THE BURNING ENCLAVE lights up the lillipad stem. Orange flames lick at the walls, and thick black smoke chokes the cold night air. The VTV is close, but the faint screams and loud pop-pop-popping of ancient firearms still linger in the distance. Those Robusts attacked everyone. There was no strategy other than total destruction. They didn’t target the resistance, or those who may have fought back. They hit anyone in reach. Women. Men. Children. Oh, for the love of the Leader, they used that boy to carry the bomb. Why would they use a child?

My stomach convulses, and I crash into the snow, heaving up my last meal with Mila. It spatters the white-gray slush and my pants, somehow missing the little girl who still sticks to me. I want these images to be erased from my brain. But his little face is branded into my gray matter. And then, there were the other Robusts in the market; nothing could prepare them for watching a child die that way. Instead they ran, shrieking in terror. Just like me.

The snow is cold in my hands as I force myself to my feet. I readjust the small child on my chest, holding her cold skinny frame close to me, and trudge toward the VTV. The bodies of the first Robusts—the Rippers, Yuri called them—have either been scavenged or are concealed under fresh snow. The geminoid is nowhere to be seen, either.

I disarm the security system and tap the door. It swings up and open. Without hesitation, I shuffle inside and close it behind me, sealing out the frigid air.

Are we going somewhere, boy? You didn’t even get your DBS, but somehow picked up a new pet.

Vedmak. I almost forgot he was there—almost. But he has a point: What the hell am I doing? Going home, no DBS, and with a Robust child in tow. But if I tell the Leader the truth, tell him I’m unwell, maybe he’ll have a cure. Maybe he’ll let me live.

Let you live? You’ll be Ax’d, and you know it. You saw the data package. Don’t be a naive child. You’re as good as dead. And I can’t let that happen.

“Shut up, Vedmak, just shut up. I need to think. Let me think.”

You don’t need to think—I do. You’re a weak little puppet. You need someone to pull your strings. His horrible, mocking tone slithers around inside my head.

The little girl still hangs on to my chest for dear life. She’s so light, she’s barely noticeable. A pair of wet dark eyes stares back at me from under a mess of matted black hair. Tears have glued strands of it to her cheeks. She sniffs repeatedly, but says nothing. She can be no more than ten.

Vedmak snarls again. Kill it. Throw it from the hatch.

“No, she’s a child. Look at her.”

Yes, look at this little dark-skinned rodent. Throw it out. Do it or I will.

“Please don’t do that. Don’t kill me,” sobs the girl. She lets go and slides down my torso to the floor, then shuffles back against the bulkhead.

“It’s okay. No one is going to kill you. Are you from that enclave, Zopat? Was your family there?”

“I’m from Baqir,” the girl says with a sniffle. “I ran away from Kapka’s men. My brother told me to run. I hid in a trader’s cart, and it took me all the way to Zopat. But those bad men were attacking, so I ran.”

“That was very brave of you.”

Ugh, you’ve got to be joking.

The girl’s face drains of color. “There it is again.”

“There’s what again?”

“The other man. He wants to kill me,” she replies.

“Who wants to kill you?”

“That bad man. The one you’re talking to.”

“You can hear ... the bad man?”

“Yes.” She bursts into a fresh bout of crying. “He speaks with strange words, like he’s far away. Please don’t let him hurt me.”

Slit its throat. Vedmak’s voice is but a hiss.

The girl clasps frantically at her neck and shoves herself as far into the corner as she can. “Please, don’t.”

She heard Vedmak. How is that possible? “Do you know the name of the other man? The one I’m talking to?”

Vedmak gives an evil chuckle. The dead need not know my name.

“No.” She shakes her head slowly. “He said I don’t need to know it if I’m to die anyway.”

The floor comes up fast as I slump on my ass. What the hell is going on? She can hear Vedmak? Who is this girl? “What’s your name?”

“Husniya.”

“Okay, Husniya. I’m Demitri.”

“Are you a Gracile?” She sniffs again.

“Yes. I am.” I shuffle forward on my backside to get a little closer. “Husniya, I need you to be a brave girl, okay?”

She just stares at me, her eyes glassy.

“When I talk to the man, to Vedmak, you can hear him—right?”

She nods once. “Kind of. It’s crackly. I can’t hear everything. Just some words.”

This makes no sense. Why would she be able to hear him at all? “Husniya, have you always been able to hear voices?”

“Yes,” she replies. “Margarida. She sings to me sometimes.”

“Margarida?”

“Yes, she’s nice to me when Faruq goes to find food and I’m alone. Margarida sings to me. I don’t know the words; they’re funny. I like it.” Husniya wipes the tears from her cheeks with her forearm.

