He had never seen this bed, but somehow he knew it was his. And the woman sleeping beside him was his wife. He’d met her in college and had married her seven years ago. Her name was Jess, and their three-year-old, Emma, was in the bedroom on the other side of the hall. He loved them both dearly, and a feeling of contentment swelled within him as he realized he’d been having a disturbing nightmare.

The bedroom disappeared suddenly.

Desmond looked around again, and again he found himself in bed in a darkened room. A different clock was visible, this one on the opposite side of the room. It said 5:16 AM. A warm, salty breeze drifted in through an open window.

“What’s wrong, babe?” The voice came from a woman beside him. Her name was Marta. They’d met when he was on a study trip to Costa Rica, and he had moved from the U.S. to be with her. They’d been living together here at the south end of Playa Hermosa for almost three years.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just a bad dream, I think.”

The room disappeared.

Desmond was staring at a television that was silently playing an old episode of Lost. A radio was on somewhere, with several people talking about earthquakes, rising death tolls, and a government that didn’t seem to care. Desmond’s left hand held a yellow plastic cup with ice and a few remaining sips of Jim Beam, but he knew the half-empty bottle was waiting for him on the counter in the kitchen. He touched his phone to check the time—5:16 AM. He’d been up all night. One last good bender. And why the hell not? He was going to die soon. And it wasn’t like he gave a shit about his job. He looked down at the table in front of him. Between an unfinished plate of spaghetti and the TV remote with dead batteries was his Ruger LCP .380 pistol. Tonight was the night he’d finally use it to put an end to all this. To hell with waiting for the world to implode. But first he’d have another drink.

The TV, table, and pistol disappeared, along with the racking despair.

Desmond was in his bunk room at SafeTrek. He was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, staring at his phone on the floor in front of him. Glowing numbers on the phone said 5:16 AM. He’d placed it there as a focal point. Weeks ago, Infinity had tried to teach him the meditative state called Mokuso. But now he was having trouble focusing. His chest heaved involuntarily a few times, and he had to close his eyes to fight off a full-blown sob session. If Infinity were here, she’d have kicked his ass for letting his emotions get in the way.

He opened his eyes and tried focusing on the phone again. But images of Infinity’s last seconds kept pushing themselves back into his head. She had only been dead a week. They’d thought the destination world was reasonably safe, and more than half the refugees had already arrived, almost four hundred. Then out of nowhere the creatures had come. Hundreds of them. Winged animals with fur, like bats but with talons and teeth for tearing flesh. Infinity had simply been in the wrong place, standing before the refugees, giving a pep talk on something Desmond couldn’t even remember. The first wave of creatures had dropped straight down on top of her, and the rest had gone for the nearest refugees. Within seconds, over a hundred of the refugees had been ripped to shreds.

Desmond couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t care that Infinity would disapprove—he broke down and allowed his sobs to take over.

The bunk room disappeared.

Desmond opened his eyes to new surroundings. And to the sounds of two inmates arguing. One was babbling about his right to eat his meals in peace. He might have been referring to the meals he ate here in the chow hall or to the ones he ate in the imaginary fairyland of his demented head. Desmond didn’t know and didn’t care. The other guy, his cell mate, was telling him to shut up or he’d bust the guy’s head against the wall.

Desmond rolled to his side and put his arm over his ear. Lights-on came at 6:00 AM—365 days of the goddamn year. And this babbling halfwit was waking everyone at forty-five minutes till? The guy was apparently suicidal.

Desmond’s mind started to wander. He knew that only idiots spent time thinking of how much time they had left, but that’s where Desmond’s thoughts went whenever he couldn’t sleep. Six years. Six years until he’d be up for parole. And then what? A job loading boxes on trucks or cleaning toilets? He balled up his fist and pounded his own forehead, trying to drive these thoughts out of his head.

The cell and arguing inmates disappeared.

A new scenario appeared, lingered briefly, and then disappeared, followed by another scenario, and another, and on and on. In each, Desmond found himself in his own body but living as a different version of himself. In one scenario, he was crying in a darkened hospital room, questioning why he, of all people, had developed colon cancer at such a young age. Then in another scenario, he awoke to see a wheelchair beside his bed, and within seconds he remembered that a distracted driver had taken both his legs when he had been only seventeen. One unfamiliar version of himself after another. There were numerous versions where he was lying in bed alone, and even more versions where a wife or girlfriend was sleeping beside him. In some scenarios, bridging technology had been discovered, and Earth was dying. In others, humans had never even discovered the Outlanders’ radio signal.

Some of his lives were desperately lonely, while others were full of loved ones. Some were bitter and filled with thoughts of violence, while others were at peace with the world. A lifetime of accumulated memories, both good and bad, accompanied each scenario, flooding Desmond’s consciousness with layers of thoughts and emotions, only to disappear and be replaced in the next scenario. Again and again.

Abruptly, Desmond was back in the mongrels’ bubble, sucking oxygenated fluid into his lungs. He had no idea how much time had passed, although in many of the hundreds of scenarios he’d experienced, he had been aware that the time was 5:16 AM. Was it possible that all of this could have happened in less than a minute?

“Better now, for you and for us,” the mongrel voice said. “Now you know—and we know—who you are, who you ain’t, who you wish to be, and who you fear becomin’.”

Desmond’s mind was still reeling from the sensory and emotional onslaught. He tried forming words in his mind. “What was that? Why?”

“We reckon it’s easier talking to folks when we understand who they are and who they ain’t. Acquainting you with variants of yourself does the trick without a hitch, as we can learn much from your cogitations regarding each variant.”

“Those were actual alternate versions of me? Did I just travel to all those alternate universes?”

“The particulars ain’t important. We now know from whence you came. And we know who you ain’t. What we don’t know is what to do with you and your herd.”

Desmond tried to focus his thoughts. This was his chance. He had to convince the mongrels to provide for the colonists. He closed his eyes and concentrated. “That is why I wanted to talk to you. I have a proposal for you.”

“Speak your piece.”

Desmond considered how to begin. “I understand that you came here in the same way I did, by bridging from another version of this world.”

“You’re correct.”

“And I understand that you destroyed the cities and roads and houses. You destroyed everything.”

“You’re mistaken. We destroyed nothing. This world suffered ruinous disfigurements. We transmogrified said disfigurements into elements more suited to the natural state of the land.”

“Millions of people lived in those cities.”

“Yes, but the land don’t accommodate herds of such unnatural size. Them folks were needed to replace valuable fertile elements of the soil. They are now in a form more fruitful to the land’s natural abundance.”

The stark matter-of-factness of these words threw off Desmond’s concentration. These creatures apparently didn’t blink at the thought of converting millions of people into fertilizer. The colony’s prospects were starting to look hopeless.

“Your herd ain’t suited to the natural state of this land,” the voice said.

Desmond knew that his next words might determine the colony’s fate. “That’s what I’d like to discuss with you. It is important to you to observe the creatures of this world in their natural state, is it not?”

“You’re correct.”

“I understand. I, too, like to observe creatures in this way. But I want to inform you that you are missing out on observing one of this world’s most fascinating creatures. Humans.”

“We accommodate human herds.”

“Yes, but reducing them to herds doesn’t allow you to observe the most fascinating aspects of human behavior. I want to tell you a story I think you’ll like. On this world, during the last million years, numerous species of human-like creatures existed at the same time. They were all different, each species having different diets and behaviors. My species—humans—appeared about two hundred thousand years ago. At first, humans were similar in many ways to the other human-like species. In fact, we even interbred with some of the other species. But as time passed, certain aspects of humans’ brains allowed us to develop language and complex social relationships that made the species highly adaptable to a variety of conditions. In fact, these social relationships are a product of the process of adaptation that shapes all creatures living in their natural states.”

The mongrels were silent. Good—Desmond had their attention. He continued. “These relationships gradually became even more complex, with each member of a herd contributing to the herd’s well-being in a different way. One of the most amazing aspects of human herds in their natural state is that certain humans are responsible for teaching the other members of the herd. Other species teach their young, but not like us, not by designating certain individuals for that specific task. Once humans began doing that, their advancement and social relationships evolved in new, even more fascinating, directions.” Desmond paused. “Do you understand my story?”

After a moment, the voice said. “We understand your words. We don’t understand why you prattle on about such things.”

“I’m explaining that you are missing out on observing one of the most interesting creatures of this world in their natural state. You think you are restoring things to their natural order, but you aren’t. You aren’t allowing humans to behave in natural ways. Instead, you’re making them pretend to be something unnatural. You’re making them much less interesting than they could be. So I have a proposal for you.”

“Perhaps you would care to make your proposal soon?”

Desmond hesitated. He had assumed the mongrels had learned to speak English from the local humans, but he hadn’t expected sarcasm. “Okay, here’s my proposal. I would like you to see that you have an amazing opportunity to observe humans in their real natural state. This is an opportunity you’ve never had before. And it’s an opportunity the others of your kind do not have. Only you, in this specific bailiwick, have this opportunity.”

“Stop prattling and spit it out.”

“I propose that you take advantage of this opportunity by allowing my herd to interact with the herd of your bailiwick. My herd is from a different version of this world. This is why you, and you alone, have the opportunity to observe what I’m proposing. My people are highly skilled at social interactions and forming relationships that benefit an entire herd. They can teach your humans to do what you have forced them to forget—to behave the way humans behave in their natural state. You can observe this phenomenon from the beginning. I think you’ll find it fascinating, because I think that you are like me—you are lovers of all things natural.”

Several seconds passed in silence. Finally, the voice said. “That’s a proposal worth chewing on. Problem is, if we abide such behaviors, soon the herd will take up practices that ain’t good for the natural state of the land. And then where will we be? Smack dab in the midst of where we started.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” Desmond contended. “Can I tell you another story? I’ll keep it brief.”

“Proceed.”

“On my version of this world, some people realized we had reached a critical point at which we were destroying the natural state of the planet: pollution, overpopulation, habitat destruction, and loss of biodiversity. Those of us who truly understood that this was happening worked hard to come up with ways to live without destroying the natural state of the land. We devised ways to live comfortably without overusing natural resources, by becoming stewards of the land. We built domiciles that existed side by side with native plants and creatures. We figured out how people could live in close proximity to each other, benefiting from the complex interactions humans need, without destroying natural resources. And we learned the best ways to teach this knowledge to others.

“The problem was, many other people simply didn’t listen. Too many people were indifferent to these teachings, focused instead on gaining power and wealth. Or perhaps they simply failed to see an obvious benefit to changing their ways. But here, this world, the people of your herd will listen. They will not be indifferent. And they will see an obvious benefit to changing their ways. Because their lives depend upon it.

“My people can teach these things to your humans. This is what humans do when allowed to live in their natural state. I am requesting that you allow this to happen by providing sustenance to my herd and your herd as they learn together how to sustain themselves in ways that comply with your standards. Do this, and you will get to observe marvelous things.”

That was it, the best argument Desmond could come up with. The mongrels would either accept it or reject it. The colony’s fate would hinge on this moment.

After a few seconds, the voice spoke. “You’ve said a mouthful, no doubt about it. Now we’ve got a proposal for you.”

For a moment, Desmond was frozen by fear. Finally, he said, “I’m listening.”

“We’ll entertain your proposal, but first you and your herd gotta prove you can do what you claim. Come feeding time, which ain’t long from now, you must convince the herd of this bailiwick to go along with your clever plan. If they agree, then we’ll accept your proposal. That there alone will make for fascinating amusement.”

“All we have to do is convince your herd to do this? And then you’ll provide sustenance for both herds combined?”

“You’re correct. Such deliberations between the herds should be revealing, as your bearing and conduct will bespeak your aptness in achieving what you’ve promised.”

Desmond felt overwhelmed with disbelief. His plan had actually worked? He hadn’t dared to think much beyond this moment.

One other important detail came to him. “Will you please allow our herds to speak aloud in your presence, so that my group can have a chance to convince the herd to agree?”

“We’ll allow it.”

Seriously? Was it really going to be this easy? Desmond took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with fluid, and forced it back out. This had the same effect as a breath of fresh air, helping him to relax slightly. He decided to push his luck and see if he could learn more. “I’m grateful for this, but since you now seem to know a lot about me, I’d like to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?”

“Proceed.”

“I told you before that our world is dying. It’s collapsing in on itself due to strange, unexpected particles created by an alien bridging machinery.”

“Yet you’re still using said machinery.”

“Yes, because we know the process has gone too far and cannot be reversed. Now we’re using the bridging devices to move as many of our people as possible to alternate versions of our world. It’s the only way we can save our species.”

“Perhaps you should be moving the nonhuman critters of your world instead, as they are not guilty of destroying your world.”

