"Totally by accident, but yeah."

  Sadie glanced up at him, curiosity flickering across her features. "Do you mind if I ask what kind of trouble you're actually in?"

  Evan met her gaze. "You wouldn't believe me."

  "Try me." She gestured at Harris's unconscious form, at the dried blood covering Evan's clothes, at the general state of chaos they'd brought into her examination room. "I've already got a lot of evidence that something serious is going on. You show up at my back door looking like you walked out of a war zone, your friend's got injuries consistent with a high-speed rollover, and you're both too scared of hospitals to get proper medical care. Whatever story you've got, it can't be weirder than the conclusions I'm already drawing."

  Evan considered his options. He could lie, make up something about organized crime or government conspiracies or any number of more plausible explanations for their situation. She'd probably accept it, or at least pretend to. She'd finish treating Harris, they'd leave, and that would be the end of it. But she'd helped them. Taken a real risk helping them. And something about her steady gaze and practical demeanor made him think she deserved the truth, even if she wouldn't believe it.

  He reached for the backpack on the chair behind him, unzipped the main compartment, and pulled out the toy starship.

  Sadie's eyebrows rose. "That's...a toy?"

  "It looks like a toy." Evan turned it over in his hands, the white hull gleaming under the fluorescent lights, the orange bands pulsing with that faint inner glow that never quite faded. "It's not."

  "Okay." She drew the word out, skepticism creeping into her voice. "What is it, then?"

  "There are groups hunting this…toy. Multiple factions, all from another galaxy." Evan watched her face, waiting for the moment she decided he was insane. "They've left their home universe, made one-way trips to Earth, specifically to recover devices like this one. They call them effigies."

  Sadie stared at him. "Effigy. Like a thing that's a representation of another thing?"

  "Yeah. When I activate this effigy, my consciousness transfers into a duplicate body aboard an actual starship in their galaxy. Same design as this, but full-sized. A hundred and twenty feet or so long, equipped with weapons, propulsion systems—technology I'm only beginning to understand." He met her eyes. "Everyone wants this ship. They think it's important, maybe the most important one of all. I still don't know why."

  Sadie was quiet for a long moment. Then she laughed, the sound sharp and startled in the quiet examination room.

  "See, I knew you wouldn't believe me," Evan said.

  "The way I see it, maybe you're like John Wick and you don't want to admit there's this whole secret society of assassins out there, so you made up another story for cover. But then, the cover story is already so batshit crazy that it makes a secret assassin society sound almost reasonable." She shook her head, still chuckling. "Aliens. Another galaxy. Consciousness transfer. You're sitting there telling me this with a completely straight face."

  "Because it's true."

  "It sounds absolutely insane. If you're into something illegal—some kind of drug thing, rival cartels, whatever, that's fine. I'm just a doctor. An animal doctor at that. I'm not going to judge you."

  "I know how it sounds." Evan set the effigy on the examination table beside Harris. "But I'm not lying to you."

  Sadie's laughter faded. She looked at the effigy, then at Harris, then back at Evan. Something shifted in her expression, skepticism warring with something else. The sincerity in his voice, maybe. The weight of conviction that couldn't be faked.

  "You know what the crazy part is?" she said. "I'm actually tempted to believe you."

  "Harris believes it. He's lying on your table right now because of it." Evan gestured toward his unconscious friend. "He got hurt protecting me. My body goes into something like hibernation while I'm on the ship, dealing with someone else who wants to kill me for the effigy."

  "And you came out without a scratch."

  "Not exactly." Evan looked down at the dried blood covering his shirt, his hands. "I lied to you earlier. This blood is mine. All of it. When Harris crashed the truck, I was dying. I could feel it happening even though I was in another galaxy at the time. The connection between my bodies was tearing apart."

  Sadie's expression shifted, confusion replacing the tentative acceptance she'd been building toward. "But you're fine. There's nothing wrong with you."

