I am mission-driven. So I gave myself a new mission. I would deal with the emotional fallout later.

  I have always thought of the exhibit hall of the museum of subjugation as a house of horrors. With my perceptual shift, I realized… it was still a house of horrors.

  And the most horrifying thing in it, was me.

  The terror drone was held aloft by a gravity generator attached to its top. I shorted that device out with my probe, then leapt to the starfish ship posed beside it as the terror drone dropped.

  I’ve seen so much human media, I’d sort of expected that I would work my way up to some final confrontation with Vandor, complete with heroic poses and speeches.

  Instead, the drone fell twenty meters to the ground, one of its pincer-arms striking Vandor. If it wasn’t a killing blow, it was certainly a mortal one, and he went down without a sound.

  Histur, on the other hand, screamed, but I didn’t give it much attention. I just raced across the starfish ship until I found the gravity generator that kept it aloft. That one, I didn’t disable: I just disconnected it, and held in my pseudopods. The starfish ship fell swiftly, with a horrible series of booms and crashes, and I floated down gently at an angle, manipulating the controls on the generator. No one got crushed by the ship – they saw that threat coming – but the distraction kept them focused on the place where I wasn’t, anymore. I drifted slowly toward the Flensing Chamber, and once I landed, I hid myself there. My position was between Hister and the other councilor and the doors leading out of the exhibit hall. Hister was babbling into his comms, calling for help, and the other councilor fled toward imagined safety and escape. Toward me.

  I don’t want to go into great detail, Elena. I will say only that the electro-probe sufficed as my initial weapon, and then I had the councilor’s sidearm, and taking care of Histur was simple after that. With Histur’s personal terminal, I was able to disable the drones and brain spiders that were, by then, converging on me. After that… I was a vengeful ghost in the museum.

  A couple of the other councilors came running to Histur’s call for help, and they were no better at close combat than he’d been. It was sickening work, made more disturbing by the fact that it was so easy, and I do not wish to recall the specifics. I focused on the mission, the mission, the mission, but telling you about what I did now brings up horrible feelings, and I… I will gloss over them. Perhaps we can talk later. Or you can recommend someone I should talk to. You are the head of health and wellness for the TNA, after all, and that includes mental health.

  Carn was the only council member who didn’t come to the museum; she was always smart. She spoke to me over the museum’s speakers. “Lantern, we should talk. I see now we were too hasty. We should have taken your concerns into account. It’s not too late for us to work something out. You and I, we can be the council. We’re better off without those relics and zealots. We can still make World a homeland for our people. We don’t even have to fight the humans. Tell me about them instead! Show me why you think so highly of them that you’d – that you’d make the choices you did. I am open to changing my mind. We don’t need all this violence.”

  I opened my comms. “I’d like that, Carn. Where should we meet?”

  “The council chamber. I’d say you’ve earned the seat at the head, don’t you?”

  I won’t belabor things. I found Carn in the security office, remotely running the pacification drones she’d dispatched to the council chamber. You can’t enter the security center through the service tunnels, of course… unless you have councilor-level access. She hadn’t thought to revoke my clearances, because, as I said, the council wasn’t actually very good at this sort of thing, on a personal level.

  She never saw me coming. She never saw it coming. She was kind to me, a long time ago, so I gave her that gift: it was over before she knew it was happening.

  My people have no special funeral rites, Elena. If we ever did, we don’t remember them – that knowledge was erased when the Axiom destroyed our true home world and our history. Various families and sects and tribes have their own invented traditions, but among the truth-tellers, we were ruthlessly pragmatic: any bodies recovered were fed into the organic recycling system, to help the sect as a whole.

  That’s what I did with the council, even though there was no whole, anymore. I was the last of the truth-tellers. Even my kindlings were not reared in the sect as I was, though I taught them to be honest, above all else; as honest as my kindlers never truly were with me.

  I had eliminated a grave threat to the galaxy, but I was not celebratory. I do not know if anyone has ever experienced the kind of loneliness I did that night, and in the days that followed. To be the only thinking creature on an entire planet! It is a rare thing, but I will say: it gives you time to think.

  I destroyed the contents of the museum of subjugation. I recycled the brain spiders into raw material. I watched the terror-drone melt. I converted the nanites into inert dust. The empty exhibit hall afterward was the most satisfying thing I’ve ever seen.

  Even with the Axiom tech dismantled as thoroughly as possible, the council still has impressive resources. I took a shuttle to orbit, where the station with the fabrication engine waited. The engine was indeed damaged, but there was a troubleshooting program, and I saw how the engine could be repaired by someone with a modicum of engineering acumen. That opened up possibilities… though not the possibilities the council had envisioned.