Desmond hadn’t expected this response. “Well,” he said, “in our world, we value human lives above the lives of nonhuman animals. Just as you seem to value your own lives over the lives of the humans who live here.”

The mongrels didn’t reply to this.

“Anyway, I wanted to ask you, did you come to this world for the same reason? Was your home world destroyed by the bridging machinery?”

“No.”

“But you were using the bridging machinery—didn’t the particles it emitted start consuming the core of your planet?”

“No.”

Desmond waited for an explanation.

“Our bridging machinery does not produce the particles you speak of,” the voice said.

How was that possible? Desmond frowned. “You can use your bridging devices without damaging your home planet?”

“Yes.”

A horrifying thought occurred to him. “We believe that the civilization that sent instructions for bridging machinery did so with the intention of destroying other worlds. We call that civilization the Outlanders.” Desmond paused.

“Is this a question?”

He swallowed some of the fluid. “Are you the Outlanders?”

Several seconds of silence.

“No. We learned of bridging machinery as you did, by receiving instructions.”

“Then how did you use it without destroying your world?”

“We studied the instructions and ascertained the key.”

“The key?”

“The bridging machinery’s key lies within the instructions, for those pertinacious enough to ferret it out. This allows certain civilizations to use the bridging machinery without spiteful consequences. Those civilizations unable to ferret out the key… well, fate befalls them. It’s a rather grand approach to thinning the herd.”

Desmond struggled to comprehend the enormity of this. There was a key? The calculated cruelty of it all was staggering.

“Your human companion is making a nuisance of itself.”

Desmond swiveled and squinted at the bubble’s outer membrane. He saw a blurry shape just outside the membrane, either waving its arms or striking the bubble. “That’s Infinity. She’s probably worried about me. Please don’t hurt her.”

“If the human persists, it will be transfigured into varmints.”

“I’ll stop her.” Desmond tried to swim through the fluid, without much success. “Can you help me get out? I care about her and don’t want her to get hurt.”

Whatever was gripping his right hand began pulling him toward the membrane.

The conversation was ending, but Desmond had many more questions. “This key you mentioned. Do you think you could share it with me? Could you tell me how to find it, or tell me the information it contains?”

“Perhaps. Come feeding time, if you do what you have promised, perhaps we’ll bequeath the secret of the key to you.”

He had arrived at the edge of the bubble and could see Infinity on the other side. She was now standing still, looking back at him.

“Is there any chance we could use the key to reverse the destruction of our world?”

“You claimed to know the process had gone too far. If your claim was truthful, the process cannot be reversed.”

Desmond felt the membrane give way against his skin. His left arm and shoulder passed through. Infinity grabbed his wrist and pulled. For a moment, he tried to resist. He needed more time. But the mongrels nudged him the rest of the way through the membrane.

He fell to the ground in a heap. Infinity raised his torso to help the fluid drain from his mouth. He realized he was holding his breath. Surprisingly, the thought of switching breathing mediums again was almost as terrifying as it had been the first time. But the fluid in his lungs was depleted of its oxygen. He blew most of it out onto the ground. He choked on his first breath of air, triggering a coughing fit. Eventually, the last of the fluid came out, and he took a few tentative breaths. The air seemed so thin, so easy to suck in and blow out. He tipped and shook his head to drain his right ear and then his left. He sat up and blinked at Infinity.

She stared back at him with a deep frown.

“We can talk out loud now,” he said.

“What the hell happened?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

He wiped the last of the fluid from his eyes. “You’re not going to believe it.”

18

Tiers

September 3 - 6:37 AM

A refugee woman whistled to draw Infinity’s attention. The woman pointed. The sun had just risen, and nearly-horizontal shafts of light barely illuminated the forest, but there was movement in the distance. A man with an orange body and blue arms. A yellow woman with black stripes.

The painted herd was coming.

Infinity scanned the sea of over five hundred refugees gathered beside the mongrel bubble. The refugees were not holding rocks or other weapons, and they were seated on the forest floor rather than standing, in order to appear less threatening. Having had only an hour to prepare for this moment, they had discussed and discarded several plans in favor of a tiered approach. They would begin with a peaceful, reserved plea for an audience with the leaders of the painted herd, assuming the group even had leaders. They would follow this up, as needed, with increasingly aggressive tiers of persuasion. If necessary, they’d go as far as deploying two or three refugees to every native, chasing them down and restraining them, forcing them to listen to reason.

It was crucial that the herd understand what was at stake.

Besides Infinity and Desmond, only three refugees were standing: Arty, Gretchen, and Lottie. Oliver and a handful of others were waiting for group thirty-two to arrive, at which time they would calm the new arrivals and prevent them from escalating the situation.

Infinity glanced at Desmond. Remnants of mongrel bubble fluid clung to his skin. Most of the fluid had dried, leaving behind a layer of clear film that was gradually flaking off. He noticed her looking at him and nodded, indicating he was ready.

Nehemiah, the man with a black torso and yellow limbs, was leading the approaching herd. It appeared the entire herd was coming. And every one of the natives was carrying at least one rock. These people were expecting trouble.

The herd stopped ten yards from the closest refugees. Nehemiah glared at Infinity but remained silent.

“You can speak freely,” Desmond said. “I have spoken to the mongrels, and they have agreed to allow us to talk.”

Several hundred native heads turned to stare at the translucent bubble.

“You lie,” Nehemiah said, covering his mouth and keeping his voice low. “No one speaks to the mongrels but for musk monkeys.”

“That statement ain’t necessarily true,” a warbling voice said. Abel walked around the edge of the mongrel bubble, once again having appeared unexpectedly. The musk monkey positioned himself between the painted herd and the refugees. Infinity realized for the first time that the flakes of transparent film peeling from its green skin were dried pieces of mongrel bubble fluid. Abel continued, “A human with a stubborn streak and a will to give up the ghost might have the gumption needed to speak to the mongrels.” The creature looked directly at Desmond. “And live to tell of it.”

“Ain’t no concern of ours,” Nehemiah said. “We offered these people a fair deal to leave us be, but they spurned our offer. They intend to seize our bailiwick, and we got every right to defend it.”

“Please listen to what I have to say,” Desmond said. “We have a plan you’re going to like. I did talk to the mongrels, and they agreed to allow our herds to live together in this bailiwick. They’ll provide sustenance for all of us, a combined herd of nine hundred.”

Several long seconds of silence followed.

Infinity’s muscles tightened, an instinctive response to moments of uncertainty, particularly when lives could be lost.

“Lies!” one of the native women hissed.

“The mongrels are deceivers,” Nehemiah said. “You’ve been hoodwinked.”

Again, several seconds of silence.

“No, I haven’t,” Desmond said with admirable calm. “The mongrels agreed to allow all of us to—”

He was cut short by a sharp phhhit, and then another. Arty slapped his neck and looked at his hand. Wet goo glinted on his palm.

“God almighty,” cried a man painted brown on his back side and yellow on his front. The man’s chest had also been hit with goo.

Arty fell to the ground, and the brown and yellow man did the same a few seconds later.

“You’ve brung mongrel mischief upon us all!” Nehemiah said.

The painted herd began backing away.

“Wait!” Desmond said, holding both his hands up. “The mongrels meant what they told me. I’m sure of it.”

Arty and the native man weren’t even struggling. They appeared to be dead. Infinity stepped closer to Arty to check for a pulse, but then she stopped cold. His body was changing. And so was the painted man’s. Lengthwise slits formed on their skin. The slits became deeper and wider, until the two men were no longer recognizable as humans. Their bodies separated into numerous elongated, worm-like strands, which then segmented into shorter pieces, each about fifteen inches long.

Infinity stared, mesmerized, as tiny protrusions grew in rows on the sides of each piece. Each protrusion elongated until it became a jointed leg with a single claw at its tip.

Desmond moved to Infinity’s side. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said in a whisper. Together they stood watching the final transformations.

The two men had each become a pile of twitching venomcrooks, perhaps fifty per pile.

“Oh my goodness gracious,” Abel warbled.

Nehemiah stepped closer to the pile of weapons that moments ago had been his companion. “Bloody buggering hell,” he whispered. “Venomcrooks!”

The retreating natives stopped in their tracks and began approaching again.

“They didn’t say anything about using weapons,” Desmond said to Infinity. “They just said we had to convince the herd.”

“Well, venomcrooks are pretty goddamn convincing,” Infinity said. “Apparently they want to make this more interesting.”

“My goodness gracious,” Abel repeated, his voice higher than before. “Tribulation and trauma are afoot.” The creature scrambled to the nearest tree and began climbing. “Tribulation and trauma, as sure as the day is long.”

The painted natives crowded around their pile of venomcrooks and stared, wide-eyed.

The situation was about to go to hell. The mongrels may have intended for the painted herd to have half the venomcrooks, but Infinity wasn’t about to let that happen. She turned to the refugees. “Everyone on your feet! Surround both these piles of weapons. Don’t let anyone through. No one touches them!”

But it was too late. The natives were already grabbing wildly, each of them fighting to get their own venomcrook. Some of them began moving toward the second pile.

“No!” Infinity cried. She darted in and clotheslined the nearest woman with her forearm, flipping the woman onto her back. The two men who had been behind the woman paused briefly, then they quickly spread out to go around Infinity.

She managed to trip one of them, and Desmond darted in front of the other and shoved him. “Get back! You’re not touching these.”

The other refugees had now surrounded the pile of venomcrooks that had once been Arty Heath, cutting off the painted herd’s access.

The venomcrooks that used to be the painted man now had all been snatched up. The natives stood staring, mouths agape, at the weapons in their hands, as if they couldn’t believe they were real. A woman painted green and yellow suddenly struck her own thigh. Seconds later she went to her knees and then to the ground, moaning with pleasure. A purple and red man beside her saw what she had done and then struck himself. Three others followed their example.

“Stop, you fools!” Nehemiah cried. “The mongrels did not bless us with these venomcrooks for you to lay waste to your own wits. No! This blessing’s for a higher purpose. We shall smite these demonic usurpers. They wish to seize our bailiwick. Instead, they will come to know pain. I have seen the musk monkey command the venomcrook to purvey pain. It is done thusly, with four quick thrusts to one side.” He put his hand on the weapon’s exposed tendon and pushed it to the side four times.

Infinity had already begun sprinting the ten yards to Nehemiah. She drove her right foot into the side of his ribcage hard enough to crack bone. He went down, dropping his venomcrook and gasping for air. Infinity snatched up his weapon.

“Listen!” she announced to the painted herd. “If you want to live, listen to what we have to say.” She glanced at Desmond.

“We have a plan for all of us to survive together,” he shouted. “The mongrels will allow it.”

At least a dozen natives had now dosed themselves and were moaning on the ground in rapture. The rest of them were fiddling with the handles of their weapons, apparently following Nehemiah’s instructions.

“Drive the usurpers away!” a green and black man cried as he began charging at Infinity.

Unwilling to risk even a scratch from the man’s venomcrook, Infinity waited until the last moment and then darted to the side, circling to the man’s back before he could come to a stop. She struck the back of his neck with the venomcrook she’d taken from Nehemiah. The man stopped and turned to her with a confused look. His eyes bulged, and he collapsed, screaming from the pain that was spreading across his body.

Infinity stared at the man for a moment, almost feeling sorry for him. She then scanned the fifty or so natives holding venomcrooks. A few of them looked hesitant. But not the majority. They were beyond listening to reason.

She began backing away from the painted herd. “Everyone who can, grab one of those weapons!”

This was all it took—apparently sensing they had an advantage, the natives charged.

Infinity managed to strike the closest man in the face with her venomcrook without getting dosed, but then she realized there were too many. She ran back toward the refugees, Desmond following at her side.

“Form a defensive line!” she yelled.

Some of the refugees were still swarming around the pile of weapons, trying to distribute them, while others had moved back to avoid the conflict altogether, too disorganized to respond adequately within the few seconds available.

The painted herd plowed into the refugees, viciously striking them with venomcrooks, rocks, and fists. Screams of fear and pain erupted amidst the melee. Dozens of refugees collapsed, and painted people tripped over them, creating a tangled, thrashing pile.

Infinity had never experienced a conflict like this, but she quickly realized the refugees’ only hope was to run from the natives. She needed more time to organize them into some kind of defensive formation.

“Run!” she cried. “Leave the fallen behind and follow me. Stay together!”

But the refugees were already scattering in every direction.

She saw Desmond intercepting some of them. “This way!” he shouted. “Stay together with the group.” He pointed toward Infinity and the fleeing refugees changed direction.

Infinity took off running, leaving behind dozens of fallen refugees.

