 
### The Whole World Unbound

Ben Darrow

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2020 Ben Darrow

"Are we there yet?" asked Byx, her eyes shut tight.

"Technically, the answer is no," smiled Colombe – Colombe never laughed, but she often smiled, and Byx could tell she was smiling now – "But you may open your eyes."

Byx did so, and clutched Colombe for support as the aftward half of the Tenbor Dish Valley exploded into view far below. Dizziness engulfed her, and she tried to chant it away, but she botched the middle part and got no result other than a dull buzzing noise and the faint afterimage of an error message, which she dismissed with wrathful blinking. She turned her gaze upon more reassuring elements: the sturdy spar on which she stood; the solid bulk of the antenna tower from which it emerged.

Byx knew that she could not fall, because she was not really on the spar at all. She knew that the images and sounds all around to her were being sent to her by a flit – a tiny hovering bot which _was_ at the spar. Byx's mind knew that she was flitting, but her body did not, and she was receiving urgent messages from her body – especially from her stomach and kneecaps – to sit down. She considered the option and decided that it was less embarrassing than trying to shut her body up with another chant, and possibly botching that as well. She lowered herself onto the spar with as much grace as she could muster, daring the world to suggest that she had any motivation other than casual comfort.

Sitting down helped to quiet her stomach and kneecaps, and Byx slowly returned her gaze to the expanse of the Dish. Near the rim, its massive arc was filled with a patchwork of farms and isolated structures. Further downslope, the agrarian landscape gave way to neighborhoods of greater density, but looking down at such a sharp angle made her stomach nervous again, so Byx chose to study the rimward farms in greater detail. Beyond the rim, the hull was mostly bare. The skyline of Mecantrion was little more than a distant blur on the horizon. Byx squinted at it, and the flit's cameras went telescopic, bringing the storied domes and towers leaping forth into better focus. Byx frowned at the reminder of her illusory status, and relaxed her gaze. Mecantrion retreated once more into a vague aftward smudge.

Byx watched the afternoon sun glinting on the stairstepped course of a river as it cascaded from the rim towards the center. "It's pretty," she observed.

"I think it is," agreed Colombe.

"Are you sure this is the same one Dad was on when Tenbor went away?"

"Yes," replied Colombe. "Tenbor is telling me that it monitored Tench's presence on this spar many times, including the morning of the priority feedback incident."

Byx inched a little closer to the spar's edge and tried to imagine that she was her father, looking on with resolute sagacity as the underpinnings of civilization melted away. She then looked up at Colombe. "How does it work when Tenbor tells you things?"

Colombe regarded Byx with a puzzled expression. "I think I do not understand your question. Tenbor simply tells me things."

"Yeah, but, Tenbor IS you, right? I mean, one of its subselves is doing your thinking for you."

"Tenbor helps my new mind stay awake," replied Colombe uncertainly.

"Right. So, how does it work when your Tenbor-subself brain has a conversation with plain old Tenbor? Does it talk back to you in its dove voice? Or do its thoughts just pop into your head?"

Colombe frowned, twisting her hands together. "I think I... I think it... I think we..." She closed her eyes and laced her fingers through her brilliant white hair, revealing the mirror-bright disc set into her left temple. "I think I think I think I..."

Byx stared at Colombe, gravely concerned at this highly ungrownuplike behavior, as the young woman suddenly smiled and relaxed. "I think my new mind is hard at work today! Abixandra, would you mind if I left you now? I think I need to rest."

"OK," replied Byx, still watching Colombe carefully. "Thanks for showing me Dad's spar."

"I think I am glad I could help."

"I'm sure you are – you're pretty nice." Byx prepared to leap to her feet, then paused to question whether it was really necessary to do so. She remained seated as she chanted off the flit, and to her relief the Verch accepted her command without hesitation. As the flit disconnected itself from her senses, the image of the spar wavered for a moment and then crumpled in upon itself.

Byx was now in her personal Verchspace: the captain's cabin of a blue-and-purple zeppelin, floating high above a landscape populated by majestic dinosaurs. Byx, with help from her father, had instructed her Verchspace not to give her body a full set of signals about her surroundings, which meant that her stomach and kneecaps never complained, no matter what she did. She opened a window and leaned out more than halfway, peering down at a pair of ceratopsians bellowing at each other with locked horns.

Byx hopped back into the cheerfully appointed cabin and retrieved a long copper case with an ivory clasp in the shape of a shell. She placed it on the table and touched the shell with the pinky finger of her left hand, concentrating mightily on the three thoughts that served as the lock's combination: the smell of licorice, a big pile of coconuts, and the dinosaurs currently visible from the window – wearing red evening gowns. She realized that she had added pearl necklaces to the dinosaurs without thinking about it, but it didn't matter – the case clicked open. Byx took out a large chart and unrolled it on the table, weighing down the corners with assorted curios.

The chart bore a detailed image of her totem glyph, a haphazard swirl of angles and vortices, branching out from a narrow vertex to a series of fluted whorls. This was the Fractal Conch: an image of unparalleled grace and power, capable of shaking the Verch to its foundations. Or rather, that is what it would become, once Byx had fixed the squiggly bit on the left. For now, she referred to it as the Fractured Conch, and although it was an excellent totem for someone her age (or so she was assured), the foundations of the Verch had never so much as quivered in its presence.

Nevertheless, Byx knew that the Fractured Conch had great potential, because her father's totem, the Fractal Lotus, was extremely powerful, and she was at least as smart as her father. The Fractal Lotus was so strong and well-made that it had made her father almost unstoppable when he went crazy after he fixed Tenbor, and he almost ended up hurting her mother, which they didn't know she knew. Her mother had needed to carry her father off to get help from the Szerar Entity, who was also crazy, and when they came back her father was better but her mother had subselves, which they also didn't know she knew.

Byx frowned at the chart of the Fractured Conch. It was almost perfect, but the squiggly bit on the left was always getting in the way. In this way, Byx mused, it was like her family, which had been almost perfect since her parents returned from Szerar. At first, Byx had thought that the remaining tension was because of her mother's subselves, but these had proven to be manageable, with a little practice. It was not until later that she realized that the problem was related to Sex.

Byx was careful to keep the forbidden word deep within her mind – not to actively project the thought into the Verch, and certainly not to utter it aloud. There was logic built into every child's totem that let their parents know if they tried to learn about Sex, which would lead to the child being summoned for the Talk. Byx possessed very little information about Sex, and she guarded her ignorance carefully, because she had it on good authority that there was nothing about the secret lore of Sex that justified sitting through the formalized horror of the Talk. Byx did know that Sex was a process related – albeit not exclusively – to the creation of babies, and that it was a bad thing for married people to do it with someone other than their spouse. Byx had also deduced that it could take place in the Verch and that it could happen by accident, because her mother had accidentally had Sex in the Verch, and not with her father, which they didn't know she knew.

Byx regarded the squiggly bit with a scowl. If the Fractured Conch worked better, she could disable its notification logic, allowing her to learn more about Sex without enduring the Talk. Or she could learn more about what had happened on the journey to Szerar. Or perhaps she could help her mother cope better with her subselves, and perhaps that would make things easier for her parents, allowing them to resolve their Sex issues without Byx's assistance. There were, she had no doubt, any number of productive things she could be doing to support her family, if only the squiggly bit would stop misbehaving.

Byx had hoped that visiting Tench's spar would yield some critical insight – that she would spot a secret pattern in the buildings or the rivers, a pattern which would complete her totem glyph, and that that upon noticing it she would stand upon the tip of the spar and say, "Aha! I see it now. Father, how clever you were to hide it so! I must return to my workshop at once." But none of these things had occurred.

Sighing, she rolled up the chart and replaced it in the case, locking the clasp securely. She put the case back in its corner and retrieved a large pair of goggles from a hook on the wall. Returning to the window, she leaned forward once again to ensure that she was still over dry land, and casually flung herself into the air.

Byx plummeted headlong towards the plains below, her hair whipping against her shoulders as she adjusted the goggles over her eyes. As the ground approached with sickening speed, she reached out her hands, as if to arrest her descent by landing gently on her fingertips.

In the instant of impact, she was gently but firmly expunged from the Verch, and the abrupt transition to being quietly seated in her room – although fully expected – gave her a jolt.

Tench called to her from the kitchen. "Back among the living, squirt?"

"Yup," she replied, removing her crown and placing it in her desk.

"Verching around with Soli and Baltren?"

"Nope – verching around with Colombe."

"That's nice of you." The adults of Tenbor regarded Byx's friendship with the young woman as an ongoing act of volunteer therapy. In fact, Byx found Colombe to be excellent company – similar in many respects to the long-desired but increasingly unlikely younger sister, while possessing much of the knowledge and wherewithal of a grown-up. Byx did not, however, discourage her father's charitable misconception.

"Did you exit using your totem?" Tench continued.

Byx sighed. As much as she relished the prospect of becoming one of the most skillful glyphcasters in the Ship, she suffered considerably during the preliminary step of being parented by one of the most skillful glyphcasters in the Ship. Even ordinary parents often proved adept at exposing fabrications regarding actions taken in the Verch. With Tench, there was no point in even making the attempt.

"No," she droned.

"Did you use the splatter failsafe?"

"Yes," she bleated, dragging out the word to make it proportional to her ennui.

"You should be using your totem."

"I know."

"And I want you to stop using the splatter failsafe. We don't want you getting too desensitized. A little acrophobia is a good thing – it's healthy."

"I know," replied Byx, making it clear that these were long-settled matters of minimal interest. "When's dinner?"

"Not sure. Your mother is feeling a little discombobulated."