  "The ship has a medical bay. Healing pods." Evan touched the stains on his chest. "I barely made it there in time. Whatever the aliens built into that technology fixed me."

  She stared at him for a long moment, her gaze moving between his face and the blood-soaked fabric of his shirt. "That's why you can't go to a hospital? You're worried these factions will try to kill you again?"

  "Yeah, but it's worse than that. A couple of them showed up at Harris's house yesterday. They were FBI. Real FBI. But they had faction tattoos. If they've infiltrated one agency, I'm sure they've gotten inside others. And they know Harris was hurt. A hospital is an obvious place to lay an ambush for us."

  Sadie turned back to Harris's ankle, resuming her work as she processed what he'd told her. "He really needs an orthopedic surgeon for this," she said, her hands moving with the same practiced efficiency. "I'm afraid whatever I do here won't be enough."

  "Your best is all we can ask for."

  There was something more deliberate in her movements now. She was concentrating harder to make sure her bone manipulations rendered the best results she had to offer. "So what's your plan now?" she asked, pulling her hands back a few moments later to shake out a cramp in her right hand. "You can't run forever. They'll catch you sooner or later, especially if they have the resources you say they do."

  "No, we can't keep running. There's a laptop. Belonged to one of the groups hunting me. The one that ran Harris off the road. I'm hoping there's something useful on it. Names, locations, anything that might help me understand exactly what I'm dealing with."

  "And if there isn't?"

  Evan was quiet for a moment, considering. "I know the home address of someone connected to a different faction calling themselves the Umbral Empire. A man named Lars Nilson, out in Pasadena. If the laptop doesn't pan out, I might have to see what information his house might have to offer."

  "That sounds like it might be dangerous."

  "Everything about this is dangerous." He watched Sadie place stabilizers—she'd had to cut them into different shapes with scissors because they were made for a large animal—on either side of his ankle. "But I'm done reacting," he continued as she began to wrap casting material around his ankle. "I need to start finding answers instead of waiting for the next attack."

  Sadie worked in silence for a moment, securing the cast. When she spoke again, her voice was thoughtful. "What about the other galaxy?"

  Evan frowned. "What about it?"

  "I read a lot of sci-fi." She glanced at him, a hint of self-consciousness in her expression. "Slow nights, not much else to do. And in pretty much every space opera I've read, there are space stations, trading posts on populated planets. Places where different species meet and exchange information." She paused. "If everyone wants your ship, they'd recognize it, right? Maybe you could find somewhere to land, try to communicate. Even with just hand gestures. See what you can learn on the other side."

  Evan hadn't considered that angle. He'd been so focused on survival, on evading capture, that the idea of actively seeking contact with potential allies had never occurred to him.

  "I don't see how that would be less dangerous for me. Everyone who wants the ship is eager to kill me for it, not negotiate."

  "Maybe the ship has a cloaking system or something," Sadie continued, warming to the idea. "Some way to land somewhere without being seen. A ship that advanced has to have stealth capabilities, right?"

  "Maybe. I've barely scratched the surface of what it can do." Evan turned the thought over in his mind. "But there's another problem. There are devices on Earth that can detect when I use the effigy and pinpoint my location here. As long as those exist, I'm vulnerable every time I transfer. They nearly killed us tonight because they knew exactly where to find me."

  "How many trackers are there?"

  "I was originally told three. I destroyed two, but I got the impression from one faction that there's more. If I can at least hunt down the third one and destroy their tracker, I'll know if there are any more factions vying for the effigy. They'll come after us. If we end up free and clear, I could use the effigy without painting a target on my back."

  Sadie shook her head. "Sounds awfully risky to me." She secured the final layer of the cast. "There. That's the best I can do. He needs to completely stay off it for at least two weeks, probably longer. The arm should heal in four to six weeks if he's careful."

  "Thank you." The words felt inadequate for what she'd done. "Really. I know you didn't have to help us."

  "No, I didn't." Sadie pulled off her gloves and dropped them in a medical waste bin. "But I couldn't refuse to do anything, either."