When she was sure at least a couple hundred refugees were following her, she stopped. “Desmond, keep them together. Don’t stop until you’re no longer being followed! Those of you with weapons, come over here with me. If you don’t think you can use the weapon, give it to someone who can.”

Seconds later, about forty armed refugees had gathered around her.

Infinity heard shouting in the distance. “Colonists! It’s Desmond. If you hear me, come to my voice.”

She heard cries of anger and pain coming from the direction of the bridge-in site. About ten armed natives were chasing a refugee woman toward Infinity’s group, but they stopped and turned back when they saw they were outnumbered.

Infinity scanned the refugees around her. “I know you’re scared. I am too. But listen—Desmond’s plan will work. We have to believe it’ll work because it’s the only chance we have. The mongrels screwed with us by tossing venomcrooks into the mix, but we have no choice but to hope they’ll still honor their promise.”

“We understand the stakes,” one of the men said. “Tell us what we need to do.”

“We have to make these goddamn painted assholes understand. But first we have to keep them from killing any more of our people.”

A new surge of cries arose from the bridge-in site. But these were different, more like cries of confusion.

“Oh hell, that’s group thirty-two,” Infinity said. “I need every last one of you to help me protect them.” Without giving them a chance to doubt themselves, she started running.

As she approached the area near the mongrels’ bubble, she saw a scene of chaos. As many as a hundred bodies, of both refugees and natives, littered the ground. Some of them writhed in pain or pleasure, while others lay still, perhaps dead. Within the bridge-in site, some of the twenty newly-arrived refugees were still retching. Those who had already recovered were staring wide-eyed at the mass of brightly-painted natives converging on them with rocks and twitching venomcrooks.

Infinity ran faster. She charged into the midst of the painted natives, hitting three of them in the back with her venomcrook before they realized she was upon them. She struck three more while they were still reeling from surprise.

The forty armed refugees who had followed her plowed into the painted bodies, cursing and swinging their venomcrooks like maniacs. Dozens of painted bodies collapsed, and the remaining natives panicked and fled. But the refugees didn’t stop, striking another fifteen or so as they tried to escape. Enraged refugees started chasing after the remaining fleeing natives.

Infinity noticed more natives closing in from all directions, returning from chasing the scattered refugees. “No,” she shouted to the refugees giving chase. “Let them go! We need to get out of here.”

The refugees stopped and turned back. They looked almost disappointed, which was good. It meant they were reaching the critical point of murderous fury necessary for self-preservation. Most people simply weren’t equipped to fight and kill until they had been driven to this critical point.

Infinity nodded down at the fallen natives. “Grab every one of these venomcrooks. And be careful!”

She scanned the surrounding ground for fallen refugees—she saw perhaps twenty. Most of them were completely still or barely moving. She saw one of them flick a venomcrook to dose himself. She stepped over and snatched the weapon from the man’s hand. Hopefully he would recover, but she didn’t have time to worry about him now. She quickly checked to make sure none of the other fallen refugees or natives had venomcrooks in their hands or nearby.

Once she was certain, she turned to the twenty new arrivals, who were now either staring in horror at the bodies around the bridge-in site or staring in confusion at the shimmering bubble looming over them. She waved her hand to get their attention. “Hey! There’s no time to explain. You need to come with us. It’ll hurt your feet, but keep up. We have to stay together.” She scanned the surrounding forest. Painted natives were clustered in haphazard groups here and there, but they were slowly regrouping. Soon they would muster the confidence to attack again. Infinity needed time to come up with a new approach.

She ran, leading the band of sixty naked refugees away from the bridge-in site.

19

Manifestation

September 3 - 7:19 AM

Oliver Hanley came over and stopped beside Desmond. “Three hundred and ninety, plus or minus. And there come another two now.” He pointed to two refugee women picking their way through the underbrush toward the main group. “Only twelve of them have venomcrooks, so including yours we have thirteen.”

Desmond shook his head and cursed silently. Six hundred forty refugees had already bridged to this world. Now over two hundred were missing or dead. The plan to convince the painted natives to join them had seemed easy when he’d described it to the mongrels. But it had turned into a complete disaster. To make matters worse, the painted herd was apparently in possession of the majority of the venomcrooks.

“I’ll be damned,” Oliver said, staring in the direction of the bridge-in site.

Desmond turned. It was Infinity, leading a group of at least fifty refugees. They were all holding venomcrooks, and some of them even had two.

Desmond and Oliver went out to meet them. Many among Infinity's group looked shellshocked, and Desmond realized that they were new arrivals—group thirty-two. The newcomers were obviously still coping with their expectations of easily integrating into a modern society having been replaced by a brutal new reality.

When Infinity’s group came to a stop, she grabbed Desmond’s arm and led him out of earshot of the refugees. “I need to know one thing,” she said quietly. “Do you really think the mongrels will keep their promise?”

“I have to believe they will,” Desmond replied.

“Because it seems like they’re screwing with us.”

Desmond sighed. “Yeah, it does. But I believe the venomcrooks were just their attempt to make it more interesting. We have no reason to think they won’t keep their word.”

She gazed at him for a moment and then nodded. “Okay, then we’re going to close this goddamn deal.” She returned to the refugees and Desmond followed. She spoke to Oliver. “Can you take these newcomers aside and get them up to speed? Stick to the short version because I’ll need everyone’s attention in about ten minutes.”

Oliver nodded. “You got it, Infinity.” He then asked the newcomers to please join him for a few minutes. As Oliver led them away, Desmond heard several demanding to be returned to their own version of Earth.

Desmond noted the determined look on Infinity’s face. She obviously had a plan. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

She glanced at him and started to say something but was cut off by someone yelling.

“Here! They’re here!” It came from a painted man about fifty yards away. And he wasn’t alone—he had seven others with him.

Infinity turned to the forty or so armed refugees who had not stepped away for orientation. “We have to take them out, now!” She charged full tilt toward the natives, and Desmond and the others followed.

“They’re here!” one of the natives shouted again. “Over here!” The eight men, only two of whom had venomcrooks, started to brace themselves for the onslaught. Then they seemed to realize how hopeless it was and turned to run.

But it was too late. Infinity had already overtaken them and she struck two with her venomcrook. Desmond and the refugees overwhelmed the remaining natives, striking at them furiously and repeatedly. It was over in seconds, and all eight natives were curled up on the ground, paralyzed by pain or rapture.

Desmond pulled the two venomcrooks from the fallen natives’ fingers and handed them to a couple of refugees who each had a free hand. “It’s not over,” he said. “The natives still have at least a few dozen venomcrooks.”

Infinity nodded. She turned to the refugees. “We need everyone to come together now so I can talk to them. Could you please gather them up?”

The refugees, who now appeared to be feeling triumphant, nodded and took off toward the main group.

Within a minute or two, the entire group of naked refugees were gathering around. Just hours ago, many of them had been acting like belligerent, complaining tourists. Now most of them had descended into silent brooding, a condition that spread quickly to each group of new arrivals. Desmond could hardly imagine the despair they were all going through.

“Our plans haven’t changed,” Infinity said, loudly enough for all to hear. “We’re going to convince the natives to coexist with all of you. Once we do, the mongrels will begin providing food for the entire combined colony.”

Desmond added, “As we’ve already explained to all but the newest arrivals, once we convince the natives to cooperate, you’ll be allowed to begin building a civilization, as long as you don’t disturb what the mongrels see as the natural state of the land. This is your best possible chance to thrive on this world. Everything hinges on what we do next.”

Some of the refugees were attentive, while others stared at her with vacant eyes.

Desmond went on. “Whatever we do, we need to do it near the mongrel bubble. We want the mongrels to see that we’ve convinced the natives to cooperate. That’s the deal.” He paused for a moment. “I know this isn’t what you had hoped for, but it will ensure your long-term survival.”

About half the refugees continued staring vacantly, their will having clearly already been broken. The other half nodded with grim determination. They would have to be the ones to carry this colony forward.

“The plan is simple,” Infinity said. “I’ll give you a crash course on how to incapacitate a foe in hand-to-hand combat. We’ll go back to the mongrels’ bubble. You’ll get into groups of two or three, and each group will subdue one native, using a venomcrook if you have to. Once they’re all subdued, we’ll bring them together and force them to listen, convince them that their best chance is to coexist with our colony. The mongrels will see that we’ve succeeded. That’s it.”

“Disorderly! Chaos and clutter,” Abel warbled from above. “My, but you have an aptness for chaos and clutter.”

Desmond spotted the musk monkey at least thirty feet from the ground, descending a red oak. He was amazed that the creature had been able to approach through the canopy without drawing attention.

Abel dropped the last eight feet to the ground, alighting gracefully on two feet and two hands. Some of the refugees stepped aside as the musk monkey strode into the group’s midst and stopped before Desmond and Infinity, his oily smell arriving well before him.

“Always the hard way with you humans. Did you ask help of your friend, Abel? No, too smitten with chaos and clutter, I reckon.”

“You’re willing to help us?” Desmond asked.

Abel blew out a puff of air. “Not that I didn’t consider running off to join the ferals. I sure as slithering snakes ain’t sticking around here much longer, what with all these venomcrooks wreaking havoc.” He held up his own venomcrook. “Ain’t no way I can continue reining in the herd with this wretched contraption.”

“If you’ve got an idea that can help us, get to it,” Infinity said. “Otherwise, you’re wasting our time.”

Abel glanced at Infinity but then turned to Desmond. “Unfettered rapture didn’t cure her cantankerousness, did it?”

“I wasn’t aware curing cantankerousness was one of the common side effects,” Desmond replied. “But she does have a point.”

“Yes, yes. I keep my nose out of herd conflicts, by and large. But this morning’s dawn unveiled shenanigans heretofore unwitnessed. My last act as purveyor of order in this bailiwick will be to quash this chaos.”

Infinity raised her weapon. “You going to explain or not?”

“You may have venomcrooks,” Abel said. “But so does the painted herd. Unsavory business. You need help.” The creature then tweaked the tendon on the handle of his venomcrook and stepped over to the eight native men, who were just now starting to recover. With casual flips of his wrist, Abel struck the two natives nearest him.

The two men, obviously not fully aware, looked up at the musk monkey in confusion. Their eyes then rolled back in their heads, and they both went limp.

Several of the other natives extended their hands toward Abel’s weapon. “Please,” one of them pleaded.

“Humph,” Abel muttered. He stepped around the two still bodies and dosed the other six.

They, too, collapsed into unconsciousness.

Desmond exchanged a glance with Infinity, and she shook her head, obviously losing her patience.

Then, the bodies of the eight painted men began changing. Their limbs grew shorter. Their heads became featureless lumps. Colored paint peeled off and fell to the ground, revealing skin that was rapidly turning green and tan. Desmond realized the men were transforming into musk monkeys. But then each of their bodies split into five smaller pieces. Arms, legs, and a tail formed on each piece. Each piece grew a softball-sized head, which then grew dark eyes, a mouth, and a strange, flattened nose, which was characteristic of musk monkeys.

The miniature musk monkeys began moving. They stretched their arms and legs, curled their tails into tight coils, and sat up.

There were forty of them, five created from each unfortunate native.

“Ain’t that dandy,” Abel said. “And on my first crack at it.”

Desmond, Infinity, and over four hundred refugees stared, speechless, at the beagle-sized creatures. They were about twice the size of the musk monkey that had bridged back to SafeTrek with the other bio-probe animals.

“We’re trying to get the natives to cooperate with us, not kill them,” Infinity said.

Abel stepped back from his creations. “Yes, yes, but such a small price to pay. These here musk monkeys will be eager to please. And quicker than a hungry mink chasin’ a tadpole. You give them your venomcrooks, and they’ll scamper over and prick each and every one of them painted vassals without you having to risk your own hides. Then you walk over there, take the herd’s venomcrooks, wait till they recuperate from their rapture—if indeed they ever do—and tell them what you gotta tell them. There you go, the gist of it.”

Desmond looked over at Infinity. She met his gaze and raised her brows. She was actually considering this. Desmond was uncomfortable with this idea for several reasons. How could the mini musk monkeys be trusted? Could they even differentiate between natives and refugees? And then another potential problem came to mind.

“Um, Abel?” he said. “I told the mongrels we would convince the herd to cooperate. I didn’t tell them you would help us. They’re going to see this and know. Isn’t that going to be a problem?”

Abel rubbed his chin with one of his lower hands, an uncannily human gesture. “Confounded hitches and hindrances. You’re right.” He let out a gargling sound, waving all his hands at the tiny musk monkeys. “Off with you! You’re of no use here. Git!”

The creatures began to scatter.

“Wait,” Desmond said. “Do you think those musk monkeys might be useful to the colony? I mean, after the mongrels start providing for all of us?”