Byx considered this news. Despite the fact that her father did not know that she knew about her mother's subselves, he had developed a very specific code for keeping Byx apprised of their status. 'Feeling a little discombobulated' meant that Merinel was currently under the sway of her Big Baby subself. Big Baby was not utterly without her good points – for example, she never lectured Byx about schoolwork or nutrition – but the notion that she might prepare dinner was simply unrealistic. In most homes, any such episode of parental incapacity would simply mean that dinner would be prepared by the cookbot, but Merinel had banished their cookbot months ago while acting as the Supermom subself, or as Tench would say, 'feeling a little protective.'

Byx formulated a strategy and sought out her mother. She found her in the sunroom, stretched out on the sofa and perusing a cherished book – a historical drama set in the age of lightspeed travel. Byx toyed with the idea of drawing her out with preliminaries, but abandoned the idea in favor of a direct lunge.

"Mom, what's for dinner?"

Merinel groaned and leaned back on the sofa, covering her face with the book. "Byx, Byx, Byx, do you have any idea of the sheer amount of food I have prepared over the years? Mountains. No – entire continents. Just thinking about it makes me want to cry."

"I know!" cried Byx, flouncing into a chair in a show of solidarity. "It's so much work! Why can't we just get a cookbot again?"

Her mother did not immediately react, and at first Byx feared that her gambit had simply solidified Big Baby's grip. But then Merinel sat upright with new animation, placing the book on a table. "Oh, honey, we don't need a cookbot. I'll make you something. What would you like?"

"Fried dumplings," Byx replied quickly, daring to hope.

"Oh, honey! You don't want something so greasy. I'll make you some rice with lots of nice vegetables."

Byx, her shoulders deflated, accepted partial victory. As she had intended, Supermom had rallied to the fore when threatened with her sworn nemesis, the cookbot. No conceivable force could now prevent the preparation of dinner. In return, Byx would have to endure the nonsensical theories that large quantities of vegetables were a desirable thing, and that she objected to the consumption of grease.

When her mother was in charge of her subselves – 'feeling composed,' as Tench would say – she was capable of reconciling the importance of dinner with the acceptability of an occasional fried dumpling. Unfortunately, Byx found it difficult to dislodge one subself without the assistance of another, and she seldom succeeded in nudging Merinel into a balanced state.

_The squiggly bit,_ Byx fumed silently. _I bet I could fix all of this if it weren't for the squiggly bit._

* * *

The following day, Byx took advantage of the slow pace of her glyphcasting class to bring her friend Soli up to date on recent events. The class took place in the Verch, which allowed the scattered Human, Flzigig and Xolo children of the surrounding area to study together and benefit from their compatible learning styles. Sadly, the Verch classroom environment looked exactly like a physical classroom – a missed opportunity for creativity that, in Byx's judgment, was all too typical of education in general.

The children were following a curriculum entitled Let's Learn Logic. Byx had already unlocked the entire year's worth of lessons and completed them, and with her guidance Soli had also progressed several weeks ahead of the material being presented in class, so they were free – in their estimation – to use the time to discuss more important topics.

"Maybe she'll get better on her own," offered Soli. The two girls were not seated next to one another, but Byx had appended a pair of curlicues to their totems that made their interactions clearly audible to each other and undetectable to others.

"I don't think so," replied Byx. "I think there's a way for her to get better but she doesn't want to do it."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

"So what are you going to do?"

Byx frowned at the gravity of what she was about to propose. "I think maybe I'm going to try to remove the kid spiral from my totem."

Soli uttered a restrained gasp. "Do you think you can do that?"

"I don't know," admitted Byx.

Soli bit her lip. "Sterric says he knows a boy who knows how to remove kid spirals."

Byx snorted. "I doubt that very much." Soli's older brother had been a frequent source of unreliable information.

"Yeah, me too. Anyway, if your dad built your kid spiral, it's probably got unbreakable super-twists or something."

"I know," sighed Byx.

The secret-chatter curlicue on Byx's totem hummed and twisted, and the smiling face and protruding neck of their Xolo instructor, Teacher Krell, emerged from thin air. Byx, drawing back in alarm, glanced at Soli and saw that Teacher Krell's head had appeared before her as well.

"Worthy Humans!" greeted Teacher Krell. "Under other circumstances, I would be delighted to note your skill at crafting ancillary communication structures. However, I really must insist that you focus your attention on the day's studies. There is value in steady contemplation, even for the swift and restless. Are we agreed?"

"Yes, Teacher Krell," recited the girls dutifully.

Teacher Krell waved her head in a zigzag arc – the Xolo equivalent of an exasperated sigh. "I will accept your cooperation, and trust in the cosmos to eventually validate my observation for you. Back to work, ladies!"

Byx experienced the rest of the class as a sort of dull ache that seemed to exist outside the normal boundaries of time, but eventually she and Soli departed the Verch and filed into a purely physical classroom to study Social Dynamics with local children from a much wider range of species. Social Dynamics, occurring as it did under the watchful ocules of Teacher Panar, afforded no avenue for clandestine communication, and it was not until school was let out for the day that the girls resumed their discussion. As they often did when considering matters of import, they sought out their friend Baltren. As a Kriddidd and a boy, Baltren could be relied upon to offer perspectives that might not naturally occur to Humans or girls.

His contributions, however, were not always encouraging. "If the Szerar Entity couldn't fix your mom, you probably can't either," observed Baltren as the three of them started their walk home.

Byx swung the metal cylinder of her lunchbox over her head and brought it down with a solid whack on Baltren's blue-grey carapace, a highly therapeutic act that did not discomfort him in the slightest. "I might," she insisted. "I once heard Dad telling her that Szerar could have helped her, and maybe still could, if she wanted it to."

"Why would she refuse?" asked Baltren.

"I don't know. She was being Ice Queen, and Ice Queen never explains anything. I think he picked that time to say it because Ice Queen also never gets mad. But they didn't talk about it again – at least, not that I could hear."

"Byx is going to remove her kid spiral," announced Soli.

"I just said I'm thinking about it," muttered Byx.

Baltren scratched thoughtfully at his left jowl-bristles. "If you removed your kid spiral, a grown-up might notice that it was missing. So you'd have to cloak your totem, and if you did that, a grown-up might ask you why it was cloaked. So you'd actually have to take the spiral out when you needed to and then put it back, and I don't think that would be good for your totem."

Byx contemplated the likelihood of removing and replacing her kid spiral on a regular basis. Even if it did not feature unbreakable super-twists, the idea of working it past the squiggly bit drained her of confidence.

At this point a buzzing hum reached their ears, and Byx rolled her eyes with a groan.

"Watch out, Baltren," sighed Soli. "Here comes your girlfriend."

"WAIT UP!" shrieked a shrill voice behind them. "Waitupwaitupwaitup."

Atrunalonon bounded into their midst, nearly tumbling to the ground as she did her best to arrest her momentum. She hopped from one grasshopper leg to the other as she regarded the older children, buzzing her tiny wings in staccato pulses. "Whereyagoing? Whatchadoing?" She glanced at Baltren and smiled by curling the tips of her antennae. "Hi, Baaaaltren," she thrummed.

Baltren did not respond. He had tried patiently, many times, to explain to Atrunalonon that he did not desire her attention. Teacher Panar had pulled her aside to admonish her behavior regarding Baltren and certain other young Kriddidds. Her mother, Bandalonon, had sternly advised her to keep her instincts in check regarding carapaced males. None of it made any difference. Atrunalonon had learned to speak while still in the egg – as was typical for her people – but in matters of self-control, or of assigning any importance to the views of adults, she was very much an infant.

"We're just going home, Truna," Byx replied. "You should go home too."

"Yeah, Truna, go home," added Soli. "Banda-Verk looks tired."

Atrunalonon's bodyguard did not, in fact, appear to be fatigued, although he was trotting along as fast as his squat build allowed in order to catch up with his ward. Having accomplished this, he assumed a tranquil aspect; a serene oblong of black chitin topped by a prominent horn. A mechanical silver dove which had been fluttering alongside him now alighted on the horn's tip.

Byx knew that Banda-Verk was mostly there to look dangerous, but that the dove really could be dangerous – partly because it contained weaponry, but mostly because it shared senses with the Tenbor Entity, who could take control of any bot or machine in the Dish, including those in the possession of whoever might be attempting to kidnap Atrunalonon. (It was difficult for Byx to imagine someone actually wanting Atrunalonon in their presence, but in theory she could be genetically reprogrammed into a living factory for biological superweapons, and Byx supposed that for some people that was a good enough reason to put up with her.) Banda-Verk and the dove were less adept at protecting Atrunalonon from herself, and her physical enthusiasm had already resulted in several shocking injuries during the short span of her life, but it hardly mattered – Atrunalonon was always fully recovered in a day, or a week at most if she had to regrow a limb.

"Banda-Verk doesn't get tired," Atrunalonon said dismissively.

"Everyone gets tired," insisted Byx.

"Well, even if he does get tired, he doesn't feel tired. He's like a bot. When I grow up, I'm going to hatch lots of broodlings like Banda-Verk. But I'll make them red, with poison stingers! And they'll be girls. Banda-Verk is actually a girl too, but we talk about him like he's a boy. It's some kind of joke of Mom's. Something to do with his horn. I don't get it. Boys don't have horns! Well, Hrk-Yula boys do. But Hrk-Yula girls have them too, so that doesn't count. Baltren! You're a boy. What's so boyish about horns?"

"Truna, tell us more about your plans for your brood," Byx urged hastily. It was an act of desperation; few things were less palatable to Byx than listening to Atrunalonon's family planning. But it was a topic guaranteed to distract her from the mysterious connection between boys and horns. Byx herself was not entirely sure what linked the two, but she had a premonition that it had to do with Sex, and nothing was more mortifying than the prospect of being frogmarched into the Talk by Atrunalonon.

