THE CABLE CAR CRASHES into the docking station on HAP Seven. The doors slide open, and once again I stomp across the cold tarmac, the wind whipping and rustling the material of my hazmat suit.

It’s no wonder we don’t visit other HAPs, or have friends too far away. Who wants to do this every day? The walk should be a straight two kilometers, but the Pistil is in the way. I’ll have to go around. That at least doubles the distance. Dammit.

The walk is long and monotonous. The worst kind of walk for me. Too much time to think. Too much opportunity for Vedmak to berate me—and berate me he does. A stream of insults and digs rattles around inside my head. I should be used to this, but he knows just how to gouge the deepest wounds. None more so than my loneliness.

At the core, it’s the contradiction of being afraid of letting someone in, yet craving another Gracile’s touch more than anything else in the world. A warm hand on my shoulder and a soft voice to tell me it will be okay. I felt close to Nikolaj as a youngling. My little neo-brother who had no concept of his own genius or place in society. He would stand by my side and defend me against other children in the educational clutch. He was invincible. When we were perhaps five, one child—Peter, I think he was called—tried to punch me. Nikolaj came from nowhere and took it for me, square to the jaw, without flinching. Shoving Peter down, Nikolaj grabbed him by his ankles and upended him, then dragged him out of the class toward the airlock and threatened to throw him outside into the freezing cold. A teacher grabbed Nikolaj by the ear and marched him off to the Leader. His first encounter with the man. Now, it’s different. I am a burden to my brother—to our work. Any love he had for me has evaporated into frustration and annoyance.

Much too soon, I’m at the outer edge of the Pistil. The wind howls outside my helmet. A thick layer of gray clouds covers the Robusts’ domain below. What was Evgeniy’s instruction? A big crack in the tarmac; a rope ladder concealed under the platform edge. Well, I’m at the edge, with what can only be described as a fissure some twenty feet long sprawling out beneath me to the outer perimeter. A particularly powerful gust knocks me off my feet, and I crash into the ground.

Vedmak snarls. Careful, you simple idiot. You want to go flying off the edge of the world?

“Sometimes, Vedmak. Yes, I do.”

On hands and knees, I crawl to the edge and feel over the lip with gloved hands. How the hell am I meant to feel anything through this suit? But then, my hand touches something long and flexible. I shuffle forward on my chest, then dangle my head over the edge. My feet begin to tingle, and there’s a gnawing pain in my stomach as vertigo kicks in. But just as he promised, it’s there, bolted to the lip and disappearing around the curve: the rope ladder.

Frozen on the spot, I lie flat on the tarmac. The wind batters my head like I’m a rag doll.

Don’t you want your fix? Don’t you want to silence me for a while? He’s laughing again.

“Why do you enjoy my suffering? Are you evil?”

What is good for a Russian is death for a German.

“That doesn’t make sense. Evil is evil.”

You would think that. When the masters are fighting, it’s the servants’ forelocks that are creaking.

He’s talking in riddles again. But I understand his meaning. I haven’t lived beyond the confines of New Etyom. I don’t know all there is to know. But that doesn’t change my current situation.

Time seems to pass in slow motion. The strong gale has a will of its own, pushing and shoving, attempting to peel me from the tarmac and toss me like garbage into the air. I grip the first rung of the rope ladder and hang on for dear life.

You think I’m going to let your cowardice put an end to us both, little puppet?

“What?”

Yes, a puppet. And like all puppets, I need only to pull on your strings.

My left arm jerks forward. My heart beats so fiercely it feels like it will explode through my chest. “What are you doing?”

Moving us.

“You can’t.”

Oh, but I can. Your panic makes you weak.

My arm jerks again. And now my legs. My vision is fuzzy and dark, as if my consciousness were draining away. I feel myself crawl in military fashion to the brink. One leg swings out over the edge. Then the other. My gut convulses as my feet dangle into the void.

Adrenaline surges into my bloodstream, electrocuting my neurons, and somehow I regain control of my body. I kick wildly, searching for a foothold on the next rung. Clinging with all my might to the ladder, I pin myself to the outer edge of the lillipad.

Now climb, puppet. Vedmak commands.

With my eyes screwed shut and the wind beating me against the lillipad, I move downward. The descent feels endless. Hand over hand, foot over foot, until my boot hits something metallic. I pry my head away from the wall and dare to glance down. And beneath me, there it is: the VTV.

Originally it would have been a sleek, rounded shape, with gull wings that open outward, revealing two rotor pods with more than three hundred horsepower. This one looks abused and disused, decidedly nonfunctional. How the hell am I meant to get in? I stamp on the hood and peer a little farther over the edge. It’s sitting on a makeshift metallic platform, bolted to the side of the lillipad between the lip of the platform and the safety balloon.

Timing for when the last gust dies down, I drop with a clang to the roof of the VTV. Clinging with bulky gloves, I carefully slide over the top and drop to the platform, right beside the passenger door. The windows are covered in thick grime, and the once-blue doors are now a mottled mess of scratched metal. The door hisses and opens outward. Flailing my arms to maintain my balance, I stumble backward and off the platform with a shriek.

My descent stops as abruptly as it began. The initial euphoria of not plummeting to my death is replaced by a whole new fear. A Creed has me by the arm. My distorted reflection in the ink-back visor of its ballistic helmet stares, wide eyed, back at me. The Creed yanks me to my feet and, stepping back, pulls me by my forearm into the VTV. The door hisses closed.

