“HI, MITYA.”

“Oksana?” I didn’t even hear her enter. “Where did you come from? And don’t call me that, I do hate it.”

She’s taken aback, but she smooths down her beautiful hair and smiles. “Demitri, where have you been? Everyone’s so worried.”

“They are? Everyone who?”

“Me. Nikolaj. The Leader,” she replies.

“The Leader? I doubt that. But I do need to speak with him.”

“Talk to me, Demitri.” She takes a step closer and offers an even softer look. “Tell me what’s going on with you.”

“For the first time, good things, ʼSana. Good things. I—ˮ Something doesn’t add up. “How did you know I was in here?”

“I ... I uh ...,” she stutters.

I stand and use my full height to seem as imposing as possible. “What’s going on, ʼSana?”

The door hisses open and four men step in. Two Creed, my brother, Nikolaj, and the Leader. The Creed stand there, as the Creed do, expressionless and unemotional, clutching their energy rifles. Nikolaj says nothing, glowering at me from behind our Leader, his stare a mixture of frustration and concern.

“Well, we have been busy, haven’t we, Demitri?” the Leader says. Strangely, he’s wearing his nasal rebreather. He holds an awkward stance, his limbs stiff—coiled as if ready to launch if provoked.

“I have, that is true. But for good reason.”

“What reason could be good enough you would soil yourself by going down into that Robust cesspool, then coming back and risking infecting us all?”

“We’re immune to the plague, we know this. But our obsession with it clouds our judgment. You wear your rebreather even up here in the clouds.”

The Leader holds my gaze. I haven’t answered his question.

“Sir, my Leader, I thought I was sick, and I needed medicine that I could only get from Lower Etyom. I was afraid of being Ax’d. But I’m not sick.”

We’re going to die, stupid kozel—and for what?

“Not now, Vedmak.”

“You see, he’s doing it again.” Nikolaj shakes his head. “I can’t babysit you forever, Mitya.”

“Demitri. My name is Demitri, dammit.”

The Leader raises his hands, his face still calm. “Demitri, who is this Vedmak?”

“A voice. A man long since dead, but his quantum information was kept intact. He’s somewhere ... else. But you, you know this, don’t you? You’ve known for years. Is that why you kept me close? Why you took me and Nikolaj under your wing? Were you just going to use me?”

“What is he talking about?” Nikolaj looks to the Leader.

The Leader narrows his eyes. “Demitri, I don’t know what you mean. Why would I have been using you? Are you so special?”

“You know why. You let me think I was schizophrenic, or had some kind of split personality. You let him torture me for years. But you knew.”

“You’re schizophrenic?” my brother whispers.

“No, I’m not. I can talk to people in other dimensions.”

Oh, now you don’t look like a crazy idiot. Are you happy? Are you trying to get us Ax’d?

“Shut up, Vedmak.” I pace back and forth, staring at the floor. “You want to preserve our kind, on the event horizon of a black hole. You’ve been using Nikolaj and me to research the possibilities of creating it—but you knew the standard model of physics wouldn’t allow it. You had to prove exotic physics. You had to prove multiple dimensions. You knew I was talking to someone who had died and was coded somehow in another dimension. You wanted to know how it happened—I was the key.”

Nikolaj and Oksana just gawk.

“You believe you can talk to someone in another dimension?” The Leader’s gaze is locked on me.

“I don’t believe it. It’s true. I found it, a protein in my brain, something that would allow quantum entanglement.” I wave my hand at the monitor, the DNA code displayed on it, the genes highlighted. “I can hear a specific voice. But I met someone else who can hear a voice, too. I’m not crazy.”

The Leader is silent for a long beat, but eventually he clears his throat. “Demitri, my boy, I believe you are unwell. We need to get you to the infirmary and see what can be done.”

“Like you did with Evgeniy?”

Get ready to fight, little puppet. This isn’t going to end well.

“Evgeniy’s wounds weren’t bad, but you Ax’d him anyway. I don’t need to be Ax’d. I’m not sick.”