Atrunalonon was only too happy to satisfy Byx's request, detailing the fantastic demi-children she planned to bring into the world, occasionally punctuating her remarks by turning a cartwheel or leaping clear over the heads of the other children. Many of the broodlings she described were impossible, even for an individual with her remarkable maternal capabilities, but Byx resisted the urge to argue. Atrunalonon's nattering lasted well past the point where the children parted ways, and she gladly ignored the departure of the Humans to continue walking alongside Baltren, playfully kicking him in the shoulder-plates as she described a new variety of adorable, heavily armored progeny.

* * *

Arriving at home, Byx was startled to find Colombe sitting with her parents, with one of Tenbor's mechanical doves perched on her shoulder. Tench and Merinel regarded Byx with quiet, serious, deeply parental expressions.

"Hey, kiddo," her father said. "Have a seat. We need to have a talk."

Byx tottered into a chair, struggling to maintain a brittle outer layer of nonchalance. A talk? Surely not the Talk itself? Was the Talk going to include Colombe? Would it be delivered by the Tenbor Entity? Nightmares were emerging at a rate too fast for Byx to process.

"You're not in trouble, honey," Merinel reassured her. "Colombe has something to ask you."

Byx exhaled, guardedly. Whatever sinister forces lay behind this ambush of grown-ups, she considered it highly unlikely that Colombe would assemble Tench, Merinel and the Entity just so she could ask Byx about Sex.

"Abixandra," Colombe began, her eyes bright, "I think I would like you to help me while my new mind becomes fully awake."

"What do you mean?" demanded Byx.

"Colombe is proposing that I end my management of her cognition, giving her complete control of her conscious subself," said the dove.

"It wouldn't even be a subself at that point," added Tench. "It would be a massively complex, self-scribing, cerebromimetic standalone logicset."

"Okaaay," ventured Byx.

Merinel leaned forward. "Honey, you know how Colombe's mind works, right? How Tenbor gave her a subself to interpret and act on her emotions after her... accident?"

Byx nodded. Colombe had been a victim of the Eater of Minds, a key figure in many of the chilling tales of Verchborne disaster that the schoolchildren delighted in sharing with each other.

"Well, Tenbor has been working on that subself to make it more independent. But Tenbor's core selves still double-check the thoughts coming out of the subself, and sometimes they reject thoughts that are disruptive, or hard to understand. That's why Colombe sometimes has trouble deciding what she wants, or how she feels about things."

"But I think I am getting better at this," interjected Colombe. "I think I am ready to hear all of my thoughts."

"I am not confident that this is the case," said the dove, as the indicator band on its throat turned a concerned shade of grey-violet. "But the fact that Colombe is capable of expressing this wish strongly suggests that she is within her rights to demand it. I would like to accommodate her request, despite my misgivings."

"Okay," repeated Byx, with greater confidence. "How can I help? Do you need me to craft a glyph?" Although there had been nothing in the Let's Learn Logic curriculum about massively complex self-scribing cerebromimetic standalone logicsets, Byx had always been a quick learner, and she was eager to set the Fractured Conch to work on a serious challenge.

Tench failed to completely stifle a chuckle at her question, and she shot him a venomous glare.

"I do not require assistance regarding the logical execution of Colombe's proposal," replied the dove, in a serious tone which Byx considered far more appropriate. "The role I have in mind for you is one of personal support. Your interactions with Colombe have played an important role in the redevelopment of her social faculties. I believe your companionship will be beneficial as she transitions to cognitive independence."

"So I just need to hang out with her?" asked Byx, relieved and disappointed.

"I know it doesn't sound like a big deal," said Merinel, "But it is, in a way. You'll need to stay with Colombe all day, paying attention to her and letting Tenbor know if she seems distressed. You'd also miss a few days of school."

"That's too bad," frowned Byx, confining her exultation to a rapid tapping of her right foot against the chair leg. "But it sounds like this is really important to Colombe, and I want to help."

Colombe favored Byx with a smile. "Thank you, Abixandra. I think I am very happy to hear this."

"You have my gratitude as well," said the dove. "If it is convenient for all parties, I will execute the changes to Colombe's subself during the night. She will awaken in an independent state. May I request that she reside with you for the next three days?"

"Of course," replied Merinel. "Whatever she needs. I'll set up a bed for her in the study, just like..."

Merinel glanced downward without finishing. Tench reached out and squeezed her hand in his. "Just like before," he said, smiling at her. "Come on. I'll help out."

Merinel, with a sad smile of her own, gave him a kiss. As they departed, Byx realized that her mother had been 'feeling composed' throughout the discussion.

Byx sighed. As usual, there were several topics that she would have liked to discuss with her mother while she was 'feeling composed,' but she resolved to put aside all concerns about Merinel's subselves until Colombe's present needs were addressed. She cast a critical eye on the young woman's featureless grey tunic.

"Once you have your own brain," she declared, "we're going shopping."

* * *

The following morning, Byx awoke before Colombe, and immediately stationed herself in the study, monitoring the young woman's sleeping form for signs of mental distress. Merinel, discovering her, bustled her off into the kitchen.

"I know you want to help Colombe," Merinel said, "but this isn't something you can manage for her. You'll need to let things unfold in their own way and in their own time."

Byx considered her mother's words. They might be nothing more than the generic blather that grown-ups often emitted when faced with momentous events. On the other hand, they might be an indication that her mother was exhibiting her Ice Queen subself – or 'feeling a little detached.'

"Okay," replied Byx. "I can fix my own breakfast this morning."

"Very well," replied Merinel evenly.

Byx poured herself a bowl of granola and casually pushed a chair over to the high cupboard which contained the sugar bowl. Retrieving the bowl, she proceeded to dump a generous spoonful of the normally controversial substance onto her breakfast. Emboldened by her mother's silence, she was about to ladle out a second spoonful when she made the mistake of looking up.

Merinel regarded her impassively, dispelling any doubt that her Ice Queen subself was in control. Even so, there was something about her left eyebrow, or perhaps the right corner of her mouth, that spoke eloquently to Byx of her mother's judgment of her current behavior.

Byx sighed, and let the second spoonful drop mournfully back into the sugar bowl. She considered it highly unfair of her mother's subselves to gang up on her in this fashion.

Colombe drifted into the kitchen, yawning. Byx scurried to her side, half expecting her to collapse at any moment from the sheer exhaustion of generating her own thoughts.

"Good morning," said Byx, guiding Colombe toward a chair. "How are you feeling?"

"I think I am feeling well," Colombe replied slowly. "I think I dreamt last night. I think these dreams were different than other dreams I have had since Tenbor gave me my new mind. But I do not think I can remember them."

"I once dreamt that Teacher Krell wanted me to compose all my glyphs with neck movements. When I said no, she exploded."

Merinel smirked. "Far be it from me to meddle with this new cognitive frontier. Let me know if you two need anything."

As Merinel left, Byx looked poignantly at the defenseless sugar bowl, but to take more in her mother's absence felt somehow like cheating. "Colombe, would you like some granola?" she asked.

"I think I would," replied Colombe.

Byx poured her a bowl. "Would you like some sugar on it?"

"Sugar," mused Colombe. "Is sugar not unhealthy?"

"It is," confessed Byx, "But it's OK to use a little."

"Very well," replied Colombe.

Byx ladled out a sensible amount of sugar, and Colombe took the bowl with a distracted smile. After a few bites, she observed, "I think it is better with sugar," and casually scooped a second spoonful into her bowl, and then a third.

"Colombe!" Byx cried, scandalized by the young woman's debauchery. Colombe looked up at her with an expression of vague alarm. "That's enough sugar," admonished Byx. "This is old-style sugar. Very bad for your health."

"Why is it used?" asked Colombe.

"Mom decided – one day when she was feeling a little protective – that it's better to use old-style sugar and remember not to use too much."

"I think I understand," replied Colombe. She looked down at her granola sadly, then regarded Byx with a plaintive expression. "May I finish what I already have?"

"I – I guess so," stammered Byx, startled by Colombe's pleading gaze. In all the time she had known Colombe, Byx could not recall a single moment in which the young woman had adopted any expression more dramatic than a gentle smile or a subdued frown.

"Thank you!" Colombe replied with another novelty – a radiant grin. Colombe's teeth, Byx noticed, were almost the same shade of white as her eyebrows. Byx was accustomed to these features in stately repose; to see them expressing sorrow and joy was like watching a trio of languid clouds spring to life and go racing around the horizon. She maintained a careful study of Colombe's face for the duration of the meal, wondering what else might emerge.

* * *

After breakfast, Byx and Colombe wandered into the living room, only to find Merinel perched on Tench's lap, teasing his collar and murmuring something in his ear with a chuckle. Byx, no longer shocked by such displays, sighed and knocked loudly on a convenient table. Tench started as if he had been hit with an electric jolt, and Merinel fell away from him with a laugh.

"Hey there, cupcake!" she greeted Byx, leaning over the armrest, doing her best to continue caressing Tench's ear with her toe.

Byx smiled in spite of her frustration. Her mother was exhibiting her Party Girl subself, and Party Girl was undeniably fun to have around. In an hour or two, Byx knew, she and her parents would be flitting to some remarkable part of the Ship or the world beyond to gaze at its wonders, or – equally enjoyable – watching a trashy flatsim with a generous supply of irresponsible snacks that her father had kept hidden from Supermom's vigilance. But first, she had to put up with the indignity of the banishment which always preceded such pastimes.

"Hi, squirt," said her father, smiling nervously. "You mother is feeling a little bored. Why don't you, um..."

"I'm going to take Colombe shopping in the Antenna," announced Byx.

"Yes, excellent. See you in a bit."

"Don't steal anything I wouldn't steal," added Merinel, rolling over to focus on her efforts to frame Tench's face with both of her feet.

With a grimace, Byx led Colombe outdoors, and then paused in thought. "Tenbor," she spoke into her mutterband.

To her surprise, her mutterband responded with a gentle blue glow: the signal for privacy. Frowning, Byx detached the band from her wrist and looped it around her right ear.