Abel gargled again, louder than before. “Hey, you puckish pygmies get your sorry carcasses back here! You might be of use after all.”

The little musk monkeys dutifully circled back and returned. They arranged themselves in a cluster, sitting with their tails coiled around their butts, staring up at Abel.

“I got another conception, one I reckon you’ll find more agreeable,” Abel said to Desmond. “You want to hear it?”

Desmond tried to scan the surrounding forest for approaching natives, but four refugees blocked his view. “Do you see anyone coming?” he asked no one in particular.

“I’ve been watching,” said a man on the outer periphery. “There’s a group of six natives watching us, but they’re keeping their distance.”

Desmond turned back to Abel. “Yes, we want to hear it.”

“Stealth. That’s what you need. And swiftness. You need to deliver your plan to the minds of the vassals without delay. To turn them from doubters to believers in the blink of a gnat’s eye, especially seeing as they now have their own venomcrooks. And I’ve an idea how to do this, without the mongrels knowing you got help from old Abel. It’s a sure-fire thing.”

Desmond, Infinity, and the refugees waited.

“Well, what’s your idea?” Infinity finally demanded.

Abel’s face distorted, the creature’s mouth stretching into an almost perfect circle. His expression then relaxed. “I’m contemplating.”

Several seconds passed.

Then, Abel touched the handle of his venomcrook, manipulating the tendon with his slender fingers. Finally, the creature looked up at Desmond. “You’ve chewed the fat with the mongrels, so you’ll understand before the others will.” He approached casually. Abel flicked out his venomcrook without warning, puncturing Desmond’s forearm.

“Ow! What are you doing?”

Abel immediately turned to face Infinity as she stepped forward menacingly. “No need for that!” the creature said, holding three arms out to stop her. “He ain’t hurt—you have my word. Nor did I mete out rapture.”

Desmond looked down at his arm and saw four pinpricks, a blood droplet forming on each. His heart began pounding as he imagined himself turning into five miniature musk monkeys. But so far he felt nothing unusual. “What’s going to happen to me?” he asked.

“Nothing worth getting your hackle hairs up over. Be patient.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” Infinity said, taking another step toward the musk monkey. “What the hell did you do to him?”

“Yes, yes, perhaps it’s been long enough.” Abel grabbed Infinity’s arm and pulled her over to Desmond. The creature then eyed Desmond. “You know how this works. Muster up a manifestation of your affections for this here woman. I know you got some. Keep the manifestation in your own noggin, but make sure it’s clear as can be.”

Desmond stared at Abel as he realized what the creature was suggesting. No way. It wasn’t possible. “You’re not serious,” he said.

“Save your yammering and muster up your vision,” Abel said.

“We’re wasting time,” Infinity growled through gritted teeth.

Desmond had become curious, though. Why not try it? If the mongrels could convey thoughts telepathically, why should he doubt that there could be a way to transfer that ability to humans? Yes, he definitely wanted to try it. He formed an image in his mind of Infinity standing before him. He visualized pulling her close and kissing her passionately.

He watched the real version of her face as he formed this image. She didn’t respond. Of course she didn’t. This was ridiculous.

Abel took Desmond’s hand and moved it toward Infinity. “Place your paw on her hide. And then cogitate on sending your manifestation from your noggin to hers.”

Desmond sighed and shook his head. But goosebumps had formed on the back of his neck. He put his hand on Infinity’s shoulder and concentrated, creating the same passionate image. He then imagined pushing it outward, forcing it to leave his mind and enter hers, as he had done with the words he had projected to the mongrels.

The corners of her mouth turned down in a slight frown. Abruptly, her eyes widened. She stepped back, breaking the contact between their skin. “What the hell?” Her chest began heaving as if she were hyperventilating. “What the hell just happened?”

“Well, ain’t that dandy,” Abel said. “And again on the first crack. I am indeed a jack-of-all-trades.”

Infinity continued staring at Desmond, her eyes wide.

“Don’t look so dad-blamed flummoxed,” Abel said. “Your brain sends signals to your toes all the way down at the south end of your leg, don’t it? So why be surprised to learn it can send visions right on through your hide and into someone else’s noggin? It ain’t surprising at all. Only thing surprising is that you couldn’t always do such a thing, that you require mongrel-made tonic conjured in a venomcrook.”

“I guess it worked?” Desmond asked Infinity. Which was a stupid question—her expression made it clear it had worked.

She nodded, her head barely moving up and down.

Abel reached up and massaged the top of Desmond’s head with his fingers. Desmond pulled his eyes from Infinity to glance at the musk monkey, and Abel said, “Muster up another vision, this one with regards to what you want the painted vassals to make sense of. Be sure it includes the whole story, snout to tail. Everything you want them to know.”

Desmond was eager to try this. He formed images of the key elements of his conversation with the mongrels, followed by brief, imagined scenes of the painted herd living side-by-side with the colonists: feeding on abundant food supplied by the mongrels, cultivating and harvesting native plants like pawpaws and blackberries, and constructing log homes from young, overabundant trees.

“Now send your manifestation to that man right there.” Abel pointed one of his lower hands toward a nearby colonist.

Desmond stepped over and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You okay with this?”

The man twisted his mouth to the side in skepticism. “Go for it.”

Desmond repeated the sequence of visions, this time more forcefully, trying to mentally project them.

The man’s eyes widened and he gasped. He put a hand to his temple. “You were inside that bubble? Breathing liquid? Jesus Christ, man!”

“It worked?” Desmond asked.

“It played in my head like a freaking video recording,” the guy said. “I still see it, like it’s my own memory. This is going to work. Those painted natives are going to have a perfectly clear picture of exactly what you’re planning to do, and why they need to cooperate.”

“Hallelujah,” Abel exclaimed. “One last good deed before old Abel gets transfigured into skittering varmints. It’s time to get to it. I aim to prick every last one of you with this here venomcrook. This feller here—Desmond—he’ll send the manifestation he just sent to this other feller to every last one of you. Then you’ll all go after them painted vassals, get your hands on them, and make them see the light. With any luck, the mongrels will have no notion you got old Abel’s help.”

20

Conflict

September 3 - 8:40 AM

Infinity gathered as much speed as she could in ten yards. Then she threw her right leg forward and skidded on her left side like she was sliding into home base. She struck her opponent’s leg as she slid by, and then leapt to her feet, readying herself to strike again if necessary.

“It’ll work almost every time,” she announced to the hundreds of refugees gathered around her. “They won’t be expecting you to drop low like that. But without clothing to protect your skin, you’re going to be timid about doing it. That’s why you need to practice it now. Prove to yourself that it’s not all that painful to slide a few inches on your leg and hip—then you’ll be less likely to hesitate in a real fight.”

Infinity nodded in appreciation to the refugee who’d volunteered, tossed aside the harmless stick she’d used for the demonstration, and picked up her venomcrook. “If they have one of these, and they look like they intend to use it, that’s when you use this move. If they don’t have a weapon, there’s no need—you and your partners just grab them. Tackle them if you have to, but get your hands on them and push your vision of our plan straight into their goddamn heads.” She scanned the refugees’ faces and saw that most of them looked determined. Good. “Practice now. We’re going back to the bridge-in site in a few minutes, and you need to be ready.”

It had taken more than an hour for Desmond to send his vision to the refugees and for Abel to dose them with the mind-projection venom, mainly because his venomcrook needed to ‘recuperate,’ as he put it, after every fifty or so doses. After completing this task, Abel had disappeared again. The forty smaller musk monkeys were now wandering around the area, watching and sometimes even mimicking the refugees’ behavior.

Infinity was the only one who had refused to be dosed. Her encounters with rapture and pain made her uncomfortable with the idea of being stung by a venomcrook, regardless of what effect it was supposed to have.

If this colony survived, it would undoubtedly be the first population of telepathic humans.

Infinity didn’t really care whether they talked with their minds, with their mouths, or through their butts, as long as they survived. She was tired of losing refugees. She was also tired of not knowing the fates of the colonies she’d worked to establish. Once she and Desmond bridged back from this world, she’d never know whether the colonists lived long enough to make it all worthwhile. Just as she would never know about the previous colony she and Desmond had assisted in a world occupied by diminutive, human-like thirdlings. She was more than ready to bridge out with a colony permanently and see it through to the end, whatever that end might be.

Desmond approached and stood beside her, watching the refugees practice the only offensive move she’d had time to teach them. He then took her hand in his.

“We can’t wait much longer, Infinity. We need to be at the bridge-in site when group thirty-four arrives.”

She turned and glared at him. He had spoken these words silently, delivering them directly to her mind, along with a mental image of twenty refugees appearing within the bridge-in site.

“Don’t do that!” she said. “It creeps me out.”

“Sorry. I just thought I could use the practice. Did you understand what I was trying to say?”

“Loud and clear. But it wasn’t really your voice. It was more like… my own thoughts, but appearing without my effort or consent.” Still holding his hand, Infinity shut her mouth and concentrated on forming words in her own mind. Do you understand what I’m thinking?

“I wonder whether this ability will last,” Desmond said aloud. “Do you think it’ll disappear when we bridge back?”

I said, do you understand what I’m thinking! Infinity watched his face. He was still waiting for her to reply to his question and showed no indication he’d received her thoughts. Good. The last thing she needed was the one guy she’d ever allowed herself to love reading her private thoughts. If Desmond could see the weird shit created in her mind on a regular basis, he’d probably decide she was too broken to be loved—damaged beyond repair. Maybe she was beyond repair, but she had no intention of broadcasting it.

“Infinity?” Desmond was eyeing her, frowning.

She tried one more time, mentally forming the words, Do you think I’m a broken person?

He raised his eyebrows, still waiting for a response.

She exhaled. “I was just making sure you couldn’t hear my thoughts.”

“I’m sure Abel would still be willing to dose you.”

She shook her head. “Not interested. And you’re right, we need to be there when group thirty-four arrives. Let’s get this done.”

* * *

8:50 AM

Four hundred eighty refugees stood more-or-less ready to act. This number included nine who had found their way back to the main group over the last hour, as well as twenty recent arrivals from group thirty-three, whom Infinity and sixty armed refugees had narrowly rescued from the natives nearly an hour ago.

The group had gathered a total of seventy venomcrooks, and each weapon had been assigned to a pair of refugees. The remaining refugees, without venomcrooks, were in groups of three. They had no rocks or other weapons because the intent was persuasion, not annihilation.

Infinity glanced at Desmond, who was standing beside her. She knew he had to be exhausted, but his face showed only determination. She wondered whether this would be the day her luck would finally run out, and her mind drifted to thoughts of bridging out one-way with colony ST6 to establish a permanent home with Desmond. In their current circumstances, this seemed like a pipe dream.

Dammit, she never used to allow her mind to wander like this at such critical moments.

“You ready?” Desmond asked.

She nodded. Then she addressed the nearly five hundred refugees. “Remember, subdue them, get the vision of our plan into their heads, and then take them to the mongrel bubble. Hopefully they’ll be cooperative by that time. We need the mongrels to see that they agree with us. Repeat those steps until we have them all on our side.”

Without waiting for questions or acknowledgement, she started marching toward the bridge-in site and the mongrel bubble.

She led the refugees several hundred yards through the dense forest until she spotted the shimmering bubble. Fortunately, most of the painted natives were already gathered there, perhaps even all of them. They were standing in a defensive formation, their heads already turned toward the approaching refugees, clearly aware of the group’s presence. Infinity turned to face the refugees and waved a hand to the right and then the left, signaling them to spread out and surround the site. The natives could probably see that the refugees were surrounding them, but they didn’t run away, which meant they intended to defend their source of food.

Infinity waited until she was sure the refugees had encircled the sixty-foot-wide bubble and had taken their positions. She then nodded to Desmond.

“Friends!” he shouted. “We do not wish to harm you. We only want an audience with you. To talk. We have something we’d like to show you. We’re coming closer.”

This last sentence signaled the others to move in. Infinity, Desmond, and over four hundred refugees began closing in on the mongrel bubble.

“That’s close enough!” Infinity shouted to the refugees when they were ten yards from the painted natives.

The natives with venomcrooks—thirty or so—stood in a semicircle, the rest of their herd behind them, huddled beside the bubble. A few dozen bodies, both refugees’ and natives’, lay scattered about the area, some with crushed skulls. Infinity guessed these people had been suffering from rapture madness. The painted natives must have assumed they’d become dangerous, which was a damn well-founded assumption.

Infinity spotted Nehemiah behind the perimeter of armed natives,. He was sitting on the ground with a hand held to his side, evidence that Infinity had indeed cracked his ribs when she’d kicked him.