Silence fills the air, but the Creed doesn’t move.

Kill it.

How the hell am I meant to kill it? And what use would it be? It’s connected to the neuralweb. By now it’s already told the Leader I’m here. And then I’ll be Ax’d. The Creed just gawks at me.

Kill it and let’s go.

“You kill it. And why would you be encouraging me to go and get a drug that suppresses you?”

Even the wolf being fed enough nevertheless looks in the forest.

The Creed jerks to life. I hold my breath in anticipation. It clasps its helmet and, with a twist, pops it off. I finally exhale. It’s the soldier from Lillipad Seven. The female geminoid guarding the Pistil.

“Good evening, Demitri Stasevich,” she says in that strange monotone.

“Good ... evening?”

Kill it already.

“Oh shut up, Vedmak.”

She gives me a quizzical look, then reaches over and pulls an old flexiscreen from one of the inner compartments. Once it’s unrolled, she slaps it to the cabin wall and presses a few touch-sensitive keys. It crackles and fizzes, but eventually a pixilated image forms on the clear organic-plastic sheet. Evgeniy looks at me once again from beyond the grave.

“Demitri, you have made it here. Interesting thus far, no?” He’s smiling, again.

“What the—?”

“I see you’ve met my wife.”

The Creed has a rubbery grin fixed on her lips.

“Her?”

“Well, at least a good representation of her. When they took her and gave a Creed soldier her face, I couldn’t bear it. It was too painful. If the Robusts know one thing, it’s how to jack our tech. Tatiana here has an entirely firewalled program running a personality algorithm that at least resembles her former self.” His smile fades into an expression of pain. “I can run it, and the Creed have no idea. It’s comforting for a while.”

She wasn’t guarding the Pistil, she was guarding Evgeniy—just long enough for me to visit.

He continues. “I don’t know if I’m still alive at this point, or whether you’re fulfilling an old man’s last request, but thank you anyway.”

“For what? I just need my drug ...” It feels like a lie, even to me.

“Tatiana here will fly the VTV to the drop zone and provide you with the disguise you’ll need. It might ... hurt ... and you’ll need to neutralize your nanobots for the duration, but you can switch them back on again later.”

Nanobots? I don’t have them. I never paid for them. Why would I need nano—

The robotic woman clasps my forearm and stamps the back of my right hand with something. Initially, there’s nothing. Then, a searing pain burns through my skin and into my flesh. I pull and pull, but the geminoid’s grip is vice-like. The acrid smell of blistering flesh fills my nostrils as I scream and struggle.

And then, it’s over.

She lets go. Sobbing, I collapse, clutching my wrist and examining my tender hand. It shakes uncontrollably. A huge Z carves its way through my skin, red and weeping.

Evgeniy keeps talking. “By now you’ve been branded. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you before, my young friend. But if I had, would you have let her do it? That mark will give you access to the Robust enclave known as Zopat. It’s the only way in. Don’t worry, your nanobots will repair you when you return.”

I don’t have any sarding nanobots.

No, you don’t. Vedmak cackles. How delicious. The little peacock has had some feathers plucked. At least now you look more interesting.

There’s no time to scream at Vedmak. Evgeniy is talking again.

“Your height will give you away.”

“Oh, for the love of the Leader, are you going to break my legs?”

Vedmak erupts into a new fit of guffawing.

“There’s not much we can do about it, you’ll have to stoop. But I do have some exoskeleton components that attach to boots and will give the impression you’ve been jacked to your current height. We’ll also need to cover your eyes. No Robust has eyes like a Gracile.”

The geminoid hands me some blast goggles. They look benign enough.

“These actually have some functionality. It’s dark down there—darker than you’re used to. These have some night-vision capabilities to help you see better. Other than that, there are some clothes in the rear of the VTV for you to change into. That should do it.”

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

“Tatiana will set you down in the Vapid, just outside Zopat. Do not hang around there. Make your way into the enclave and head for Konistiva. It’s in the southeast corner. Ask for Yuri. Do not talk to anyone else. Do not stop. Do not deviate. It will not be worth your while, trust me. Tell Yuri I sent you. If I’m dead, tell him that, too. But most importantly, tell him you need to see what’s in the package. Good luck. Take care of Tatiana for me.”

“Wait. No rebreather? What about the plague?”

The screen blacks out, and once again it’s just me and the geminoid. Is this really happening? What am I doing?

“What about my DBS?” No one answers. What if there is no more DBS? What if he lied? Is this just a ruse to get me down there? What does he want me to see so badly?

Can you afford not to go, little puppet?

If I don’t go, Vedmak will eventually expose me, and I’ll be Ax’d. If I go, I’ll probably get eaten by a hungry Robust. I’m dead anyway.

Vedmak snorts and coughs his laughter. Time to go. Don’t worry—for a mad dog, seven versts is not a long detour.

He’s right about one thing: it’s time to go. I need to move, before Nikolaj notices I’m gone. “Where’re the clothes?”

The Creed points to a satchel at the back of the cabin.

“Can I get some privacy?”

“Of course, Demitri Stasevich. I will begin the descent. You may change clothes.”

The robot turns away, enters the cockpit, and begins flicking switches and tapping panels.

“Can I get some derma-heal back here?”

“It is in the bag, Demitri Stasevich,” she replies without turning.

I force myself from the floor, only to be thrown back down as the VTV jerks into life, pulling away from the platform. Whether I wanted this or not, I’m going down.