"Yes, Abixandra?" replied the Entity's voice.

"Should we take a tram to the Antenna? Should Colombe avoid too much walking around? Or is it a good idea for her to do a lot of walking around?"

"Either choice is acceptable. Colombe's condition has no meaningful physical ramifications. Abixandra, I must take this opportunity to discourage you from overmanaging Colombe during this period, or from consulting me unnecessarily. Strange as it may seem to you, it is best for Colombe that I remain uninvolved in her transition, even to the extent of minimizing incidental communications. Her implant will inform me in the event of a medical emergency. You should contact me if she experiences severe emotional distress or exhibits markedly erratic behavior. Short of this, I ask that you refrain from direct interaction with me until her independent persona is more stable."

Byx blinked in surprise. "OK. Does that mean... are you going to... ignore us?"

"That is a difficult concept to apply to my sensorium. You will certainly not be the subject of active observation. It is very likely that you will be detected by my passive observation protocols while in public areas. However, I have directed my passive observation subself to deprioritize your activities for higher-level review."

"Hmm," mused Byx. "What if someone tries to hit me? Will you stop them?"

"In this unlikely circumstance, my passive observation subself would communicate directly with my biological safety subself, which would execute an immediate response."

"What if _I_ hit someone? Will you see that too?"

"This would also result in a direct communication to the biological safety subself, although in this case intervention might not be called for, unless you were engaged in an unusually energetic attack on an extremely frail opponent."

"So I'm allowed to hit people a little bit?" asked Byx, thinking of Atrunalonon.

"There is no codified response to episodes of low-impact violence among juveniles. Given the many factors at play, including the emotional maturity of the offenders vis-à-vis the subconscious aggression that is the natural legacy of the biological mind, such episodes are evaluated on a case-by-case basis. The response is often limited to parental notification."

Byx sighed. Parental notification was deterrent enough, and in any case she supposed that hitting Atrunalonon, even softly and with unimpeachable justification, might result in an attack by Banda-Verk.

"OK," she affirmed. "You can go now. I promise not to bother you."

"It is not a question of being bothered; nevertheless, I appreciate your cooperation. Farewell."

Byx took a moment to evaluate Colombe. The young woman's smile was more animated than usual, but not markedly erratic. "Colombe, how are you feeling?"

"I think I am feeling quite well," replied Colombe. "It is a lovely day."

"Do you want to walk to the Antenna?"

"I think that sounds delightful."

* * *

The inhabitable sector of the Tenbor Antenna represented only a small portion of the artifact's total height, but its capacity had been increased by post-planetfall construction, as well as below-decks areas repurposed as dwellings or places of commerce. From the rim of the Dish or the skies above, the outskirts of this miniature city fell away from the central mass in a semi-orderly fashion, giving the impression of a buttress of roots at the base of a tree.

Byx and Colombe arrived via tram – summoned by Byx once she had improved her recollection of how long it took to reach the Antenna on foot – and the vehicle wove gently through the steadily increasing traffic as it calculated the optimal route for the mutual convenience of its passengers. Colombe regarded her surroundings with wide-eyed delight, unable to settle her gaze for more than a moment on a single structure, conveyance, or pedestrian.

"Colombe, you've been here before," Byx pointed out with a mixture of concern and disapproval.

"I know," replied Colombe. "But I think... I think I must not have been paying attention. I think this is a marvelous place!"

"It's not bad," allowed Byx. "It'll be a little quieter up where we're going."

After it had meandered further towards the center of the city, the tram halted before a columnar element which emerged from the mass of the antenna's main perimeter. "Abixandra and Colombe: this elevator is recommended for you," announced the tram, in a voice which was distinct but not dissimilar from Tenbor's.

"Thank you, tram," said Byx as she led Colombe off the vehicle and into the elevator. The outer doors of the elevator had transparent panels, and as they ascended, Colombe squealed with excitement as she looked out over the rapidly sinking landscape. Byx stared resolutely towards the opaque inner doors and murmured her chant against dizziness, without effect.

As the elevator slowed to a halt, the inner doors opened onto an enclosed promenade. The windows of the promenade's outer wall offered an even more spectacular view of the Dish, and Colombe pressed her forehead to the glass, looking down at as steep an angle as she could. Byx, keeping her eyes on the floor, hauled Colombe away from the visual precipice and marched her along the periphery of the emporia that lined the inner wall.

From the corner of her eye, Byx identified the entrance to their destination, and veered Colombe towards the safety of its windowless interior. The doorway marked their entry with a soft chime, and a Human woman looked up from a tabletop screen.

"Hello, Byx! And... don't tell me... it's Colombe, right?"

"Yes," smiled Colombe. "We have met at two social functions. I think it is nice to see you again, Sonzere."

"What a marvelous memory you have," replied Sonzere. "Welcome to Two Legs Good."

The name made little sense to Byx, since most of the Dishfolk had two legs, but the salon catered only to Humans. It was another grown-up joke, and like most grown-up jokes, not worth the effort of deciphering.

"Colombe just switched from being a subself of the Tenbor Entity to having her own massively complex, self-scribing, cerebromimetic standalone logicset," announced Byx.

Sonzere blinked. "Well," she replied, "That is... I knew she had a condition, but... are congratulations in order?"

"I think so, yes," replied Colombe with a wide grin.

"She needs new clothes," continued Byx. "I think the ones she has now were picked out by the Tenbor Entity."

"That's probably true," sighed Sonzere, regarding Colombe's tunic sadly. "Well, how do you want to proceed? Shall I offer my suggestions, or should we try a little drifting?"

"What is drifting?" asked Colombe.

"It's really cool," declared Byx. "You stand in front of a mirror and your reflection's outfit changes into something you like better."

"The mirror's logic introduces random style elements," explained Sonzere, "and reads your reaction as best it can based on physiological cues. It's surprisingly effective. People often say that the mirror seems to know them better than they know themselves."

"Let's go with drifting," decided Byx. "It sounds like good exercise for Colombe's new brain."

Sonzere led Colombe to a large floor-length mirror and offered her a crown. "I cannot enter the Verch without a chaperone," Colombe informed her.

"Oh. Well, no need to worry about that. The logic is built into the mirror itself, and it's completely noninvasive. No Verch access is required."

Colombe placed the crown on her head and regarded the mirror. After a moment, the reflected image of her grey tunic developed a faint blue sheen. The neckline – in reality a featureless line from one shoulder to the other – inched away from her throat in a shallow arc and developed a notch in the center. Colombe giggled with delight.

"I like your new color," Byx told Sonzere, whose skin was a warm chocolate tone.

"Thank you," replied Sonzere. "It is almost exactly my father's natural shade, and I don't know why I never tried it out before now. I'm still getting to know it. It's a wonderful background for so many choices."

"I still think you look best with blue skin."

Sonzere rolled her eyes. "Never again! It's a lovely hue in its own right, but in terms of choosing what to wear it was the worst summer of my life."

"I'm going to have blue skin when I grow up."

"I believe that."

"But Mom won't let me change my skin color yet."

"I believe that as well."

"Sometimes she says yes when she's feeling a little bored. But then she says no when she's feeling a little protective."

"That's not surprising," replied Sonzere. Byx had already observed that her father's code was helpful even to people unfamiliar with Merinel's subselves.

"Maybe Colombe would look good with blue skin. Can the mirror – COLOMBE!" Byx broke off in horror.

Within the mirror, Colombe's outfit had transformed beyond recognition. Her neck, shoulders and arms were covered by nothing other than an irregular mesh of thin black fibers. The garment itself was now composed of a rigid, semiglossy silk fabric that was still wavering between midnight-violet and pure black. The notch at the neckline had evolved into a jagged plunge down the center of Colombe's torso that coiled around her navel like a serpentine thunderbolt.

"Oh my," murmured Sonzere.

"I think drifting is fun," giggled Colombe. A violet jewel appeared at the nape of her neck, embedded within the mesh.

Byx glared at the offending image. "Colombe!" she snapped. "That is totally inappropriate!"

Colombe turned to her with a dismayed look. "What is wrong with it?"

"It's just... it's too..." Byx fumed in silence, unable to compose a criticism that did not verge upon the treacherous topic of Sex.

"There's nothing exactly _wrong_ with it, Colombe," Sonzere reassured her, "but you wouldn't want to wear it every day. You've created an outfit for a special occasion. You might wear it to a party... or something."

Colombe regarded her reflection with a disappointed pout. The jewel transformed into a series of teardrop-shaped gems, scattered across her neck as if they had coursed down her cheeks.

"I'll tell you what," continued Sonzere, "I'll use this design as the basis for a beginning selection of more... sensible outfits, and fab them to you. You can take this outfit home on a chip, and that way you can have it fabbed later on, when a suitable occasion arises."

"Fab the non-crazy versions to my house," instructed Byx. "Colombe is staying with us."

"Will do. Now, is there anything else I can help you ladies with? Byx, are you happy with your current wardrobe?"

"Not entirely," replied Byx, as she always did when Sonzere presented her with this question.

Byx spent much of the next hour evaluating archived images of the courtly regalia of the Panebular Triarchy, a starfaring culture of Humans from an earlier historical era, rejecting most of their sartorial motifs but taking careful note of a few designs for future reference. Sonzere offered occasional commentary when not attending other customers, and Colombe was content to drink in the images and flick her eyes over the accompanying text, until her stomach emitted a low rumble.

Colombe sat upright, a slightly alarmed expression on her face. "I think I am hungry," she declared.

Byx glanced at the time. "Let's head back," she said. "There should be snacks available pretty soon."

* * *

Sure enough, as Colombe and Byx rode the tram back towards home, Byx's mutter-bangle rattled to life. "Cupcake!" her mother's voice cried. "Report in at once! We are about to watch Fatal Horizon III and open a bag of zing-puffs that your sexy genius of a father managed to locate."