A man painted with alternating blue and black vertical stripes stepped forward. “Why do you persist? This bailiwick don’t support but two-fifty. There ain’t enough sustenance here for your herd.”

“But there could be,” Desmond said. “There could be enough for all of us.”

Abruptly, group thirty-four materialized to the side of the natives’ formation. The new arrivals cried out and began retching, most of them dropping to their knees.

“You keep coming and coming!” the blue and black man cried. “There ain’t no end to your herd. This bailiwick won’t sustain you, and we aim to defend it until death. So seize it if you must, but know that many of you will not live to see another dawn.”

Infinity realized the arrival of group thirty-four had caused confusion in the natives that might give the refugees a strategic advantage. But it wouldn’t last. “Move in, now!” she shouted. “Take down those who have venomcrooks first!”

She sprinted at the blue and black man, skidded on her side as she’d taught the refugees, and struck the man’s ankle. She slashed the calf of a second man before she was even on her feet again.

The other armed refugees followed her example, charging forward. Some of them carried out the move she’d taught them, but most simply came in swinging wildly. As bodies dropped to the ground screaming and moaning, the refugees who’d been positioned on the far side of the bubble came running around from the left and right.

The fighting quickly became so thick the refugees couldn’t possibly carry out Infinity’s sliding move whether they remembered it or not. Desmond appeared at Infinity’s side, and they positioned themselves back to back, ready to deflect attackers. The refugees were packed into such a tight space, and their thrashing was so wild, that Infinity feared she or Desmond might get hit with one of their own venomcrooks.

She hadn’t anticipated such a dense fight.

The unarmed group of natives, pinned between the shimmering bubble and the chaotic brawl, seemed to reach a breaking point. They began shouting, and the entire mass surged forward, knocking Infinity, Desmond, and dozens of armed natives and refugees to the ground.

“Don’t let them get away!” Infinity screamed. Several bodies were sprawled on top of her, but she managed to push her head up out of the tangled mess in time to see the hundreds of refugees without venomcrooks swarming forward and throwing themselves at anyone emerging from the melee. Within seconds, the natives were overwhelmed and flattened against the ground by the sheer number and weight of the refugees.

“Stop. Stop fighting!”

The voice had come from someone only a few feet from Infinity, but it had almost been drowned out by the screaming. Infinity crawled out from under a body and got to her knees. She realized she had lost her venomcrook.

“Stop this dad-blamed conflict!”

This was a different voice, a painted woman. The woman had been pinned to the ground by two refugees.

“Halt! No more fighting. We must listen to them!”

This one was a painted man, also pinned to the ground.

“They speak the truth!” cried another painted woman.

The plan was actually working. Painted natives were starting to see the mental images of Desmond’s plan. But their voices were still relative whispers in a storm of chaos.

Infinity got to her feet barely dodging a venomcrook swung by a painted man. She lunged at the native’s arm before he could swing again, grabbed it, and bit down on the flesh above his elbow. The guy howled and dropped the weapon. Infinity turned sharply, taking him to the ground.

“Desmond, here!” she shouted, holding the man down so Desmond could work his magic on him. But Desmond was no longer with her. She spotted him a few feet away, stuck beneath several writhing refugees. He was groaning through gritted teeth, pummeling his own left shoulder with his right fist, obviously in unbearable pain.

“Desmond!” Infinity started to get up but couldn’t without releasing the painted man beneath her.

“Here, Infinity, I got this one.” It was the refugee Gretchen, and she grabbed the man’s neck and closed her eyes.

Seconds later the man stopped struggling. “What in damnation?” he said, his eyes wide with puzzlement.

“You see it now, don’t you?” Gretchen said to the man.

“I do see,” the man said.

Infinity released the native and got to her knees again. The fighting was gradually slowing down. Bodies still twisted and convulsed with pain or rapture, but soon only a few painted natives were resisting, and those were quickly being subdued by refugees. Infinity crawled to Desmond’s side, grabbed his ankle, and pulled him free from the tangle of limbs and torsos.

He was clenching his eyes shut and hardly seemed to notice her. “Help me!” he grunted through his teeth. “Make it stop.”

Infinity grabbed his shoulders. “The pain will end soon. Hang in there.” Actually, she had no idea how long the pain would last.

“I can’t! Make it stop please!”

A venomcrook was thrust in front of Infinity’s face.

She turned. The weapon was held by a child, a girl no more than ten years old, painted mostly yellow but with smeared brown spots.

“Take it,” the girl said. “I set it to dole out rapture, and rapture’s a whole mighty world better than the pain he’s suffering.”

Infinity eyed the girl. She then took the venomcrook and pushed the exposed tendon to the side three times. Just in case the kid wasn’t as sincere as she seemed.

Desmond turned on his side and retched, but nothing came up. When he was finished, he raised his head and saw the venomcrook. He grabbed Infinity’s wrist and pulled the weapon toward his face. “Do it! Make it stop.”

Infinity snatched the venomcrook with her other hand and held it beyond his reach. She yanked her wrist free and backed away.

“How long does the pain last?” she asked the painted girl.

“I ain’t suffered it but once,” the girl said.

A native man behind the girl said, “He’ll live through it. I don’t recommend dosing him with rapture right now, no matter how much he begs for it. Ain’t many folks got a mind that can handle both at once. He might never be the same after it’s said and done.”

Infinity knew the man’s words were true. She had survived simultaneous doses of pain and rapture, but it had been one of the hardest things she’d ever experienced. In fact, she felt lucky to have held on to her sanity. What if Desmond wasn’t that lucky?

“Infinity, please!” Desmond cried.

She looked around at the refugees and natives. Many of them were incapacitated by their own struggles with pain or rapture. But the fighting was over. The painted natives now understood what their future could look like. Many of the refugees had been smeared with the natives’ body paint during the conflict, making it harder to distinguish between the two groups. The two separate herds were becoming one.

Infinity tossed the venomcrook onto a bare patch of ground a few yards away, hoping she would never have to touch one of the damn things again.

She pressed her body against Desmond’s and put her arms around his shoulders. “You have to trust me,” she said. “Rapture will only make things worse. I’m here with you. We’ll get through this together. Show me what you’re experiencing.”

Seconds later, whether he’d intended to or not, Desmond did show her.

Infinity stiffened. Searing pain spread through her body, and desperate pleas for help flooded her mind. She almost cried out, but instead she pulled herself even closer, determined to cling to him until his suffering passed.

21

Cipher

September 3 - 10:37 AM

Desmond continued holding his eyes shut long after the worst of the pain had subsided, fearful that the slightest movement would trigger another wave of nerve-abrading agony.

“You going to live through this, partner?” Infinity whispered near his ear.

To avoid having to move, he spoke telepathically. “I think so.”

Infinity had lain beside him throughout the ordeal. Had it been hours or minutes? Her comforting presence had more than made up for the excruciating waves triggered by her occasional movements against his skin. During the last few minutes, she had filled him in on what he’d missed—most importantly, that his plan had so far worked. The painted natives had agreed to try coexisting with the refugees, as long as the mongrels provided enough sustenance.

She moved her head slightly. “Can you open your eyes?”

He pried his eyes open enough to squint at her.

“You look like shit,” she said.

He closed his eyes again. “Thanks,” he said, this time speaking aloud. “You actually look pretty good.”

She released him and sat up. “Group thirty-six will arrive soon. So you and I have a little more than an hour before bridge-back. As much as I’d like to lay with you until then, I need to see if there’s any last-minute help I can give these colonists.”

Desmond groaned and tentatively sat up beside her, triggering only slight pinpricks. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get them to focus on three greenish shapes near his feet. Gradually his vision cleared. The three shapes were miniature musk monkeys, sitting on their coiled tails and staring back at him with black-marble eyes.

“What’s their deal?” he muttered.

“What’s their deal?” one of the creatures said in a high, warbling voice.

Desmond frowned and rubbed his eyes again. All three of the musk monkeys rubbed their eyes, mimicking his movement.

“They’ve been hanging around,” Infinity said. “All forty of them.”

“All forty of them,” one of the creatures repeated.

Desmond blinked and looked around at the rest of the bridge-in site. Refugees and painted natives were everywhere, talking to each other in small groups. Peacefully, without fighting. Desmond heard louder, more aggressive voices to his right, and he turned and squinted. Refugees and natives were working together to hold a dozen or so people against the ground.

“Rapture madness,” Infinity said, noticing his concern. “With any luck, those poor bastards will recover like I did.”

“Poor bastards will recover like I did,” one of the musk monkeys parroted.

More miniature musk monkeys were scattered about the area, most of them sitting and watching humans. What did the mongrels think of these new musk monkeys? Would they suspect Abel had provided assistance to the refugees?

“I need to talk to the mongrels again,” Desmond said.

“Talk to the mongrels again,” a warbling voice repeated.

Infinity shook her head. “That’d be pushing your luck.”

“Pushing your luck.”

Infinity waved her arms, shooing the diminutive creatures. “Go bother someone else!”

The creatures jumped to their feet and scampered off.

She turned back to Desmond. “Seriously, don’t even think about it.”

“I have to know if the mongrels intend to accommodate the entire colony.” He hadn’t told her about the mongrels’ mention of a key hidden in the Outlander’s signal.

Infinity gazed at him, her lips pursed. Finally, she said, “Then I’ll do it this time.”

Desmond shook his head. “That’s a bad idea. When the mongrels speak to someone, they have this ritual. Apparently it helps them better understand the person they’re speaking to. Somehow they force you to live as alternate versions of yourself—spending just a few seconds as each version. Hundreds of alternate versions, each in a different timeline. The process is unsettling, to say the least.”

“Then you shouldn’t have to go through it a second time. It’s my turn.”

“That’s my point, though,” Desmond said. “Since they’ve already done it to me once, I don’t think they’ll see a need to do it again. And even if they do, I seem to have recovered from it relatively well. The feral I talked to, the guy they call Reason, he became permanently despondent after the mongrels did it to him. I don’t want you to take that risk. It’s kind of like you not wanting me to take doses of both pain and rapture. You were concerned that I wouldn’t handle it as well as you have, which was probably true. Well, I’m concerned you may not handle the mongrels’ shenanigans as well as I have.”

Infinity thought about this for a moment. She nodded. “Good point.” She was silent for a moment. “I know what probably happened to that guy, Reason. From what you said about the ferals, they live in a constant state of deprivation and starvation. I bet every one of those alternate versions of himself was far better off than he was. How would you feel if you found out your own life was the worst of all possible versions of yourself?”

Desmond blinked at her. “Now you’ve made a good point.” He rolled to his side and pushed himself up onto his feet, wobbling a bit. “But I’m still talking to the mongrels.”

“I see you ain’t dead yet.” It was Abel. The creature was walking by, carrying three venomcrooks in his upper left hand and one—presumably his own—in his lower left hand. He stopped next to the mongrel bubble and deposited the extra weapons on a pile of others. “I reckon that’s dang near all of them. I sure as shooting stars ain’t gonna abide their presence around here. I reckon—at least for the moment—that I’ve convinced the painted herd that unfettered access to rapture ain’t in their best interest. But soon they’ll be singing a different tune. They’ll be hankering for rapture like they got no recollection of what happened here today.”

“I want to thank you, Abel,” Desmond said. “Without you, I don’t think our colony would have much of a chance in this place.”

Abel came closer, ambling on two feet and two hands. “Every dawn brings a new day. Every day brings new prospects, presumptions, and perils.”

“Okay,” Desmond said. “Is that good or bad?”

“Good one day, but only for some folks. Bad another day, but only for other folks.”

In spite of the circumstances, Desmond had to smile. “Thanks for clarifying.”

“It’s a matter of fickle fancies,” Abel said. “If this here herd can amuse the mongrels’ fickle fancies, and if they can do so day after day, then they may live to see the sprouts of spring. And maybe other springs after that.”

“I hope you’ll remind our people of that whenever they need reminding,” Desmond said.

Abel seemed to fix his black eyes on Desmond, but it was impossible to know for sure. “A musk monkey’s job ain’t never done. I’ll do what I can do. Either way, old Abel’s life will be more interesting for it.”

“What are you going to do with all these little musk monkeys?” Desmond asked, nodding toward one that had been following Abel.

“Mongrels don’t typically keep but one musk monkey per bailiwick. But I reckon I’ll be needing help around here, this being such a plenteous herd. If the mongrels don’t further transfigure them into varmints, they may prove useful.”

“I be useful,” said the little creature at Abel’s feet.

Abel blew out a puff of air. “That’s yet to be reckoned.”