  Evan glanced down at his blood-soaked clothes, then at Harris lying unconscious on the table. "I hate to ask for more, but is there any chance you could help us get some clothes? What we're wearing is going to draw attention."

  Sadie looked at his ruined shirt, at Harris's tactical gear piled in the corner. "My shift ends in about an hour. There's a thrift store a few blocks from here that opens at seven. I can pick up some basics before I head home."

  "I'd appreciate that. We can pay you back once things settle down."

  "Don't worry about it." She pulled her phone from her pocket and held it out to him. "Give me your number."

  Evan took the phone, surprised. "You sure?"

  "I just spent hours treating a human patient for the first time in my career, based on a story about aliens and spaceships that should have made me call the psych ward." She met his eyes, something between a smile and a grimace tugging at her lips. "I want to know how things work out."

  Evan typed in his number and then sent it to his phone before handing her phone back. "Sure. I'll keep you posted as often as I can."

  "Give my number to Mr. Harris, too. Just in case he runs into any medical problems or has a question." Sadie tucked her phone away and moved to the door to the exam room, placing her palm on it. "Wait here while I finish up my shift. Sometimes the day shift comes in early, so I'm going to lock this door. That way no one will walk in on you. I'll come get you when I've got the clothes."

  Evan shook his head. "I'd rather you didn't lock the door and cut off one of our possible escape routes."

  "In case I call the cops? You just told me some of these aliens might be cops."

  "Yeah, which is why you might change your mind. Decide I'm out of mine."

  "I'm not going to turn you in," she said. "I promise. But if one of my co-workers barges in on you here, it could be my job and license on the line."

  Evan met her gaze. There was nothing in her eyes that suggested deceit. "Okay, go ahead and lock the door."

  "I'll be back in about three hours." Then she was gone, the door closing behind her. The lock clicked into place.

  Evan stood there for a moment, looking at Harris's unconscious form on the table. His friend's face was pale but peaceful, the sedatives keeping him deep under. The cast on his arm looked nearly dry. The one on his ankle was a work of improvised engineering, as good as anything a field medic could have produced.

  He picked up the effigy from where he'd set it on the table, staring at it.

  Somewhere out there, the Ascendant was still hurtling through space, unmanned and undefended. Somewhere on Earth, at least one more tracker was waiting to pinpoint his location the next time he transferred. And in Oregon, an unknown hacker waited for payment to crack a laptop that might hold answers or unlock more questions.

  Evan was anxious to find out which.

  8

  Five hours later, the sedan hummed along Interstate 65, anonymous among the morning commuter traffic. Just another vehicle headed north toward Indiana. The Tennessee hills had given way to the flat farmland of southern Kentucky, and Evan was fighting to keep his eyes open.

  Their blood-soaked tactical gear was gone, stuffed into a dumpster behind the veterinary clinic. In its place, Evan wore jeans that were a size too big, a red flannel shirt soft from countless washings, and a canvas field jacket with a broken zipper. Harris was similarly outfitted in denim and plaid, looking more like a retired farmer than a retired Marine, his cast arm resting in a sling Sadie had fashioned from a torn-up bedsheet. She'd also found him a set of crutches at the thrift shop.

  The license plates on the sedan were different now. Evan had swapped them with those of a similar model sedan in the parking lot of a 24-hour grocery store outside Nashville. Thankfully, he'd made the exchange without being noticed. It wouldn't hold up to close scrutiny, but it would get them past casual observation. One more layer of anonymity in a world where anonymity had become survival.

  Harris shifted in the passenger seat, wincing as the movement jostled his injuries. His face had more color than it had at the vet clinic, but the gray undertone was still there, exhaustion and pain competing for dominance. The neat white strip covering the stitched gash on his forehead stood out against his weathered skin.

  "Just sent the bitcoin," he said, lowering his phone. "Our contact should have it now."

  Evan glanced over. "How'd you set up a crypto wallet that fast?"