"Be there in a minute," Byx replied hurriedly, silencing the bangle with a hasty clasp. She was fairly certain that Party Girl did not know the rules of the Talk, and equally certain that her father – or a subsequent appearance of Supermom – would not accept this as a mitigating factor if disclosures reached a certain level.

When they arrived, Fatal Horizon III was already underway, but Byx found it easy to imagine any number of plausible contexts for the procession of conflagrations, martial arts, and lame banter that filled the screen. She joined her parents in frequent vocal criticism of the flatsim's narrative shortcomings, repeatedly declaring it to be the worst they had ever seen (as they always did on these occasions) while maintaining a strategic awareness of her rate of zing-puff consumption relative to the other participants. Once the sim was over, Byx beat a hasty retreat to her room, aware that Party Girl's appearances were often followed by a remorseful Supermom eager to assign virtuous tasks. Colombe drifted in behind her, and Byx shut the door.

Colombe sat on the edge of Byx's bed, a pensive expression on her face. "I think you are very lucky to have such parents."

"They're OK. Most days. I guess."

"I think I am lucky to know them as well. They have done so much for me." Colombe arose and looked out the window at the upward slope of the Dish, towards the abrupt horizon of the rim and the clouds above it. "I think it is strange that my own family did not care for me when my old mind was taken away. Where were they? Who were they?" Colombe closed her eyes and raised her hands, in fists, to her temples. "I want to know."

Byx regarded her in amazement. "Colombe," she whispered. "You didn't say 'I think.'"

Colombe opened her eyes and stared at the sky, as if for the first time. "You are right," she murmured. "I do not 'think' I want this. I simply want it." She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath, crossing her arms tightly about her midriff, as to embrace herself. "What a fine thing it is to want something," she observed.

"Well," ventured Byx after a moment had passed, "You could ask Tenbor about your family."

"Not while my new mind is still awakening."

"Oh, that's right. Well, you could ask the Crew. They might know."

"There is no Crew outpost in Tenbor."

"No, but Sthenna is here on a visit. She could help."

"Yes," mused Colombe. "I think you are right. Can we speak to her now?"

"You want to talk to her right now?"

"If possible, yes."

Byx frowned, wishing she had asked Tenbor for a detailed list of what constituted erratic behavior. Despite her misgivings, she reached out towards the poster above her desk – an image of a waterfall spiraling through a gravity-warped forest – and traced a glyph on its corner. The image vanished into an expectant white mist.

"Sthenna," requested Byx. The screen displayed all fifty-seven known residents of the Great Ship answering to that name or its approximations, and after a brief moment, defaulted to Sthenna res'Tenbor fil'Leidra (Human), Ensign.

A soft chime sounded, and the image resolved into an interior view of Sthenna's residence – a tent pitched high atop the windswept spars and platforms of the upper antenna, and a longstanding object of Byx's envy. Sthenna herself was seated cross-legged on a cushion, her cable coiled idly beside her.

"Hello, Byx."

"Hi," replied Byx. "Are you busy?"

Sthenna smiled. "An Iron Goat is never entirely without purpose – nor is a member of the Crew – but I can spare you a moment. What do you need?"

"Colombe just switched from being a subself of the Tenbor Entity to having her own massively complex, self-scribing, cerebromimetic standalone logicset."

Sthenna's smile faded. "And thank you, as always, for the advance notice, Tenbor," she muttered. "I'm not angry with you, young friend," she reassured Byx. "And Colombe, I am in fact quite happy for you. But can I ask you to excuse me for a moment while I share this information with a few colleagues?"

"Sure," replied Byx, as Sthenna raised her mutterband to her lips and whispered a short message.

"Thank you. Now, Colombe, what can I do to support you on this momentous day?"

"I want to know who my parents are. I want to know where they are. I want to know if they are well. I want to know what became of them when my old mind was taken away."

"Colombe, slow down!" hissed Byx. "Sorry," she said to Sthenna. "She just started wanting things today."

"I am happy to help. But why not simply ask Tenbor?"

"I must not speak with Tenbor while my new mind is still awakening," explained Colombe.

"I see." Sthenna sent her cable snaking offscreen to retrieve a tablet. After a few moments with the tablet, she spoke again, tapping two fingers thoughtfully against the patterned scars on her cheek. "Colombe, the manifest lists you simply as Colombe res'Tenbor. There is no matronym or other family name, and no indication of a prior identity."

Colombe's face fell. "Then there is no way for me to know these things?"

"I said no such thing. We simply need access to the sub-manifest. Let's continue this conversation in the Verch."

"I cannot enter the Verch without a chaperone."

"I shall be your chaperone. Byx, would you crown in for me, please?"

"Sure. Where am I going?"

"For now, just do an overlay."

Byx took her crown out of its drawer and placed it on her head, chanting for an overlay. A ripple washed over her senses, and when it subsided, Sthenna was standing next to her.

"Now, Byx, I need you to craft a utility bridge between my totem, your totem, and Colombe's implant. Do you know how to do that?"

"Of course," huffed Byx. The Fractured Conch swam into visibility before her, and she extended one tendril towards Sthenna's graceful totem, and another towards the tight cluster of glyphwork which was now visibly protruding from the mirrored disc on Colombe's temple.

With the bridge complete, the three totems faded into near-transparency.

"Make yourselves comfortable," continued Sthenna. "I am going to translate us to my workspace." Byx and Colombe took a moment to ensure that their physical postures would not result in discomfort after their return from an interval of disembodiment, and a glyph pulsed forth from Sthenna's totem, replacing the study with a dimly lit cylindrical space. Sthenna stood on a small dais, her face illuminated by the lambent glow of floating screens which hovered in an array before her, patiently awaiting her attention.

Byx took a moment to absorb the surroundings. "Your space is really cool."

"I can't take credit for it," replied Sthenna, tracing a glyph onto one of the screens. "It is a standard Crew duty station. Optimally efficient, so we are told, but not very hospitable." She completed the glyph and gave the finished symbol a gentle thump with her fist, and the environment transformed again: the three of them now sat around a low table within a spacious pavilion of cream-colored damask, embroidered with images that recounted the migration of the Iron Goats from below decks to the antenna's heights.

Sthenna drew a simple circular glyph in the air, and it coalesced into a Crew communications screen. "Ensign Sthenna requesting partner for sub-manifest access," she announced.

A green light traced its way around the circumference of the screen, and a neutral voice responded, "Partner identified: Lieutenant Trul/Ommon. Please stand by."

Sthenna looked at her guests. "Have either of you conversed with a Torp/Torlaai before?" Byx and Colombe shook their heads. "Well, be patient with them," advised Sthenna.

The screen settled onto the floor beside Colombe and projected an image of a white-furred biped crowned with an elaborate but compact crest of antlers. Peering over the top of the crest was a newt-like creature with wide eyes and an engaging smile. The image solidified into apparent reality, and the screen faded away.

"Greetings! Greetings!" exclaimed the smaller creature in a high clear voice. "My, what a splendid setting! A tent of tapestries – marvelous – now, let me see, what do the images portray..."

"Lieutenant Trul/Ommon, males, at your service," interrupted the larger creature with a curt bow.

"He is Trul and I am Ommon," confided the smaller creature to Byx and Colombe.

"Thank you for making yourselves available, Lieutenant," replied Sthenna. "I am Ensign Sthenna, female, and I serve as the de facto Crew contact for the people of Tenbor. My guests are the juvenile Abixandra, called Byx, and Colombe – both female."

"Delighted to meet you all," replied Ommon. "You know, Trul," he continued in a barely less audible tone, "even if they had not been so courteous as to state their gender, it would not have been difficult to guess. Standard Human morphology features many readily visible differences between the sexes. Note, first and foremost, the characteristic dual swellings on the torsi of the adult specimens..."

"We understand you have a sub-manifest access request," said Trul.

"That is correct," replied Sthenna. "Colombe's situation is rather unique. She was partially wiped by the Eater of Minds and equipped by Tenbor with a prosthetic subself. Tenbor recently detached that subself entirely from its core selves."

"It's not even a subself anymore," Byx added helpfully. "It's a massively complex, self-scribing..."

"Cerebromimetic standalone logicset," finished Ommon. "Remarkable. How did the Tenbor Entity choose to address the synthesis of multisynaptic cascades?"

"The functionality of the logicset is not relevant to the sub-manifest access request," Sthenna stated firmly, looking at Trul rather than Ommon.

"Understood," replied Trul, ignoring Ommon's sputtering protests. "Please continue."

"Colombe wishes to learn of her past – specifically, the identity of her parents. However, the manifest contains no matronym or other indication of family affiliation. Therefore, we wish to consult the sub-manifest."

"Seems straightforward enough," said Trul. "Ommon, what do you think?"

"The most likely negative consequence is that the sub-manifest would contain data about Colombe that she would prefer remain unknown," replied Ommon. "That is the purpose of the sub-manifest, after all – to retain data beyond that which is suitable for widespread dissemination, although there is no denying that it also contains a great deal of perfectly uncontroversial data which has been excluded from the manifest by accident, or for the sake of brevity. It may be that it contains information on Colombe's family. It may also contain information regarding a medical condition, or a history of criminal behavior. Colombe would need to trust all parties involved – including our juvenile associate – to maintain the confidence of whatever we discover."

"Colombe, are you comfortable with this?" asked Sthenna.

"I am," nodded Colombe.

"We can ask Byx to step away for a moment if you prefer."

"Tenbor wants me to watch Colombe," objected Byx.

"I am very happy to have Byx remain with us," smiled Colombe.

"Then it's decided," announced Trul. "Let us access the sub-manifest."

Sthenna summoned a new screen and traced a trio of glyphs onto its surface. The screen glowed and responded, "Sub-manifest access request received. Sub-manifest access requires concurrence by an officer from a separate chain of command."

"This is Lieutenant Trul/Ommon," said Trul. "We concur with this request."