Abruptly, ten yards away, group thirty-six appeared at the bridge-in site, the last of the refugees. They cried out in alarm, doubling over with dry heaves, and half of them went to the ground in a heap. A few dozen refugees and painted natives approached the newcomers and began the almost impossible task of explaining the world in which they had just arrived.

“That’s all of them,” Infinity said. “One hour until bridge-back. Anything we need to do, we’d better do it now. I need to give one last pep talk to the colony.” She glanced at the mongrel bubble and then eyed Desmond. “For the record, I don’t want you going back in there. But you probably will anyway. If so, be damn careful. I’m not convinced those things can be trusted.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Infinity turned and headed away from the bridge-in site, stepping over a few miniature musk monkeys that seemed undecided about whether to follow her or stay near Desmond. Her movements were labored and stiff, and Desmond wondered if this was partially caused by his mental projections of his own suffering. He hadn’t intended to hurt her like that—it had been out of his control—but he was grateful beyond words for her dogged determination to ease his torment.

She stopped about thirty yards from the bridge-in site and stepped up onto a fallen log. “I need everyone except for the new arrivals and the people who are briefing them to come over here.”

Refugees and natives alike began moving toward her.

Desmond turned to Abel. “Where does the painted herd actually live? Where do they take shelter in the winter?”

“There’s a cave two hollers that way.” Abel pointed. “Much bigger than that feral cave you seen. But a herd this size? That’ll be a mite bit interesting.”

Desmond swept his gaze over the hundreds of naked natives and refugees. “Well, hopefully they’ll be building structures for a village soon.”

“That would be a day unlike any I’ve been a witness to.” Abel gestured to the translucent bubble looming nearby. “If you’re buggy enough to go in there and chew the fat with them mongrels again, you best watch what you say. A few foolish words might just nullify the deal previously haggled between you and them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Desmond said. “But I need to talk to them.”

“Chaos and clutter,” Abel said. “You’ve an aptness for chaos and clutter.” The creature then wandered off, presumably to continue searching for the last of the venomcrooks.

Desmond walked around the edge of the bubble until he was out of the herd’s sight. Then, he stopped and held out his right hand, his palm inches from the membrane. Seconds later, swirling eddies in the fluid indicated one of the mongrels had moved into position. Was it staring back out at him? Did it even have eyes?

Wasting no time, he took a breath and uttered the sequence of animal sounds Reason had taught him. The membrane bulged out, and he pressed his palm against it. His hand passed through almost immediately. A mongrel grabbed hold of it and pulled until his entire body had passed through the membrane.

“Breathe,” the voice said in Desmond’s head as the force on his hand continued pulling him toward the middle of the mongrels’ domicile.

Easier said than done. Even though he’d been through this before, and even though he was determined not to wait until his lungs were on fire, it took tremendous willpower to give in and blow out his air. But he did, and then he sucked in the fluid, triggering involuntary bodily spasms. Before long, he was able to relax enough that he could begin steadily drawing in oxygenated fluid.

“You perplex us,” the voice said. “You seem to have persuaded our herd. How in tarnation did you effectuate such an accomplishment?”

Did the mongrels suspect that Abel had provided assistance? Could they tell that Desmond’s mind had been altered by Abel’s venomcrook? Desmond would need to choose his words carefully. “As I told you before, my people are skilled at forming relationships with other humans. These relationships are what I believe you’ll find most fascinating about humans now that you are going to allow both herds to coexist in a natural state.” He hesitated. “You are going to allow this, right?”

“You do perplex us,” the voice repeated. “We are curious. We reckon we’ll observe. Perhaps your people will live in harmony with the natural state of the land, perhaps they won’t.”

“My people want to survive. They’ll do whatever it takes. Will you provide sustenance for both herds? There are now more than eight hundred between the two.”

“We will, until your herd is no longer heedful of our conditions.”

“Please be understanding of the fact that they will make some mistakes in their endeavors. Mistakes are part of the learning process for humans, part of their natural state. Please do not kill them or banish them when they make these mistakes.”

The mongrels did not respond to this.

Desmond decided he’d better not push them too hard. Plus, there was something else he needed to know. “When I last talked to you, you told me about a key to the bridging machinery. And you said you might share it with me if my people and I were able to convince your herd to cooperate with us.”

“We’ve a notion to do just that. Perhaps when you return to your world, you will make some use of the key. Though from what you’ve said, it seems your world is wanting for salvation but is beyond healing.”

“I—we—would appreciate anything that might give us the slightest chance.”

“Fair enough,” said the voice.

Several seconds of silence followed. But then Desmond was overcome by an onslaught of mental noise, like a dozen metal gears grinding at the same time. It was chaotic, and if it contained information, he could make no sense of it.

He put his left hand to his temple. “Stop!”

The grinding noises stopped.

“Whatever that was, I couldn’t understand it,” Desmond said. “And there’s no way I could reproduce it when I return to my own world. Could you represent the information visually? Something I can see with my eyes?”

“Perhaps you ain’t configured to make heads nor tails of the key.”

“Maybe not, but I’d like to try.”

“Honestly, you’re as persistent as a three-year drought. Perhaps this cipher will suit your fancy.”

A grid of symbols appeared in Desmond’s mind, as clearly as if it were being displayed before his eyes, although his eyes were closed. The symbols were unfamiliar to him, but they were relatively simple, most with only a few lines and curves. They were arranged in a grid with about thirty rows and thirty columns.

“This is the key to the bridging machinery?”

“The key is what you asked for. Why in thunder would we show you anything else?”

Desmond opened his eyes, instinctively wanting to gaze upon the face of the being who had spoken with such sarcasm. But of course he saw only blurry fluid beyond the grid of symbols. “What I meant was, is this all there is? It looks like there are less than a thousand symbols here.”

“It’s all you need. The key ain’t thorny, knotty, or complicated. And the cipher is mathematical. If you can’t make heads nor tails of it, you ain’t suited to hold the key in the first place. Like we said before, it’s about thinning the herd, in a rather grand way.”

“Understood,” Desmond said. He focused his attention on the grid of symbols before him. There were a lot of them, but he had memorized more than this before. One time, as part of a bet with Lenny and Xavier, he’d memorized the first two thousand digits of pi, resulting in them taking over the dishwashing and apartment cleaning for two months.

Abruptly, the symbols disappeared.

“I need more time!” Desmond said. “Will you allow me to study the symbols until I have committed them to memory?”

“Goodness gracious,” the voice said. “Drudgery and toil.”

The symbols returned.

“Thank you,” Desmond said. He then set to work memorizing the grid. He had no idea whether the characters were supposed to be read by rows or by columns, from the top or from the bottom, from the left or from the right. Regardless, he needed a system to help him remember them long enough to scrawl the entire grid onto paper immediately after bridging back. Maybe no one would be able to decipher the symbols, and maybe the information they contained would be of no value. But so much was at stake—he had to try.

And he had less than an hour to do it.

22

Tobias

September 3 - 11:42 AM

Infinity squinted through the bubble’s membrane. She could make out Desmond’s form, perhaps twenty feet in, but suspended particles in the fluid made it impossible to see finer details. He was still moving every few seconds, so at least she knew he was alive. How long had it been? Half an hour? What the hell could they be talking about for that long?

A chorus of voices drew her attention away from Desmond. She walked around to the other side of the sixty-foot bubble, where refugees and painted natives were gathering near the membrane.

One voice rose above the others. “It is just as you have said it would be. Bounty beyond reckoning!”

Infinity pushed her way through the crowd of naked bodies to see what the fuss was about. As she approached the membrane, she saw that the bubble was in the process of secreting a granular, brown substance through a six-inch opening. The substance was accumulating on the ground in a pile that was already several feet tall. Painted natives, smiling broadly, were scooping up armfuls of the stuff and carrying it off through the throng of onlookers.

It was food, what the natives called sustenance. But to Infinity, it looked like the bubble was taking a massive crap on the ground. She pushed farther forward and scooped up a handful of the stuff. It was surprisingly dry, like powder, but the particles clung together, like brown sugar. Its smell was not unpleasant, reminding her of mixed nuts. She watched a few of the refugees—people no doubt accustomed to eating high-dollar meals at fancy restaurants—take tentative bites. Their faces seemed to indicate that the stuff tasted about like it smelled, not bad but certainly not good. But perhaps the refugees’ lukewarm expressions revealed more about their acceptance of their new normal than about the food’s taste.

But there certainly was a lot of the stuff. The mongrels were making good on their promise, at least for now.

Infinity withdrew from the crowd and began pacing back and forth, looking into the mongrel bubble at every turn. On the fourth repetition, she looked beyond the bubble and noticed a figure with yellow limbs and a black torso, reclining against a tree, one hand pressed against his side. She picked her way through the brush and kneeled beside Nehemiah.

“Your ribs are probably cracked,” she said. “It’s happened to me before. Hurts like hell for a few weeks. Make an effort to keep breathing deeply, even if it hurts, otherwise you might get pneumonia.”

Nehemiah gazed at her silently for a moment, but then he nodded.

“By the way, I’m sorry,” Infinity said. “My job is to protect my people, and things were kind of, you know, going to hell at the time.”

Again, Nehemiah nodded.

“How’s the other guy I hurt? The man who was painted all green?”

“His name was Tobias,” Nehemiah said. “You maimed his face and diminished his dignity. He will no longer burden the herd.”

She blinked. “What does that mean?”

“His share of the allotted sustenance will be available for another, as he has gone to the wild land to live as a feral.”

“He left your herd because of what I did to him?”

“As I will, when I am able to walk. It is our way. Our allotted sustenance is only for the proud and the strong. I am no longer either.”

Infinity stared at him. “Limited sustenance isn’t something you have to worry about anymore. The mongrels will now provide for your herd and mine, over eight hundred people. All of your lives are about to improve.”

Nehemiah glared at her. “Leave me in peace, woman. You and your kin are from a different land. You come here with your mind trickery, giving false hope to those who ain’t ever gonna have nothing more than what the mongrels want them to. You’re poison, that’s what you are. Leave me be!”

Infinity sighed and rose to her feet. “It sounds to me like you’re afraid of change. But change is coming whether you want it or not.” She turned and started walking back toward the bubble.

Nehemiah’s words had darkened her mood. Before talking to him, she had begun allowing herself to think this colony had a good chance of surviving. It hadn’t occurred to her there might be an insurmountable cultural gulf between the refugees and the natives.

When she was back near the bridge-in site, she stood and silently watched attorneys, civic leaders, politicians, and business people interacting with natives who’d had their civilization destroyed a hundred years ago. Just yesterday, Infinity had considered these refugees to be the worst possible candidates for establishing a colony in a hostile environment. Now, though, in spite of Nehemiah’s words, she was beginning to suspect they might be better-suited to the challenges of this world than any other group could have been. If they could continue to hold the interest of the mongrels, and if they could form a civilization that meshes with the new natural state of this land, they would have a chance.

Infinity made her way around the mongrels’ bubble until she was as close as she could get to Desmond. She gazed through the membrane at his distorted form. He was still moving occasionally, gesturing as if he were talking to the mongrels. Or perhaps contemplating something. What in the hell was taking him so long?

A familiar prickly, wet sensation washed over her entire body, and then the forest, the bubble, and the mongrels were gone.

* * *

12:01 PM

Infinity landed lightly on the padded floor of the bridging chamber. Her nausea passed quickly, and she rushed to Desmond’s side. He was sprawled on the floor, choking, trying to catch his breath. The bridging process had emptied the mongrel fluid from his lungs, but apparently the sudden switch from breathing liquid to breathing air had been a shock to his system.

She put a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

He coughed a few more times and nodded. “I need—” More coughing. “I need something to write with. A table with pencils and a poster board or large paper.”

“Bridgers, are you okay?” Armando said through the comm system. “The med techs are on their way in.”

“We’re fine!” Infinity shouted. She turned back to Desmond, who was trying to stand up. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“I need pencils and large paper—now!” he shouted, looking toward the people behind the observation window. He took Infinity’s offered hand and let her pull him up. “I’ll explain when I can, but I need to write this down before I lose it.”

The airlock door hissed and popped open, and four techs rushed into the chamber.

Desmond repeated his request a few more times with increasing desperation until two of the techs led him from the chamber to the lab.

Infinity turned to the viewing window. Armando Doyle, Reese Eagleton, and Celia Pickett were gazing back at her.

“Infinity, it’s great to see you alive,” Armando said.

Infinity started to reply but the building began shaking. Armando, Eagleton, and Celia remained silent as the tremor continued for at least a full minute. Finally, it tapered off.

“Has that been happening often?” Infinity asked.

“More frequently with every passing hour,” Armando said. “And they’re getting stronger. We anticipate that the bridging device will only be functional for another day or two.”