  I checked the station’s data banks, and pored over the council’s plans for making that planet into a plausible home world for the Free, with a diverse and thriving biosphere. They’d worked things out fairly thoroughly there. Apparently in the course of destroying thousands of ecosystems, the council had learned a lot about how ecosystems actually worked.

  I sorted through the cabinets of the dead in the council chamber, too, and also read up on the people we’d eliminated. The specimen jars were just grotesque mementos; we have vaults with more robust samples of genetic material, from thousands of eradicated worlds. Eradicated peoples. There are so many forms of intelligent life in the galaxy once, Elena. Hive-minds, crystalline entities, cloud-dwellers, and many species that would seem almost like cousins to you, or me, or both.

  I’ve decided to stay here for a while. I’m going to make this planet a living thing again. We didn’t take samples of all the animals we killed here, only the sapient ones – those with the prospect of making it to the stars someday – so this won’t ever be the world it once was. But the council extrapolated a lot from the environment, and I think I can make the brighter parts of their vision come true here, in time. And then…

  The thing is, Elena, this isn’t the home world of the Free. I hope we can find a place of our own someday. I think that’s a beautiful dream. But it can’t be this place. That would be like building a house on a mass grave. This is someone else’s world. A stolen place.

  I don’t know if it’s possible to atone for killing. Even killing people like the council – even killing which, I tell myself, was justified – seems to me an unforgiveable crime. But I want to try.

  With the fabrication engine, and the genetic samples… I can bring the dead back to life. I have the skill (or the neural buds to give me the skill) to engineer enough genetic diversity to make stable populations. I can’t give the dead back their culture. I can’t give them their history. I can’t return them to the place they were before the truth-tellers stole their future away. But I can give them a chance.

  And after I resurrect this home world, there are others. So many others. A lifetime of worlds waiting to be reborn. I can make the galaxy a place full of life again. It’s quite a project, don’t you think?

  I know I have no right to ask, Elena, but… would you like to help me, for a little while? Bring Callie with you, bring anyone you want, come and go as you please, we can open bridges from here to there, every single day if you like, but… you’re a xenobiologist. You trained to study unknown forms of life, and there is so much alien life here, waiting to be studied. You could help me, and save me from making terrible mistakes. More terrible mistakes.

  I regret my obsession with what might-have-been, with whatnever-could-be. Would you come, Elena, and help me see what we could be instead? Come see what we could do together?

  I am opening a bridge, and sending a probe, with all these letters, even the embarrassing ones, and coordinates. Use Callie’s bridge generator to send a reply through to the same coordinates, if you like.

  Lantern

  My dear Lantern, my light in the dark,

  I think we have a lot to talk about, don’t you?

  We’ll have to talk about it in person.

  I’ll be there tomorrow.

  Your friend,

  Elena

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I wrote a book! But I had help. Not so much with the actual words, but with making my creative life possible. My wife Heather Shaw and our son River give me endless support, as do Sarah, Katrina, Emily, Amanda, and Aislinn (she did the illustration of Lantern too!). Jenn Reese had invaluable advice as well, as usual. My editor for the Axiom trilogy at Angry Robot, Eleanor Teasdale, kindly offered to do an edition of this book under their banner, and my agent Ginger Clark helped make it happen. That was really cool and unexpected!