“Mitya.” Nikolaj holds up his hands. “You think the Leader wants to code us all onto an anomaly in space-time. You gotta admit—ˮ

“I don’t think—I’ve seen the plan. On a data stick. That’s why he had Evgeniy killed. Evgeniy knew.” I turn to face the Leader. “You blew up the lillipad, to make us think it was the Robusts. To keep us occupied. But Evgeniy sent me to look for it, before you killed him.”

The Leader’s eyes flare. “I think we have all had enough of this theater, young Demitri.” He nods to the Creed, who step forward.

With one hand, I grab Oksana by the throat, spin her to face them, and trap her in a choke hold. She gags and squirms under my grip.

Vedmak sneers. You’re learning well.

“Let her go, Demitri.” The Leader’s tone is soft and condescending, as if he’s talking to a child.

“Why? So you can Ax me? I’m not sick. Why won’t you listen to me?”

“Mitya, do you hear yourself? You’re not making sense,” Nikolaj pleads.

I ignore him, focusing on the Leader. “Mila was right. You don’t want peace. You only want the future you’ve decided for us. And for them. Wiping everyone out so only we are coded. You’re a monster.”

“I’m afraid the only monster here is you. Well, you and perhaps the one you brought with you—and I’m not talking about your imaginary friend.” The Leader nods once more, and the doors behind him slide open. Another Creed soldier rushes into the room gripping a squirming Husniya, dirty and half dressed, her dark hair strewn about her face.

The Leader glances sideways at the child and touches the rebreather under his nose before shifting back to me. “Your return to New Etyom was quite clumsy, young Demitri. You showed up on radar easily. Did you not think we would find the VTV, or your little Robust pet?”

Husniya sobs and tries to wriggle free from the grip of the Creed. The geminoid drags her to the front, between me and the Leader. My own grip on Oksana tightens, and her struggling grows more urgent.

“She’s just a little girl. She hasn’t done anything to you. Let her go.”

“And what? Let her live up here with us?” The Leader flares his nostrils, feigning the detection of an awful stench coming from the girl. “I think not.” He presses the rebreather firmly into place.

“I’ll take her back myself. Just leave her alone.”

The Leader shakes his head. “No, you won’t. She’ll receive an honorable death, which is more than she deserves. And you will be confined to the infirmary.”

Husniya will be Ax’d. I’ll be Ax’d. Everyone will die. The Leader isn’t listening. He’s made up his mind. No one will believe me. I stare into the eyes of my neo-brother, willing him to feel my pain, hoping against hope somewhere deep inside he remembers the bond we once shared.

Perhaps he heard me. Perhaps Mila’s god heard me. Whatever the reason, Nikolaj nods an acknowledgement of my silent plea and tightens his lips: be ready. He lunges forward and yanks down on two of the Creed’s ballistic helmets. While the geminoids don’t budge, they are temporarily blinded.

I shove a gasping Oksana free and into the arms of the Leader. Then, using her body as a shield, I snatch up my bag. Grabbing Husniya by the hand, I deliver a pressing kick to the chest of the Creed by her side. It flies backward, crashing into one of the other geminoids and narrowly missing Nikolaj. We slam through the sliding door, my sheer force bending it inward. The collision spins us a little, enough to catch a glimpse of the Leader, who seems unconcerned with my attempt at escape. He paws at the glowing image of my DNA code on the screen.

I scoop Husniya up onto my shoulder and tear across the gangway. There’s no time to wait for the elevator. Over the railings we go, slamming into the outer wall of the elevator shaft. It’s smooth, so we slide uncontrollably toward the ground.

Friction burns the skin on my hands, and my blood leaves a crimson streak down the otherwise impeccably white wall. We crash to the floor below, and I cover Husniya’s head with my chest and arms. The slap of my back hitting the ground reverberates around the foyer, stopping everyone in their tracks.

Run, you coward. Run!

Wheezing, I’m already on my feet. Husniya clings to my chest, her tiny legs and arms wrapped around my body. I look around, frantic. “Where do we go? We’re eight kilometers up.”