Infinity’s gut tightened, and she stared at them through the plexiglas. “Another day or two?”

“How did it go with colony ST5?” Eagleton asked. “Are their prospects favorable?”

Infinity shook her head. “Not so much. The destination world was nothing like what we’d hoped for. We had lost as many as a hundred fifty by bridge-back. The rest have a fair chance at best.”

Eagleton frowned. “What the hell happened?”

“It’s a long story. But we wouldn’t have made the mistake of sending them there if we’d taken time to do an assessment excursion.” Even as she said it, Infinity knew this was no longer a valid argument. An assessment excursion would just now be returning with bad news, and then the whole process would have to start over. Eagleton had been right, but Infinity wasn’t about to tell him that.

Another thought occurred to her, based on Abel’s reaction yesterday to questions about the small musk monkey among the bio-probe animals. “That green creature that returned with the bio-probe—where is it?”

“It’s still in containment,” Armando said. “Why?”

“We have reason to believe it might be dangerous.”

“Should I have it destroyed?”

She considered this. “Not yet. Just make sure the techs know not to touch it.”

Armando nodded. “Go on in to the lab, Infinity. We’ll meet you there.”

Infinity followed the two remaining techs through the airlock.

Poppy Safran was waiting in the lab. She grabbed Infinity’s shoulders to hold her still. Then she turned her around, giving her body a cursory inspection. “Jesus, Infinity. What happened to the back of your head?” Infinity had long since gotten used to Poppy asking this question about whatever wounds she had sustained during her most recent bridging excursion.

Infinity scanned the lab and spotted Desmond at the far end, hunched over a table, furiously writing or drawing something. “My head will have to wait,” she said. “Armando and Eagleton want to talk to me.”

Poppy grabbed Infinity’s arm. “I heard what they said. They’re coming in the lab to speak with you. So you will sit right here while I get started on this mess you’ve made of your scalp.” Pulling on Infinity’s arm, she dragged her over to an exam table and forced her to sit on the edge. She then handed Infinity a paper gown. “You may want to put this on.”

As Infinity donned the gown, the outer airlock hissed and popped open. Armando and Eagleton came in without biosuits or masks. Infinity realized no one in the lab was wearing a biosuit, which likely meant they all expected to die soon anyway.

“So enlighten us,” Eagleton said, wasting no time. “What chance of survival do you think colony ST5 has?”

Poppy was wiping the back of Infinity’s head, which made it hard to concentrate.

“Seventy percent in the short term. Fifty percent in the long term.”

Eagleton and Armando exchanged grim looks.

“I suppose it could be worse,” Armando said.

The building began shaking again, and everyone paused, looking up at the ceiling as if expecting it to come crashing down. After about thirty seconds, the tremor stopped.

Eagleton cleared his throat. “We don’t mean to be insensitive to whatever you’ve just been through, but things have changed in the last thirty-six hours.”

Infinity’s heart sank. “It’s too late to try to bridge colony ST6, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” Eagleton said. “But we intend to try. The problem is the entire electrical grid for this region is down. Probably permanently this time. SafeTrek’s been relying on backup generators for almost thirteen hours now.”

Armando spoke up. “Our generators weren’t really designed for long-term use, especially not for activating the bridging device every hour of every day. As we speak, we’re having five diesel generators installed, with reinforced housings mounted on fluid damping systems. The new generators will likely outlast the SafeTrek facility itself. But switching to the new power system will cost us precious hours. It could take the rest of the day and into the night.”

Eagleton jumped in, as if the two had agreed to tag-team the discussion. “And so we’re planning to start bridging colony ST6 at 7:00 AM.”

“If the facility is still standing at that point,” Armando added.

Eagleton looked at the floor for a moment and then glanced around as if he were about to reveal a secret. “I hate to say this, but we’re operating on the assumption that ST6 will be our last colony. Therefore we’ve re-shuffled the refugees from ST6 and ST7 to form a single group that’s more representative of the best interests of the human species.”

Infinity stared at Eagleton and then glanced at Armando. “What does that mean? You went out there and told some of the refugees they’re no longer part of ST6?”

“Be glad you weren’t here for that,” Armando said. “The situation got ugly.”

Infinity shook her head. “I bet it did.”

Armando stepped forward and, to Infinity’s surprise, took one of her hands in his. “What we’re trying to say is we need you and Desmond to lead colony ST6. We’ve hand-picked over fifty national guardsmen, including the guy you recommended, Gideon Stead. The rest of the 718 are a mix of highly skilled men and women from a variety of professions, all of them physically fit and of reproductive age. Desmond’s two friends, Lenny Stiles and Xavier Cahill, will be in the group, as they’ve had bridging experience. Poppy here, as well as most of the other med techs, will also be with you.”

Infinity looked Armando in the eye. “And?”

He half-smiled. “I’ll be going as well, although I hardly consider myself to be worthy.”

Infinity realized she had stopped breathing, and she sucked in a deep breath of air. Billions of people would soon die, along with every plant and animal on Earth. The scale of the tragedy was beyond comprehension. And she was partly responsible for it. She had tried to redeem herself in one small way by helping a few colonies of refugees in their attempts to escape and survive. But she had no way of knowing the outcome of these efforts. She would never know. Now she had been given the opportunity to help one more colony. And this time she’d be there beyond the initial thirty-six hours. She would remain with the colony for the rest of her life. She would know, one way or the other, whether she’d had any impact at all on the survival of the human species. And even beyond her guilt and her need to help, she felt a desire to finally have peace—and a life with Desmond.

“We’ll be ready,” she said, barely above a whisper.

23

Practice

September 3 - 12:56 PM

Desmond finished writing the last row of figures and sat back to look over the entire grid. He ran through all the symbols again, starting with the top row and working from left to right. As far as he could tell after checking his work, all the symbols were correct and in the right order. He finally allowed his mind to relax. He was exhausted from concentrating on row after row of symbols he couldn’t comprehend.

He rubbed his eyes, anticipating what it would feel like to lay his head on a soft pillow. He unfolded a paper gown the techs had given him and quickly put it on before carrying the poster board over to the table where Infinity was talking to Armando Doyle and Reece Eagleton.

“You finally going to explain what you’ve been doing?” Infinity asked.

Desmond held up the grid of symbols. “Well—” He hesitated. Perhaps explaining verbally wasn’t the most efficient way. Did he still have his telepathic ability? “I want all of you to humor me for a moment.” He held out his left hand. “Please place a hand on my arm.”

“You gotta be kidding,” Infinity said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t try.”

She shook her head and put her hand on his. “You might as well go ahead and do it,” she said to Doyle and Eagleton.

Frowning, Doyle put his hand over Infinity’s.

“No,” Desmond said. “It needs to be on my arm, against my skin.”

Doyle moved his hand to Desmond’s wrist.

Desmond gazed at Eagleton, waiting.

Eagleton sighed and then complied, putting his hand on Desmond’s forearm.

Desmond turned to the med tech. “Poppy, you too.”

“Hold on,” she said. She snipped a stitch on the back of Infinity’s head, set her scissors down, removed her latex glove, and put her hand on his elbow.

Desmond concentrated on arranging a sequence of visions of his encounters with the mongrels. He then consciously projected these visions outward, forcing them from his mind, through his arm, and into the hands and to the minds of his audience.

Infinity sighed. Doyle and Poppy widened their eyes in surprise.

Eagleton pulled his hand away and stepped back. “Good God in heaven, man!”

“I’m not finished,” Desmond said. “Please put your hand back.”

Now fascinated, Eagleton returned his hand to Desmond’s arm.

Desmond resumed the process of pushing out his thoughts. He showed a few crucial visions of the painted herd and Abel, including Abel’s plan to dose every refugee with mind-projection serum. He showed the mongrel bubble, along with what the mongrels had done to the entire planet. He showed his entrance into the bubble’s fluid, and his discussion with the nearly invisible beings. And he showed himself receiving what the mongrels called the key to the bridging machinery, as well as the importance of whatever information was contained in the key.

“You can let go now,” he said.

Everyone but Infinity had closed their eyes, apparently to process the mental imagery more easily. They now opened their eyes and withdrew their hands.

Infinity gave his hand a firm squeeze before pulling hers away. “I guess bridging didn’t strip away your thought-projection ability,” she said.

The others stared at Desmond as if they were looking at a two-headed snake.

“Ignore the fact that thought projection should be impossible,” Desmond said. He held up the poster board again. “This is supposedly a cipher to the bridging technology key. The beings who gave it to me had discovered a way to use the bridging machinery without destroying their own world. And they implied that other capabilities of the technology could be unlocked with the key. They said the key was actually embedded in the Outlanders’ instructions, so we must have missed it. Perhaps it’s too late for us to make use of it—I don’t know. But I wanted to get the information back here, just in case.”

“Ignoring the fact that you just projected your thoughts into our minds would be quite impossible,” Doyle said. “But for the moment, I’ll try.” He took the poster board from Desmond and studied it. “There must be a thousand symbols here. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that someone capable of projecting thoughts could also memorize this.”

Desmond shook his head. “The two abilities are unrelated. What’s your impression? Can we do anything with this information? Can we even decipher the symbols?”

Armando continued staring at the grid. “If there is meaning to this, the folks at SETI can decipher it—I can almost guarantee that. They learned a lot from deciphering the Outlanders’ radio signal, even if they missed this.”

Eagleton was still staring at Desmond in disbelief. “I’ll get on the SAT phone and let Washington know what we have. The internet has become pretty much nonfunctional of late, but I’m sure they’ll have a way for us to transmit an image of these symbols. Either that or they’ll do things the old-fashioned way and send a chopper. If these symbols contain any valuable information, someone will figure it out.”

He took the poster board from Armando and turned to leave but then paused. “It could be days before we know more about this. Colony ST6 will still begin bridging at 7:00 AM. I assume you are all still on board?”

Desmond, Infinity, Poppy, and Armando looked at each other and then nodded.

Eagleton exited the lab through the airlock, which had been left standing wide open to the rest of the facility.

* * *

3:19 PM

Desmond stared at the remains of his pasta salad. Beside it on his tray was a pile of protein bar wrappers. It had been almost forty-eight hours since his last meal, and he had no idea how long it might be before his next, but he was too full to eat another bite.

“Twenty years,” Xavier said. “I know it’s a done deal and I have no say in the matter, but twenty years? You know we’re all going to have to decide whether to meet the alternate versions of ourselves, right?”

Xavier and Lenny were sitting across the table from Desmond and Infinity. Xavier was referring to the twenty-year divergence point for the destination world selected for colony ST6. The reasoning for this divergence point had involved a tradeoff. With only twenty years since divergence, it was unlikely the societies on the alternate world could have collapsed, like those on the mongrel world. The problem with this, though, was that twenty years ago was only fifteen years before the SETI institute had discovered the Outlanders’ radio signal. It was possible that at that point the sequence of events leading to the discovery had already been set in motion. However, it was also true that the discovery had been a rather random event and may not have happened in most alternate timelines. And even if the signal had been discovered, it may not have been effectively deciphered, or humans may have wisely decided not to build bridging devices.

Desmond had actually seen that this last possibility was real. When the mongrels had somehow thrown him briefly into the lives of several hundred alternate versions of himself, more than half of those versions were completely unaware of bridging technology.

“Perhaps, brother,” said Lenny, “you’re afraid to find out your alternate self has made more of himself than you have. He might already have his PhD and be a tenured professor. Wouldn’t that suck?”

“As a matter of fact, it would suck,” Xavier said. He then looked across the table. “Infinity, how do you feel about the possibility of meeting your alternate self?”

Desmond watched her, curious.

She shrugged. “Not likely to happen. In nine out of ten do-overs of my last twenty years, I’d have ended up dead. I doubt there will be another me to meet.”

The table fell silent for several long seconds.

“Damn,” Lenny said. “How about you, Des?”

Desmond considered this. Thanks to the mongrels’ strange ritual, he had already seen a disturbing variety of his alternate versions. “I’d prefer not to meet him.”

Lenny put his fork down and pushed his tray away. “Well, someone here needs to be upbeat about this. I do want to meet my other self. Why? Because I think it’d be cool to have a twin. The guy will like me, for sure. I mean, how could he not? He’s me, right?”

Xavier said, “If he’s as annoying as you are, you may not like him.”

Desmond laughed. “I have to say, I’m glad you guys are going with us. But right now I’m so tired I can’t think straight.” He got up from the table.

“As of 7:00 AM,” Infinity said, “Desmond and I will hold the world record for back-to-back bridging excursions. It’s never been done before because bridgers believed no one could survive it.” She got up from the table without explaining further.

“You’re a ray of sunshine today, Infinity,” Lenny said.