“An imaginary friend?”

“No,” she replies. “She’s real.”

A faint noise crackles in the recesses of my mind, like an interfering radio signal. A voice overlapping with Husniya’s.

... no es ... imaginary ... señor.

“Did you say something?”

“I said: no, she’s a real person,” she replies.

“Yes, I heard that. But, did you not say something about imaginary?”

“That wasn’t me.” She giggles. “That was Margarida. My friend.”

¡Sí. says the voice again. It’s difficult to make out, far away and broken.

“For the love of the Leader. What’s going on? Husniya, how long have you had this voice, I mean, Margarida, in your head?”

“Always.” The girl shrugs. “She’s nice to me.”

“Husniya, I think I can hear her, too.”

“You can?” the little girl squeals.

“This is incredible.”

She can hear Vedmak. I can hear her voice, Margarida. That would mean I’m not schizophrenic. That Husniya and I are in contact with something, someone, somewhere else. I should have asked this long ago. “Vedmak ... where are you?”

There’s a long silence. Then he speaks, his tone bitter and angry.

Clever little kozel. Finally understanding, are we? I live in the darkest place. A place of pain, of separation. It feeds me. Nourishes me. Prepares me for my rebirth. For my second chance—through you.

... demon, spits the faint, old voice, Husniya nodding frantically in agreement. ... monster.

“You’re in another place. You’re not me. I can just hear you, wherever you are. You said rebirth. You died? But somehow still linger?”

Vedmak cackles maniacally. We all die, Gracile. I died for my comrades. For Mother Russia. Fighting pigs like you who believed they were better. Nothing has changed. Your kind, oppressing the common man, polluting Russia’s land. And you will die, too, leaving me your body.

He died? He died, and somehow, his brain pattern survived. And we can hear it. And Margarida’s. “Margarida. Margarida, where are you?” I scrunch my eyes closed and try to concentrate on the distant voice.

... home, says the voice. ... warm ... I’m free.

“She’s with Ilāh,” Husniya explains, her face full of pride. “She’s my guardian angel.”

“Heaven?” Is it possible? Brain patterns, or quantum information, are retained and kept intact? Held somewhere in space-time? Maybe another dimension? Maybe multiple dimensions? Vedmak and Margarida describe a different existence. Quantum entanglement, maybe? My subatomic particles entangled with those of Vedmak’s—trapped elsewhere. “Quantum entanglement. And multiple dimensions. Of course, that would mean—”

“What?” Husniya asks.

I might be living proof of exotic physics, of multiple dimensions. And so could she. But if that’s the case, then the Leader might well be able to create a black hole from small mass, one that would grow. Is this what he’s waiting for? Does he know what’s wrong with me? Did he already think of this theory, and that’s why I’ve not been Ax’d? I leap to my feet, pacing like a caged animal inside the VTV.

“If he knew, then he’s been watching me. He wanted to weaponize my condition. If he could figure it out, then he could open a door to a dimension where black holes could exist on a small scale—using a supercollider.”

The pieces fall into place, clicking and clacking into the gaps in my understanding of his plan. He knows humans can be coded—an information soul—because I am in contact with exactly that. Vedmak.

“Is that bad?” the little girl asks.

“There must be something specific,” I blurt. “A protein in the brain or something that’s entangled at the quantum level, like a bird.”

Vedmak groans. What are you going on and on about?

“Birds, when we had many more on Earth, would migrate relative to magnetic lines between seasons. The field is far too weak to detect using ferric-based molecules, but they had a protein in the brain that comprised atomic particles that were entangled with others, and this relationship was affected by magnetic fields. Husniya, you’d have it, too. We need to get to the med lab and look for it.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Because if I can isolate the protein, then maybe I can suppress it. Vedmak will be gone.”

She starts to cry again. “I don’t want Margarida to go. She’s my angel.”

“Look, Husniya, we don’t have to make Margarida go away. But it might be easier to find the protein if we look for it together. It’s something we both have in our DNA. I need your help. Will you help me?”

“Will you help me find my brother?” she asks hopefully.

“Sure. You come to the med lab, and then we’ll go find your brother.”

“Okay.” Excited, she throws her arms around my legs. I can’t remember the last time someone hugged me so tightly. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I was hugged at all.

Oh, boo hoo, lonely little Gracile. Soon you will be gone, and none of this will matter.

“Oh no, Vedmak. Soon you will be gone.” For the first time, I feel strong. For the first time, I feel like maybe I’m a good person. Vedmak isn’t me. And I can beat him.