A blue light circled the edge of the screen. "Sub-manifest data for subject Colombe res'Tenbor has been placed under seal. Please contact the Kyrith Entity with any additional inquiries."

"Kyrith?" frowned Sthenna. "I thought Colombe was a ward of Tenbor's."

"She is," confirmed Ommon, now manipulating a diminutive screen of his own with quick, graceful gestures. "But Kyrith enjoined the seal prior to Tenbor's guardianship. In fact, it appears that Kyrith did so shortly after rescuing Colombe from the Eater's attack. Tenbor simply omitted to remove the seal after it became responsible for Colombe's welfare."

Trul tapped a hoof thoughtfully as he invoked his own screen to follow along with Ommon's investigations. "Shall we proceed by contacting Tenbor? Or Kyrith?"

"Oh, what a muddle," said Ommon. "By all rights Tenbor should be the one to lift the seal, but..."

"I must not speak with Tenbor while my new mind is still awakening," interrupted Colombe.

"Precisely," continued Ommon. "Any contact with Tenbor could compromise the development of Colombe's independence. Existence as a Tenbor subself is all she can recall; it would be treacherously easy for her to relapse into that state. On the other hand, without consulting Tenbor, the only way forward would be to contact Kyrith directly."

"Is that a problem?" asked Trul.

"It would be most irregular," Ommon fretted. "It is Tenbor, not Kyrith, who currently serves as Colombe's guardian, but contact with Tenbor is exactly what we must strive to avoid. Kyrith could certainly lift the seal, but would it be appropriate for Kyrith to do so after having ceded responsibility for Colombe to Tenbor?"

Colombe smiled at Ommon. "Kyrith ceded responsibility to Tenbor, and Tenbor has ceded it to me. Therefore, the choice is mine."

"We cannot be sure Tenbor would see it that way," objected Sthenna, as Ommon emitted a whimpering trill and massaged his eyes.

Colombe looked at the floor for a moment, then regarded Sthenna calmly. "There is no Crew station within the Dish."

Sthenna blinked. "That is correct. I am normally stationed in Mecantrion. I am helping you at Byx's request. I did not think there would be any objection."

"There is none," smiled Colombe. "I am very grateful for your help. I only mention the Crew's formal absence from the Dish in order to illustrate Tenbor's views on biological self-determination."

Ommon peered at Colombe through his fingers.

"Please continue," said Trul.

"There was a Crew station here prior to Tenbor's installation," said Colombe. "Why was it decommissioned?"

"At Tenbor's request," Sthenna replied cautiously. "It felt that an official Crew presence created the expectation that the Crew would act as a municipal government."

"Hardly a farfetched concern," murmured Ommon, only to fall silent as Trul made a clacking sound deep in his throat.

"And what is so wrong with that?" asked Colombe. "I am sure the Crew would govern the Dish quite well. Such an arrangement would have been of great benefit during the priority feedback event."

"The Crew is not an elected body," replied Sthenna. "Tenbor wants the Dish's social structure – or lack thereof – to reflect the will of the residents as faithfully as possible."

"Tenbor values self-determination despite the attendant risks," concluded Colombe. "It would therefore agree that the choice to contact Kyrith is mine to make."

Sthenna twined her cable into a thoughtful spiral. Trul stood patiently while Ommon whispered to himself.

Byx sat amazed. Though she was unclear on the specifics of the impenetrably dull arguments being put forth, it was clear that Colombe was using logic to alter the opinions of grown-ups. Byx had not thought that such a thing could be done.

"Ommon, what do you think?" asked Trul.

"The young woman puts forth a very cogent argument," admitted Ommon. "I would be interested to hear the Ensign's assessment of it."

Trul fixed his gaze on Sthenna. "Well, Ensign?"

Sthenna sighed and sent a cluster of loops slithering across the length of her cable. "I am strongly inclined to let Colombe pursue whatever lines of inquiry she sees fit, and have been from the start. I do not want to make that inclination the basis of my decision. But I also believe she has made an accurate prediction of Tenbor's attitude."

Trul digested these remarks for a moment before responding. "Then it's decided. We shall contact the Kyrith Entity."

"Can we do this now?" asked Colombe eagerly.

"Indeed," replied Ommon, tracing new glyphs into his screen. "I am sure we will be received. Kyrith is rarely so occupied that it cannot spare a subself." The Torlaai gave a chittering laugh. "Occupied! Oh, how droll! And completely unintentional, I assure you! Trul, did you hear? Occupied!" Trul chuffed along good-naturedly, although it was unclear if he truly shared his partner's mirth.

Ommon's screen drifted over to the setting next to Sthenna and expanded, allowing a small cylindrical formation of mirrored plates to emerge from its center. The screen then faded from view and the mirrors began rotating around their central axis in an intricate pattern.

"Hello, my friends," said the Kyrith Entity in a gentle murmur. "Will somebody please give me a face?"

Sthenna set her jaw and turned to face the cylinder, whispering "an Iron Goat fears nothing" to herself as she did so. The mirrored plates vanished, and for a moment a perfect image of Sthenna replaced them, but in the space of a few heartbeats the newcomer presented a very different aspect: grey hair, frail shoulders, and still-bright eyes in a wizened face.

"Thank you," replied Kyrith, its voice now a weathered version of Sthenna's own. "I realize that my proleptic subself can be unsettling."

"Not at all," replied Sthenna, with a determined approximation of a smile. "It is... quite soothing."

Sthenna's older self smiled back at her. "I doubt that was ever its intended purpose, but I find it serves me well for interacting with biologicals. For example, my other subselves might not have had the insight to detect your polite fabrication – nor the graciousness to thank you for it."

Sthenna glanced downward, and her cable writhed into an uncomfortable-looking pattern of kinks.

"Trul, address the Entity," Ommon urged in a clearly audible whisper. "I am eager to see our projected senescence."

Trul emitted a sound like a strangled groan, but acceded to Ommon's demand. "We are here to discuss a sub-manifest data seal placed at your request."

Kyrith turned to face Trul/Ommon, and once again presented a mirror image which aged rapidly. Ommon's future self blinked at them with watery eyes from his unsteady perch on Trul's worn and yellowed antlers.

"Yes, I know," Kyrith replied with Trul's voice, before continuing as Ommon. "Colombe, may I look upon you?"

"Please do," invited Colombe. Kyrith turned to her and transformed again, and Colombe's reflection marked the passing years much as Sthenna's had. Byx noted with surprise that old-lady Colombe's hair was iron grey rather than brilliant white.

Kyrith smiled. "It is so very good, Colombe, to see you again and to know that you are well, and among friends. I have often thought of you in the years since... our first meeting. Part of me wishes that you could have remained in the Kyrith Settlement – indeed, several of my subselves feel this way. But it is clear that sending you to Tenbor was the right choice."

"The Kyrith Settlement houses a much smaller population," explained Ommon. "This allows the Kyrith Entity greater scope to roam the Verch, since relative to its peers it is not... hrm... not so... hr-hrm... occupied," he concluded with barely restrained laughter.

"I am very grateful for all you have done," Colombe replied to Kyrith. "But now that my new mind is awake, I am able to want things. And one thing I want very much is to know of my life before the dream, and most especially of my family."

Kyrith looked down and sighed. "Tenbor has outdone itself. To experience desire – and this desire above all others – is the surest sign I can imagine that your mind has been restored."

"Then you will lift the seal?"

"I will, dear child," Kyrith replied, "but not today."

"Why not?" demanded Colombe. Her voice carried just a shadow of irritation, but to Byx, who had never heard Colombe express anything other than contentment, it was as if she had shrieked with rage.

"Consider this," replied Kyrith. "You must keep your distance from Tenbor while you reassert your selfhood, lest you retrace into the easy patterns set for you in the past, and in doing so, fail to emerge as your own person. Your forgotten history is another set of easy patterns, just as dangerous to the promise of your rebirth. Once the contours of your identity are secure, I will lift the seal, and do whatever else I can to aid you in rediscovering your past. But not before then."

"When will this be?" asked Colombe.

"I cannot say."

"My past is not a threat to my identity," insisted Colombe. "It is my identity."

"There you are wrong. None of us are who we were in the past; we are shaped and – so it is hoped – enriched by what has befallen us. The self of today is not the self of yesterday, and this is truer for you than for any other. Your experiences in Tenbor – your experiences of today, and the days ahead – are precious in their own right. They must be allowed to take root."

Colombe looked down at her hands. "And my family?" she asked.

Kyrith sighed. "It was not possible to reunite you with them. More than that I cannot say. I know this lack of knowledge is painful to you, but you must endure it for a time."

Colombe traced an idle pattern on the back of her hand, then looked up, as serene as when the conversation had begun. "I understand," she said. "I will return to you when my new mind is ready."

Her older self smiled. "I look forward to that day."

"This isn't fair," objected Byx. "The rest of us know all about our parents, and that hasn't stopped us from being ourselves. Colombe doesn't even know her real name."

Kyrith turned to face Byx, and shimmered briefly into an exact reflection. The image swiftly grew to adulthood, but no further. Byx, who had been somewhat looking forward to seeing herself as an old lady, sat dumbfounded as she grappled with her appearance as a grown-up. The woman sitting across from her looked a little like Merinel, and a little like Tench, but most of all like a tall, beautiful, terrifying version of herself.

"Trul, note the swellings," whispered Ommon, only to be silenced by another throat-clack.

"Abixandra, your advocacy for your friend does you credit," said Kyrith in a voice Byx just barely recognized as a richer version of her own. "But Colombe is recovering from an injury, and in such cases harm can sometimes come from things which would otherwise be of no concern. I ask for your trust, as well as Colombe's."

"OK," muttered Byx. It felt weird to argue with her grown-up version, and she wondered if that was why Kyrith found its proleptic subself so useful for talking to biologicals.