Desmond eyed her. “They believed no one could survive it?”

She glanced at him without smiling.

Desmond shook his head and turned to Lenny and Xavier. “Get yourselves as hydrated as possible tonight. Even with a divergence point of only twenty years, there’s no way to know what we’ll bridge into.”

Xavier nodded and held up his water bottle.

“You got it, Des,” Lenny said.

* * *

September 4 - 3:49 AM

Trucks, backhoes, and forklifts now occupied the training lawn behind SafeTrek. LED floodlights lit the area as technicians and machine operators worked furiously to set up and install the generators.

“Well, this isn’t what I had in mind,” Desmond said to Infinity as he propped open the back door to the SafeTrek facility with the empty water bottle he’d just drained. He had hoped they would be able to sit on the grass in the silent darkness one more time. After all, these were their last few hours on this earth. After dinner, they had slept together in his bunk for ten hours, and now they both felt the need to get out of the building for a while.

“This way,” Infinity said.

He followed her to the edge of the lawn and into the forest, finally stopping at a half-buried granite boulder the size of a minivan. They crawled on top of it and sat facing away from the harsh lights. Infinity took a drink of her protein water and set the bottle down between them.

A few seconds later, the ground began quaking. After about twenty seconds of moderate tremors, the quake intensified, and Desmond had to grab the bottle to keep it from tumbling off the rock. The rumbling went on for what seemed like a full minute. Desmond heard some of the workers swearing in frustration.

He turned around to check on the SafeTrek building—no visible damage. Fortunately, the block-like structure had been designed to withstand natural disasters, although no one at the time could have known what was coming.

Infinity scooted her body in front of Desmond’s and leaned back against his chest, a position in which they had both found comfort since the first night they’d spent together. On that night, they had been hiding from killer bird men, high in a tree on another version of Earth. Huddling together had been nothing more than a survival tactic that night, but since then this position had become more meaningful.

Infinity turned her head to the side to avoid resting her stitches against Desmond’s skin, and they sat this way in silence for several minutes, staring up through the trees at the stars. The sky seemed non-threatening, with no aurora borealis to foretell the devastating disaster that would soon destroy every living thing on the planet. No one and nothing would escape. Unless they were lucky enough to bridge to an alternate world in which humans had never used bridging technology.

“I suppose you’ll lose your stitches when we bridge,” Desmond said.

Infinity shrugged slightly. “Didn’t really need them anyway.”

Desmond put an arm around her, resting his hand on her belly. “Everything feels different this time.”

“What do you mean?”

“This time we aren’t coming back.”

“How about we don’t talk about tomorrow,” she said. “I just want to be here in this moment, this night. With you.”

“Okay.” He gazed up at the stars. “You and I have been through a lot. We almost didn’t make it this time. And I suspect both of us have been changed as a result. I still can’t quite believe I can talk to people with my mind.”

“It’s kind of creepy, but I suppose it could be useful at times.”

Desmond thought about this. He hadn’t had much time yet to consider the ways his ability could be useful. On a whim, he envisioned the most erotic scenario he could think of. It involved an isolated, sun-drenched beach and several mutually-climactic seconds of love making with Infinity. He then pushed that mental vision from his mind into hers.

Infinity inhaled sharply, and her entire body stiffened. She moaned and pressed herself back into his chest. “Yeah,” she whispered,“your ability could definitely be useful now and then. But if you ever do that to someone else, your life might be suddenly shortened.”

He pulled her even closer. “Deal.”

She let out a brief chuckle.

After a few more minutes of silence, she slapped his knee with her palm. “You said you thought both of us had been changed. How am I changed?”

“Well, now that you bring it up, I was thinking about your ordeal with the venomcrook. Apparently rapture is pretty much the most pleasurable feeling a human could ever experience, right?”

“You do remember it almost killed me, right?”

“Yeah, well. My point is, how am I supposed to compete with that?”

She slapped his knee again, this time harder. “Are you serious?”

It was his turn to chuckle. “Not really. Well, only partially. I kind of meant it as a joke.”

She actually laughed aloud, and her laugh carried on for many seconds, as if she were finally releasing an immeasurable burden.

“Okay,” she said after her laughter trailed off. “You want to compete with rapture? A few years of practice would be a good start.”

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Author’s Notes

Some of you may have questions. So I have decided to offer my thoughts on a few things related to Bridgers 3: The Voice of Reason. These topics are in no particular order, and they may not even be important to most people. But I like to contemplate things like this.

How devastating was the mongrel invasion of this version of Earth? This story is based on the idea that a bizarre species of intelligent life, the mongrels, bridged to this version of Earth in 1927 and basically reformed the entire surface of the planet into what they thought was its most natural state. They transformed all cities, machinery, paved roads, and other human-made things back into soil, along with many of the human inhabitants. In 1927, the world population had just hit two billion. In the region of Missouri forest depicted in Bridgers 3, there are about 250 painted natives and 50 ferals in a four-square-mile area, which is about 75 humans per square mile. Assuming this population density is uniform throughout the state of Missouri (a very iffy assumption), and since Missouri is 69,700 square miles, this means the population of Missouri would max out at 5.2 million. This is only 10 million less than the population of Missouri today.

Based on those calculations, you might assume that almost as many humans could live on Earth with the mongrels present as would be possible without the mongrels. But this assumption would be wildly off the mark. Why? Because the mongrels do not allow humans to construct shelters. The mongrel bailiwick in this book is in an area of Missouri that happens to have a number of caves where humans could take shelter in the winter (although those caves are typically only 55-58 degrees F, that is a far cry better than sub-freezing Missouri winters). Most other places on Earth do not have caves or any other natural shelters. And many other places are far more hostile to human survival than Missouri.

So, the mongrel invasion was indeed a devastating event to this world.

How did the mongrels get to this world? That depends on whether you believe what the mongrels have told Desmond. They definitely arrived via bridging technology. But did they bridge their huge 60-foot, fluid-filled domiciles, too? Good question. The answer to this depends on whether you believe they really do have a “key” that unlocks the limitations of the bridging machinery imposed by the Outlanders.

What is this “key” all about? The mongrels claim that the Outlanders embedded a key to the bridging technology somewhere in the instructions the Outlanders transmitted into space. If you believe what the mongrels have said, this key allows certain civilizations to unlock additional features of the bridging device. For instance, it allows you to override the limitation of only thirty-six hours for each bridging excursion. And it allows the device to be used without creating the heavy particles that drift to the core of the planet and cause the planet’s destruction. In other words, it could be a very useful key.

Are the mongrels the Outlanders? This depends on whether you trust them to be truthful. They told Desmond they weren’t. Were they telling the truth?

Did the mongrels really evolve on an alternate version of Earth? I think this is certainly possible. As Desmond said, it all depends on how far back your divergence point is. If they came from a version of Earth with a divergence point of two billion years ago, this was about the time multicellular life appeared. At that point, the future direction of complex life forms was wide open. Considering we have nearly-transparent aquatic creatures such as jellyfish, is it too far fetched to imagine that transparent, intelligent creatures could evolve in a liquid substrate? And if they did, it seems to me that a big step in that species’ gradual expansion over the planet would eventually involve mobile—perhaps even living—domiciles allowing them to move out onto the land. Kind of like the opposite of our submarines. So, yes, it’s possible the mongrels originated on an alternate earth. The question is, did they?

Why don’t the mongrels have machines? The mongrels have developed a different kind of technology. Instead of mastering the manipulation of solid raw materials such as stone and metal, they have mastered the manipulation of biological systems. Their “machines” are living things. Their domicile bubbles are living things. Even their weapons, such as the venomcrook, are living things.

Where did the musk monkeys come from? These creatures either originated on the mongrels’ own version of the earth (assuming you believe the mongrels aren’t aliens from another planet other than the earth), or they are creatures the mongrels picked up from another version of Earth they visited at some point. Due to the mongrels’ obvious physical limitations on dry land, they need musk monkeys to carry out many tasks they cannot or prefer not to do themselves.

Why do the musk monkeys and local humans talk the way they do? Well, remember that the mongrels arrived on this version of Earth in 1927, and they immediately brought a halt to human industrial progress. In this rural region of the Midwest United States, the language continued to evolve, but not in the same way it would have without the mongrels’ presence. Most references to man-made objects eventually disappeared, and all phrases typically became derived from the context of living in a wilderness setting. And, of course, there are some phrases that survived from the time period of the early 1900s. Since Abel (and the mongrels) needed to communicate with the local humans, they adopted the local language and phrases.

Are the venomcrooks really alive? And how do they work? As stated above, the mongrels mastered biological (organic) technology, rather than mechanical/electronic technology. They can create and transform living tissue at will. The venomcrook is just one example of this. These living weapons were created to help musk monkeys subdue local humans and keep them in line, often by forcing them to become addicted to rapture. Venomcrooks were designed by the mongrels in such a way that the “venom” administered could be altered by manipulating an exposed tendon on the handle. In this way, the user (usually a musk monkey) could choose between pain, rapture, or any number of other terrible consequences. The venom crooks were intended to be used by musk monkeys, but that didn’t prevent the mongrels from providing some for the natives and the refugees, just to make the imminent conflict more entertaining for the mongrels to watch. Those mongrels and their shenanigans!

Why the title, The Voice of Reason? This title refers to several different aspects of the story. In a very literal sense, it refers to the actual voice of the feral named Reason, which Desmond had to learn to emulate in order to initiate communication with the mongrels. In a more figurative sense, it refers to the challenge of getting the painted natives to listen to and agree to Desmond’s plan for combining the two herds.

Okay, what about the rather mind-bending concept of the possible existence of infinite parallel universes?

While there are certainly cosmologists who are skeptical of the concept, it is important to point out that multiple parallel universes is not a theory. Scientists did not simply come up with the idea using their imaginations. Instead, the concept is a mathematical consequence of our current theories in physics, particularly quantum mechanics and string theory.

If we assume that quantum mechanics and string theory are not completely wrong, then it is important for scientists to examine all of the mathematical consequences of those theories. Even if those consequences (such as parallel universes) seem strange to us. This is often how science moves forward.

There are at least five plausible scientific theories that suggest the existence of multiple universes (the “multiverse”). My favorite of these is the concept of “daughter universes” suggested by the theory of quantum mechanics. Quantum mechanics describes things in terms of probabilities, rather than definite outcomes. The mathematics of quantum mechanics suggest that every possible outcome of every situation actually occurs—in its own separate universe.

Everything is made up of tiny particles, and what this “daughter universes” concept boils down to is that there could be infinite parallel universes, each of them differing by the position of only one particle.

The concept boggles the mind. But it certainly makes for a fun story.

Acknowledgments

I am not capable of creating a book such as this on my own. I have the following people, among others, to thank for their assistance.

When it comes to editing, my son Micheal Smith is extremely talented, and his tireless and meticulous suggestions are invaluable. If you find a sentence or detail in the book that doesn’t seem right, it is likely because I failed to implement one of his suggestions.

My wife Trish is always the first to read my work, and therefore she has the burden of seeing my stories in their roughest form. Thankfully, she kindly points out where things are a mess. Her suggestions are what get the editing process started. She also helps with various promotional efforts. And finally, she not only tolerates my obsession with writing, she actually encourages it.

I also owe thanks to those on my Advance Reviewer team. They were able to point out numerous typos and inconsistencies.

Finally, I am thankful to all the independent freelance designers out there who provide quality work for independent authors such as myself. Jake Caleb Clark (www.jcalebdesign.com) created the awesome cover for Bridgers 3: The Voice of Reason.

About the Author

Stan Smith has lived most of his life in the Midwest United States and currently resides in Warrensburg, Missouri. He writes adventure novels and short stories that have a generous sprinkling of science fiction. His novels and stories are about regular people who find themselves caught up in highly unusual situations. They are designed to stimulate your sense of wonder, get your heart pounding, and keep you reading late into the night, with minimal risk of exposure to spelling and punctuation errors. His books are for anyone who loves adventure, discovery, and mind-bending surprises.

Stan’s Author Website
http://www.stancsmith.com

Feel free to email Stan at: stan@stancsmith.com

He loves hearing from readers and will answer every email.

There’s More To This Story!

That’s right—Bridgers continues. Infinity and Desmond have much more work to do. Will colony ST6 get a chance to bridge out?

Be sure to check out the next book in the series, Bridgers 4.

Available November, 2018.

Also by Stan C. Smith

The DIFFUSION series

Diffusion

Infusion

Profusion

Savage

Blue Arrow

The BRIDGERS series

Bridgers 1: The Lure of Infinity

Bridgers 2: The Cost of Survival

Bridgers 3: The Voice of Reason

Stand-alone Stories

Parthenium’s Year