  "Didn't have to. Bought a single bitcoin a few years back, when everyone was talking about it." Harris managed a weak smile. "Figured worst case, I'd lose a few thousand bucks. Best case, retirement fund. Right now, we're somewhere in between."

  "Made a profit?"

  "Decent one. Would've made more if I'd bought ten instead of one, but I was too risk averse for that." Harris adjusted his position again, trying to find an angle that didn't aggravate something. "Way I see it, I'll make a much bigger profit if we can turn this twelve grand into that Möbius ship."

  Evan kept his eyes on the road, watching a semi-truck merge into the lane ahead of them. "We're a long way from that."

  "Maybe. But the idea still makes sense." Harris's voice had taken on that thoughtful quality it got when he was working through tactical problems. "If there are more effigies here on Earth, why not track them down? Try to take them?"

  "Because we only have two pistols and one working trigger finger between us."

  Harris laughed, the sound turning into a grunt as it pulled at something painful. "Right now. I'm thinking about the long game, Marsh. Building toward something bigger."

  "I'm thinking about the next minute." Evan checked the rear view mirror, scanning for any vehicle that had been behind them too long. Nothing stood out. "One step at a time."

  Harris's phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, his expression sharpening. "Contact wants to know where to meet."

  "Evansville. As soon as possible."

  "Where specifically?"

  "Not a chance." Evan shook his head. "Tell him we'll give instructions when he gets here. Not before."

  Harris typed with his good hand, the process slow and awkward. "Done."

  "Ask him how long it'll take him to get to Evansville from Oregon."

  More typing. A pause. Then: "Says within twenty-four hours, guaranteed."

  Evan did the math in his head. Twenty-four hours was a long time to sit still, but it was also time to rest and recover. And Evansville was far enough from Tennessee that any search patterns centered on the crash site wouldn't reach them quickly.

  "Tell him to get in touch when he arrives."

  "Copy that."

  The miles rolled past. The landscape outside the windows was monotonous, endless fields broken by occasional clusters of trees and the gray or white shapes of distant farmhouses. Evan's eyelids grew heavier with each passing minute, the adrenaline that had kept him functioning finally running dry. He'd been awake for over twenty-four hours now, maybe closer to thirty. His body was reminding him that even healed injuries came with a cost, that the pod on the Ascendant could repair tissue but couldn't manufacture energy from nothing.

  He needed sleep. His mind needed time to process everything that had happened, to file away the violence and the fear and the impossible revelations into whatever mental compartments would hold them.

  Soon. Just a little longer.

  They crossed the Ohio River an hour later, the bridge carrying them from Kentucky into Indiana. Evansville sprawled along the southern bank, a mid-sized city that had seen better days, its industrial heritage visible in the aging factories and warehouses that lined the waterfront. Evan took the first exit that looked promising, navigating through unfamiliar streets and checking out convenience stores until he found what he was looking for.

  The bitcoin ATM sat inside a convenience store on the east side of town, wedged between a rack of lottery tickets and a display of energy drinks. Evan helped Harris out of the sedan and fetched his crutches out of the back seat for him. The clerk barely looked up from his phone when Evan pushed through the door, holding it open for Harris.

  Harris positioned himself in front of the machine, studying the interface with the focused intensity of someone who'd never used one before. "How much do we need?"

  "Enough for a room and food. A few hundred should do it."

  The process took longer than Evan would have liked, Harris fumbling through menus with his one good hand while Evan watched the door. Finally, bills emerged from the slot, and Harris stuffed them into his jacket pocket with visible relief.

  "Never thought I'd be using cryptocurrency to fund a covert operation," Harris muttered as they made their way back to the car. "The future is weird."

  The motel advertised on the freeway was nearby, a single-story building with fading paint and a flickering vacancy sign. It wasn't the kind of place that took cash only for hourly rates, but the clerk didn't look too closely at their IDs, obviously catering to people who had reasons for anonymity that nobody wanted to examine.