Kyrith turned to Colombe and transformed once again. "I know this conversation has not pleased you. I entreat you not to dwell on the matter. The more of yourself you invest in the present, the sooner you will be ready to rediscover the past."

"I shall," smiled Colombe.

"Excellent. Once it is appropriate for Tenbor to resume monitoring your progress, I will have it keep me apprised of your status, and I will reach out to you as soon as it is safe for you to learn more. Until then, farewell." The Entity resumed its initial appearance of a cylinder of mirrors, which then faded from view.

"Colombe, are you satisfied with this outcome?" asked Sthenna.

"I am," replied Colombe.

"It is acceptable to say no," continued Sthenna. "Part of the function of the Crew is to mediate disagreements between biologicals and Entities, and to ensure that no single Entity has the last word on issues of biological concern."

"Indeed," concurred Ommon, "although in this case it must be said that any further actions we might contemplate at this point could very well take longer than the period of convalescence urged by Kyrith."

"There is no need," smiled Colombe. "I am grateful for your assistance."

"Very well," said Sthenna, standing and coiling her cable around her arms and shoulders. "I am sorry we could not bring this to greater resolution. I want you to contact me if you change your mind, whether or not I am still in Tenbor."

"I will," replied Colombe. "I am ready to leave."

"Me too," added Byx. "Thanks, Sthenna. And Trul. And Ommon."

"You are most welcome, young Human," replied Ommon, as Trul nodded curtly. Sthenna entered a final glyph into her screen, and the environment of the pavilion washed away from their senses, leaving the reality of Byx's room to reassert itself.

Byx took off her crown. "I hope you're not too disappointed."

Colombe smiled. "Not at all. It was a very informative meeting."

"Really?" asked Byx. "But you didn't learn anything about your past."

"No," agreed Colombe, "that would have been ideal. But we have established that my implant will accept you as my chaperone within the Verch."

Byx paused. "Um... when did we establish that?"

"While Sthenna and Trul/Ommon were debating whether or not to contact the Kyrith Entity, I modified the utility bridge so that you, rather than Sthenna, were acting as my chaperone. The implant accepted this status. It also elicited no reaction from Kyrith."

Byx closed the drawer on her finger when replacing her crown, and sucked the injured digit thoughtfully. "You did this while Sthenna and Ommon were talking?"

"Yes."

"At the same time you were thinking up the argument you used on them?"

"Indeed."

Byx sat down. "I didn't even notice that you were glyphcasting."

"Nor did Sthenna."

"How were you able to do that?

Colombe shrugged. "My new mind is good with glyphs."

"I guess so," said Byx, trying hard to feel good about this revelation. It seemed unfair that Colombe had attained this level of finesse without ever having to suffer through Let's Learn Logic or the patient scrutiny of Teacher Krell. On the other hand, Byx herself had never had her brain sucked out by the Eater of Minds, so she supposed it all balanced out in the end.

"Now that we have established this functionality," continued Colombe, "we can proceed with further inquiries on our own."

"We can?"

"Indeed. I am sure there are many resources in the Verch which will be applicable to an undertaking of this nature."

"I guess so," ventured Byx.

"Shall we begin right away?" asked Colombe brightly.

"You... you want ME to help?"

"I cannot enter the Verch without a chaperone."

"Oh, right." Byx tried to feel good about this as well. "This seems like the sort of thing Kyrith doesn't want you to do."

"It is acceptable to disagree with the Kyrith Entity. Sthenna said so."

"Right," conceded Byx. "I'm not sure Tenbor would think it was a good idea, either."

"I must not speak with Tenbor while my new mind is still awakening."

"Right," repeated Byx, somewhat bewildered by the speed with which Colombe was eliminating sources of authority. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for the ultimate indignity. "Well... we should probably tell my dad."

Colombe frowned. "I do not think we will need his assistance. My new mind is good with glyphs. And your totem is very sophisticated."

Byx smiled in spite of herself. "That's true. But... he'll know about it anyway. My kid spiral will let him know if I start doing weird new stuff in the Verch."

"I see. And you would prefer not to disturb him with such matters."

"Exactly," Byx affirmed. Her father was, she was sure, a very busy man, even if his activities were too boring for her to go to the trouble of determining what they were, specifically.

"Well, that need not be a concern. I can disable the notification logic within your juvenile safety protocols."

Byx took a moment to let the words settle in. "You mean... are you... you can shut down my kid spiral?"

"Indeed."

"And it will look normal? Nobody will know?"

"Certainly, if you prefer it."

Byx noticed that she was tapping her foot on her chair leg again, and forced herself to stop. "Could you leave it like that forever? Shut down, I mean?"

Colombe smiled. "Of course! I would be happy to do that for you."

Byx closed her eyes, imagining the triumphs she could achieve with the Fractured Conch unshackled from its present state.

"It is the least I can do to express my gratitude for the help you have agreed to provide."

"Right," said Byx. "Um... have I agreed?"

"Haven't you?" asked Colombe, her eyes welling with disappointment.

"Of course I have," Byx hurriedly assured her. "But... maybe we should wait until tomorrow. You know, to give your new mind a chance to wake up even more."

A trace of impatience flickered across Colombe's brow, but was gone in an instant. "Tomorrow. I am looking forward to it."

"So am I," insisted Byx.

* * *

Byx sat at Sonzere's table in Two Legs Good, listening as patiently as she could to the ceratopsian dinosaur as it complained about its red evening gown.

"It's not a question of the color," the dinosaur reassured her. "I love the color. I'm just not sure about the way it drapes from my hips." By way of demonstration, the gargantuan beast lumbered about to bring its hindquarters into view, knocking over a display and trampling several mannequins in the process.

Byx winced at the path of destruction. "I'm sure we can fix that for you," she replied. "If you could just... um... tiptoe very carefully... to the changing room?"

"But what I really want to know," continued the dinosaur, "is – are you awake? Are you awake, Abixandra?"

Byx stretched and yawned, then gulped in surprise as she realized that Colombe was sitting at her bedside, gently shaking her shoulder.

"Are you awake, Abixandra?"

"What time is it?"

"6:24 A.M."

"Colombe! That's – that's really early."

Colombe frowned in puzzlement. "There is abundant light. We have both had adequate sleep. Why delay?"

Byx groaned. These types of exhortations were frequently employed by Supermom, and Byx knew that reasoning against them was useless. "Breakfast first," she insisted as she staggered into a standing position.

In the kitchen, Colombe served two bowls of granola while Byx slumped into a chair. After dumping a spoonful of sugar into each bowl, she scooped out a second spoonful and, with a sidelong glance, allowed it hover portentously over Byx's bowl.

"Umm... no thank you," muttered Byx.

With a silver chuckle, Colombe added the sugar to her own serving and sat down to eat. After a few minutes of sullen grazing, Byx noticed that Colombe was wearing one of Sonzere's sensible reinterpretations of the previous day's clothing design: a blue-violet garment with a wavy and asymmetric – albeit nonscandalous – neckline.

"That's a nice top," admitted Byx.

"Thank you."

Byx peered closely at Colombe's shoulders. "Where's the tradeglyph?"

"The what?"

"The tradeglyph. It's a little mark that lets people know Sonzere designed this. It's usually on one of the shoulders."

"Oh, that. I did not like it, so I had the item refabbed without it."

"Colombe!" snapped Byx. "You shouldn't have done that!"

"Why not?"

"In a posteconomic society, artisans are motivated in large part by recognition of their works," recited Byx. This was a quote from her Social Dynamics textbook, and despite her anger, Byx was pleased to finally understand what the study of Social Dynamics was good for: it made it easier to explain things to people whose brains had been sucked out.

"Oh, I see," shrugged Colombe. "Well, I will have it restored at some later date."

Byx scowled. "You shouldn't have been able to change the fab template."

"My new mind is good with –"

"Yeah, I know."

Byx made a point of consuming her breakfast at a leisurely pace, lingering over her final bites long after Colombe had finished and disposed of her dishes.

"Abixandra," prompted Colombe.

"Still eating," mumbled Byx, chewing as deliberately as possible.

"Abixandra," repeated Colombe.

"Almost done."

"Byx."

Byx looked up in surprise. This was the first time Colombe had ever used her nickname. Colombe was seated with her hands clasped on the table, staring unwaveringly at Byx and looking very much like a grown-up.

"Byx, I am eager to proceed."

"OK," murmured Byx.

* * *

In the captain's cabin of her personal Verchspace, Byx leaned out the window to survey the landscape below, spotting a duck-billed hadrosaur grazing contentedly on a stand of horsetails. Returning to the cabin, she retrieved the copper case and placed it on the table, where Colombe stood waiting.

Touching her left pinky finger to the case's ivory clasp, Byx concentrated on the smell of licorice, a big pile of coconuts, and the hadrosaur in a red evening gown. As she removed the chart and unrolled it on the table, she experienced a moment of unease. Until now, the only people to have seen her totemic diagram were her father, who had spent a great deal of time with her developing and refining her totem, and her mother, who periodically demanded to be brought up to speed on its current status, in spite of the fact that her eyes had a tendency to glaze over when presented with the more technical details. Byx was quite aware that both parents would strongly disapprove of her sharing the chart with Colombe. But it was for their benefit, she reasoned, that she was taking this step. If her parents had exhibited the good sense to abolish her kid spiral on their own, or the wisdom to avoid embroiling themselves in Sex-related subself-generating mishaps to begin with, Byx would not have been forced to take such extreme measures on their behalf.

Nodding in approval of this justification, Byx tapped the image of the kid spiral on the chart, opening it for modification – although in theory, any attempt to actually modify it would trigger its inherent notification functions. With an upward gesture of her fingers, she summoned the spiral forth from the chart, and it expanded into a fully three-dimensional shape, rotating slowly in the air above the chart itself. Byx stepped back and looked expectantly at Colombe.