  Most importantly, thanks to the Kickstarter backers who made this book possible in the first place: Adam Caldwell, Adam Krump, Adam Roberts, Adrienne Joy, Alex Katakis, Alex Shvartsman, Amanda Stevens, AMDISI, Amy, Amy Kim, Andi C., André Arko, Andres Guevara, Andrew Clark, Andrew Hatchell, Andrew Hornberg, andrew lin, Andrew Meyer, Andrew Philpott, Andrew Tarantola, April Lydom, Ardis, Ari B., Arijit Prasad, Audra, Aysha Rehm, Ben Esacove, Benjamin Jaeger, Besha Grey, Bill Jennings, Bret, Bryan Sims, Bryant Durrell, bshender, Caleb Monroe, Cat Rambo, Cathy Green, CHAD BOWDEN, Charles Smith, Chris Carroll, Chris Connelly, Chris McLaren, Christian Decomain, Christina Kennedy, Christy Corp-Minamiji, Claire Connelly, Claire Smith, Cliff Winnig, Corey Liss, Craig Gulbransen, Craig Hackl, Cullen Gilchrist, Curtis Hilgenberg, Curtis Steinhour, d mayowells, Dan del Sobral, Dan Hermreck, Dan Percival, Dana Cate, Daniele Visioni, darcher, David Bennett, David Brown, David Goldfarb, David Rains, Dean M Roddick, Deanna Stanley, Deborah Schumacher, Del DeHart, Dena, Denny Dukes, Diane Rodriguez, Duane Warnecke, Duck Dodgers, E, Edgar Middel, Edward Greaves, Ellen Sandberg, Ellen Zemlin, Else, Emily Agan, Eric Dewar, Erin Congdon, Erin Hartshorn, Erin Hoffman-John, Evan Ladouceur, Fearlessleader, Fred Kiesche, FredH, Galen W Miller, Gann Bierner, Gary cornell, Gary Singer, Geoffrey Kidd, Glennis LeBlanc, GMark C, Goran Zadravec, Greg Levick, GrumpySteen, Heather Hofshi, Heather Pritchett, Heidi Berthiaume, Howard Carter, Hugh Berkson, Hugh Eckert, Hurley, Ingrid Hastings, Irelando, Isaac ‘Will It Work’ Dansicker, Iysha Evelyn, J.R. Murdock, Jacob Wisner, Jame Scholl, James Enge, James Gotaas, Jeffrey Huse, Jeffrey Reed, Jen Warren, Jenn Snively, Jennifer Berk, Jennifer Chun, Jennifer Morris, Jim Bassett, Jim Clark, JK, Joan Wendland, Joanne Burrows, Joe McTee, Joe Rosenblum, Joerg Mosthaf, joey, John Devenny, John Fenton, John Gamble, John M., John Markley, Jon Carmody, Jon Lundy, Jon_Hansen, Jonathan Adams, Jonathan Leggo, Jonathan Lupa, Jonathan McKeown, Jordy Jensky, Juli McDermott & Rob Batchellor, Julie Kaplan, Karen Schaffer, Katherine Douglas, Kathleen Weiler, Kaushik Karforma, Keith West, Kelly, Kelsey R. Marquart, KendallPB, Kevin Hogan, Kim Stoker, Kip Corriveau, Kristyn Willson, Laura, Leila Qışın, Lilly Ibelo, Lori Lane Gildersleeve, Manfred Fuchs, Mark Newman, Marshal Latham, Maryrita Steinhour, Matt, Matthew, Max Kaehn, Max Leviton, Max Meltser, Michael Corn, Michael Kingswood, Michael Kohne, Mikael Vikström, Mike Bavister, Mike Cunningham, Miranda Bradford, Molly Tanzer, Nan Klock, Neal Dalton, Neil Campbell, Neil Clarke, Nick Marone, Nick Tyler, Nicole Dutton, Nina, Ole-Morten Duesund, P A Wallace, Patrick George, Paul Bulmer, Paul R Smith, Pete Milan, Peter Heller, Peter Yeates, Philip Adler, Piet Wenings, Pulse Publishing, Q, Rachael Devine, Rachel, Realmz256, Rebecca Harbison, Rebecca Stefoff, Richard T, Rick Frazier, Rob Hobart, Robert, Robert Adam II, Robert Claney, Robin Hill, Rodelle Ladia Jr., Roger Christie, Roger Silverstein, Ron Pearson, Ronald Miller, Ross Goldberg, Roy DeRousse, Rudy Rucker, Ruslana Stolbova, Ryan Jacobs, S Klotz, Sachin Suchak, Sam Courtney, Sarah Day, sepak, shadow, Shaun Duke, Shawn Raiford, Shef, Shira Lipkin, Simon Bisson, Simon Dick, SinCity Minion, soapturtle, Software Bloke, SontaranPR, Soren Randum, Sraedi, Stephanie Johnston, Stephen Ballentine, Steve Feldon, Steve Lindauer, Susan Voss, Susanne Schörner, Sy Bram, T. Davidsohn, Tamara Allen, Tammy DeGray, Tania Clucas, Tao Roung Wong, Tara Rowan, The Creative Fund by BackerKit, Tibs, Tim Pratt, Tim Sonnreich, Tobias Buckell, Trip Space-Parasite, TT44bb, Vera Brook, Vivien Limon, Von Welch, Yaron Davidson, Zachary Williams.