“What about that?” Husniya squeaks.

It’s just the airlock. “What about what?”

“The big ship, outside,” she says.

Through the frosted glass of the Pistil is the mottled image of a Creed gunship sitting on the lillipad. Probably the one they were going to take me away in. I pull her tight to me and hold her head close to my neck. “Hold your breath, little one, okay? For as long as you can.”

She readjusts herself on my chest and holds on even tighter.

A Creed soldier crashes feet-first right in front of us. But before it can grab either of us, I’m gone. Mila taught me this trick. Screaming long and loud, I charge with my head down at the window, and at the last second, use my free shoulder as a ram. The window squeals, cracks, and finally shatters. We slam into the tarmac of the lillipad, glass splinters puncturing my back. Mercifully Husniya appears to have only minor scratches.

Through the gaping hole in the Pistil, the Creed stomps toward us.

With Husniya stuck to my chest, I scramble to my feet and streak across the tarmac. The icy wind burns my cheeks; tears stream from the corners of my eyes and across my temples. The atmosphere is thin. Can’t take a breath or it will all be over.

We careen into the side of the gunship, and I pound on the outer door-release button. It sounds an acknowledgement, and the door begins to open. At a creep, it folds downward to form a ramp. My lungs burn, and I clamber inside before the door fully opens. My skull clangs into the bulkhead. Sarding bastard. I thump the “Close” lever, and the ramp starts to lift again. A Creed careens into the side of the vehicle and shoves one robotic arm through the gap.

Damn lifeless creatures.

It’s unclear if Vedmak makes me do it, or if I think of it myself, but my right foot stamps down on the geminoid’s arm—it easily comes free at the elbow. The door squeals shut and locks with a clunk.

Oxygen-rich air whooshes into the cab. Placing a gasping Husniya on the floor of the cargo hold, I rush to the cockpit and leap into the pilot’s seat. The dash is full of switches, panels, and screens with displays, none of it familiar except one button: autopilot. I slam my fist down on it, and the ships engines whine to life. We begin to lift from the platform.

Through the tinted panoramic glass of the cockpit, I spy the Leader marching Nikolaj across the lillipad. Both are wearing a nasal rebreather, but Nikolaj’s gait isn’t confident. In fact, he’s limping.

The gunship begins to turn slowly away, but Nikolaj locks his gaze with mine and offers a brotherly smile, like he did when I was in trouble but he took the rap.

In the Leader’s hand is an energy weapon. His face devoid of emotion, he lifts the small metallic plasma pistol, aims it at the back of Nikolaj’s head, and pulls the trigger. There’s an electric-blue flash, and my brother’s body slumps lifelessly to the tarmac.

I know I’m screaming. I can feel my vocal cords straining and the veins in my neck bulging. Tears stream down my face. But no sound comes.

The Leader has murdered my brother.

I smash the autopilot key again, switching it off so I can take control. The vessel immediately drops. I grab at the control yoke and pull on it—saving the craft from crashing into the lillipad. A blue light on the dash flashes next to a message: Iso-weapon charged. Without a second thought, I initiate it, place my index finger over the trigger on the yoke, and squeeze.

The energy weapon buzzes for a split second, then crack. A bolt of lightning releases from somewhere under the gunship. It snaps across the lillipad, blackening the tarmac, but the Leader remains unscathed. The gunship sways from left to right as I struggle to fire the weapon and control the roll and pitch. Each time a bolt releases, it strikes the HAP, but the Leader stands defiantly still. The readout on the dash flashes red: No DNA lock. Weapon recharging.

I yell through the glass, once more cursing the Leader. Husniya cowers in a cubicle, her hands clamped over her ears, her eyes screwed shut. On the lillipad below, Creed pour out of the hole in the Pistil and target our ship with their energy rifles. Hyperventilating, I yank on the yoke, pulling the ship awkwardly away, then press forward as hard as I can in a nosedive toward the cloud line.