  A Parting Of The Ways • The What, If Not The Why • A Dark Sea • Enter Minna • [Unable To Translate] • Another Loss

  I yawned – one of those bone-cracking yawns so immense it hurts your jaw and seems to realign the plates of your skull – and staggered against the bar. I was on the third level of the uppermost dome, where the mist sommelier, clad only in prismatic body glitter, puffed colored, hallucinogenic vapor from the pharmacopeia in their lungs directly into the open mouths of their patrons. I turned my face away before catching the overspill from the latest dose: a stream of brilliant green meant for a diminutive person covered in downy fur the same shade as the smoke. I didn’t have much time left; sleep was coming for me, and I wanted to meet it in my right mind.

  I stumbled down the ramps that spiraled through the glittering domes of the Dionysius Society, looking for Laini. The glowing bracelet on my wrist flashed different colors when I came into proximity with people I’d partied with during the preceding five days, and I followed the wine-red flash toward a cluster of dancers on a platform under dazzling dappled lights. Other partygoers bumped into me and jostled my battered old backpack, something everyone stared and laughed at here. In a post-scarcity pleasure dome, where anything you desired could be instantiated just by asking your implanted AI to produce it, the sight of someone actually carrying stuff was unprecedented. The locals had all decided I was an eccentric, or someone affecting eccentricity to stand out from the crowd. Standing out from the crowd was almost a competitive sport here.

  The locals couldn’t even imagine all the ways I really stood out. For one thing, I didn’t have an implanted AI, something everyone in this world received in their gestation-pods. I didn’t have local tech because I wasn’t a local. I hadn’t been a local any place I’d been for a very long time.

  “Laini!” I shouted once I got close, and, though the music was loud, my voice was louder. Before I left home, swept away by forces I still don’t understand, I was trained to mediate conflict, and while mostly I did that by speaking calmly, sometimes it helped to be the loudest person in the room. Laini’s shoulders, bare in a filmy strapless gown the color of a cartoon sun, tensed up when I shouted – I’m trained to notice things like that, too – but she didn’t turn around. She was pretending she couldn’t hear me.

  So. I’d been through this sort of thing before, but it never stopped hurting.

  I pushed through the dancers – they were human, but many were altered, with decorative wings or stomping hooves or elaborate braids made of vines. In techno-utopian worlds, those things were as common as pierced ears or tattoos back home… though this place wasn’t as utopian as some. In my week here I’d come to realize the aerial domes of the Dionysius Society were home to the perpetual youth of a ruling class floating above a decidedly dystopian world below. It was lucky Laini and I had awakened up here in the clouds. Anyone walking around in the domes was assumed to belong here, since there was no getting in past the guards and security measures from the outside.

  Though if we had awakened below, with the dirt and the smoke and the depredations of “the Adverse,” whatever those were, I probably wouldn’t have lost Laini the way I was about to. I’d accidentally brought her to a world that was too good to leave.

  I reached out and touched Laini’s shoulder, and she turned, scowling at me, green eyes in a pinched face under short black hair. I was the whole reason she was here, and she clearly wished I would go away. I would leave – I had no choice – but I deserved a goodbye, at least, didn’t I? I touched my borrowed bracelet and put an exclusion field around us, a bubble of silence and privacy on the dance floor.

  “I’m fading.” I blinked, and even that was an effort. My eyes were leaden window shades, my breathing deeper with every passing moment, and there was a distant keening sound in my ears. I knew the signs of incipient exhaustion. They had excellent stimulants in that world, but even with my metabolic tweaks, staying awake for five days straight was about my limit.

  “Zax… I don’t… I’m sorry… I just…” I could have helped her, said what she was thinking so she didn’t have to, but I stubbornly made her speak her own mind. “I like it here,” she said finally. “I’ve made friends. I want to stay.”

  I liked her a little better for being so direct about it, and at least this way there was a sort of closure. My last companion before Laini, Winsome, had gotten lost in the depths of the non-Euclidean mansion where we landed, and I couldn’t stay awake long enough to find them again. (Unless, I thought darkly, they’d abandoned me deliberately, too, and just wanted to avoid an awkward goodbye.) I couldn’t blame Laini for wanting to stay here, either. She’d come from a world of hellish subterranean engines: the whole planet a slave-labor mining operation for insectile aliens, and this playground world of plenty was a heaven she could never have imagined in her old life – the one I rescued her from. We’d been together for forty-three worlds though, the longest I’d kept a companion since the Lector, and it hurt to see her choose this place over me. We didn’t even get along that well, honestly; she was suspicious, quick to anger, and secretive – all reasonable traits for someone who’d grown up the way she did – but that didn’t matter. For a little while, I’d woken up next to someone I could call a friend, and, in my life, that’s the most precious thing there is.