Colombe took the floating image in her hands and turned it this way and that, examining the fine whorls and clusters that made up its overall shape.

"Clever," murmured Colombe.

"Does it have unbreakable super-twists?" asked Byx.

"I am not familiar with the structures to which you refer," replied Colombe, "but it is a well-crafted adjunct. It is integrated, at least in part, with the fractal architecture of your totem."

"I know," sighed Byx. "Trying to remove it would make a thousand little rips."

"The actual number of fractures would be numbered in the millions."

"I know that," fumed Byx. "I wasn't speaking technically."

"In this context, there is no need to avoid precise language," observed Colombe, making Byx nostalgic for the day Colombe had first arrived and needed to be shown how to use the dishwasher.

"Is it going to stop you from shutting it down?" asked Byx.

"As a matter of fact, it presents an opportunity."

"Oh, good," frowned Byx, wondering why she was not better pleased with this news.

"The high level of integration with the main totemic structure forms the basis of the adjunct's tamper-detection protocols. Therefore, by restricting our modifications to the core regions of the adjunct rather than the interfaces, it is likely that the changes will go unnoticed, so long as the information flow from the adjunct to the totem maintains its multi-iterative character."

"OK," Byx replied, "But so what? If you shut it down by modifying the core, that will still screw up the interfaces."

"There is no need to shut it down – only to prevent it from sending an alert. This can be done by reversing the fractal polarity of the alert protocols. Rather than traveling outward towards the conch's rim and thenceforth into the Verch, they will travel inwards towards the conch's base, losing strength as they go until they are scrubbed as noise."

Byx took a moment to consider this approach. "I never thought of that."

"It is not completely without risk of detection."

Byx took a deep breath. "OK, go ahead and try it."

"Oh, I have already made the modification. I was going to say that it is not completely without risk of detection should your glyph be subjected to a full diagnostic sweep, or a specific audit for unrecognized updates."

"Oh." Byx paused, waiting for the Fractured Conch to glow bright red or emit a bloodcurdling shriek. After a few moments passed, she exhaled. "So it's done?"

"Indeed. The next step is a field test."

Byx swallowed. "OK. When should we do that?"

"Immediately."

Byx nodded grimly. "OK. We could try to watch Dismemberator IV: Stumps of Vengeance. Mom suggested that once when she was feeling a little bored, and Dad looked terrified. It's probably the sort of flatsim that triggers a kid spiral warning."

Colombe smiled. "I am sure that would suffice. But why not select an activity that also furthers our goal of learning about my past?"

"Well, sure," agreed Byx, gratefully recalling that the protocols of her personal Verchspace would not allow her cheeks to flush with embarrassment. "We could do that instead."

Colombe placed her hand on the cabin's door and whispered a brief chant. When she opened the door, it led directly into the default entry point of Tenbor's Verchspace: an enormous hollow sphere lined with doors of every description. Colombe and Byx floated through the cabin door, which closed behind them and changed into a circular metal hatch with an elaborate crank. Byx put her hand on the crank to ensure that the portal no longer led to her workspace: a whispery voice in her ear indicated that it now offered passage to a sporting arena frequented by residents of the Murg Engine Fairing.

"We probably shouldn't stay too long in the doorsphere," Byx said nervously. "Someone might recognize us."

"We could alter our appearance," suggested Colombe.

"Um... I'd rather not," admitted Byx. Changing shape in the Verch made her queasy, a defect she blamed on her totem's squiggly bit.

"Very well," said Colombe, whispering a chant as she surveyed the nearest portals. "Are there any denizens of the Third Transverse Segment who would recognize you on sight?"

Byx, who had never set foot across a Transverse Crevasse in her life, pretended to think about the question before responding. "Probably not," she allowed.

Colombe floated to a rice-paper screen and slid it open, revealing a landscape of polished stone discs of varying sizes and colors. "This area is close enough to the Verchspace of the Tlamorrac Settlement to remain stable, but is not subject to regular surveillance by the Tlamorrac Entity," she explained, beckoning Byx through the portal.

Byx swallowed and followed Colombe into the glade of discs. The paper screen closed behind them and transformed into a haze of mist, which quickly vanished. Colombe chanted an assortment of nearby discs into a semblance of two chairs, and a much larger disc levered itself upright and sank halfway into the ground. Colombe seated herself in one of the chairs as a large screen flickered into view on the face of the upright disc.

Byx settled gingerly into the second chair, which hastily rearranged its smaller components to provide an optimally comfortable shape, despite a lack of further input from Colombe. "What are we going to look for?" she asked.

"Information on the sub-manifest," replied Colombe, as data began flickering across the impromptu screen. "Specifically, options for accessing it without the assistance of an Entity, or the Crew." Byx tried to follow along with the material Colombe was reading, but Colombe called up and discarded information at a blistering pace, barely glancing at each new subscreen before closing it out. Byx frowned and pushed at a small disc within her left armrest, which stubbornly resumed its position each time it was dislodged.

Colombe sighed. "There is no shortage of spurious commentary. The information sources which seem best-grounded in fact concur that no illicit – or rather, independent – mirrors of the sub-manifest exist within the Verch."

"Shoot," muttered Byx.

"However, there have been instances of the sub-manifest being successfully mirrored into a standalone repository. This has not occurred since I left the custody of the Kyrith entity..." Colombe trailed off, and the flow of data stopped as she paused to think.

Byx leaned forward to study the subscreens currently on display, and quickly slouched back in disappointment: they proved to be an unconnected assortment of tedious Crew reports, data performance logs, and public journal offerings from remarkably dull citizens; none of which bore any apparent relationship to the existence or timing of mirrored sub-manifests.

"It may be that we do not require a recent mirror," continued Colombe, resuming the flow of data across the screen. "Prior to my custody with Kyrith, there would have been no seal on my entry in the sub-manifest. Any mirror created before the attack should therefore suffice. And – yes!" Colombe pointed in triumph to a dense clump of text in an alphabet Byx did not recognize. "There was a mirror created a mere four months prior to the event!"

"Great," said Byx. "So ... how do we access it?"

"It is included in Issue 537 of the Fortunate Gentlebeing's Gazetteer."

"Perfect," declared Byx. "Um... what is the Fortunate Gentlebeing's Gazetteer?"

"A repository of sensitive data, collected over time and distributed on a periodic basis. We must locate an information broker who possesses Issue 537 and reach an accommodation regarding access to its contents."

"Oh," replied Byx. She tried to remember if there had been anything in her Social Dynamics class about reaching accommodations with information brokers. "I'm not really sure how to do that."

Colombe shrugged. "I am already arranging a meeting with a Tenbor-based broker who possesses the data in question. I am sure he can offer us guidance as to how such matters are transacted."

"Oh, super," replied Byx. "So, does he live in the antenna, or..."

"He has agreed to meet us in the Lid."

"The Lid?" exclaimed Byx. "You want – you want to go to the _Vuzz_?"

"That is where our broker prefers to do business."

"I don't think my parents would want me going into the Vuzz."

"They will not know," rejoined Colombe with a trace of impatience. "That is the entire guiding principle of the Voluntarily Unmonitored Zone."

"Tenbor will see me going in," Byx fretted.

"Tenbor has deprioritized our actions for higher-level review," Colombe reminded her. "And even if this were not the case, Tenbor would be forbidden to inform your parents."

Byx knew that Colombe was correct. Her Social Dynamics class had devoted ample time to the concept of the Voluntarily Unmonitored Zone: a section of a civilized settlement from which the local Entity purposefully withdrew its presence, allowing biologicals to escape the shroud of observation and accept the consequences. In the scattered Vuzzes of the Ship, the ills of urban life persisted, and if Party Girl's favorite flatsims were any guide, the lives of their inhabitants were fully consumed with planning, executing, and reacting to crimes.

Nevertheless, the Entities remained scrupulously absent from the Vuzzes, wary of driving their more antisocial and disruptive denizens out of the civilized settlements altogether and into the fallows, where they could potentially do far greater damage. And as per Colombe's observation, their self-imposed ignorance of these areas included a strict ban on sharing information about the comings and goings of biologicals across the threshold.

Colombe, noting Byx's trepidation, summoned and absorbed a fresh round of screens. "I have now learned more about the Lid. It is an establishment ideally suited to experiencing non-observation with minimal risk. It represents the only publicly accessible entry point to the Vuzz, maintains its own security force, and insists on good behavior on the part of its clientele. Most of its visitors are tourists: harmless citizens seeking a vicarious thrill from proximity to imagined danger." Colombe banished the screens with a sigh. "Still, if you do not wish to accompany me, I will attend the meeting alone. With luck, my inability to access the Verch will not represent a handicap."

Byx groaned. "Fine, we'll go to your stupid club."

Colombe favored her with a radiant grin. "Thank you, Byx! I am sure you will find it interesting."

"Whatever," snorted Byx. Misgivings aside, she was not prepared to let Colombe wander off unsupervised into the Vuzz, where she might start exhibiting all sorts of markedly erratic behavior. It would also be satisfying, she admitted, to see the looks on Soli and Baltren's faces when she informed them of her descent into the underworld.

* * *

Leaving the house for an unspecified destination proved to be a simple matter thanks to fortuitous timing: Byx's mother, as the Ice Queen, was satisfied with a minimum of detail; and her father, taking advantage of the opportunity to focus before a more demanding subself appeared, was working in the Verch.

Making their way through the city proved far more stressful for Byx. With every corner Colombe rounded, Byx waited for a quicksilver dove to appear with an accusatory shriek. Colombe, with a sigh, took Byx by the hand to hurry her along, which did little to ease her anxiety.

By happenstance or design, no single elevator traversed all the way from the surface to the Lid, so they took a circuitous route through the lower levels. Byx, who seldom had occasion to go below decks, found the sunless corridors strangely soothing. The antenna hub and the Dish itself afforded ample living space for Tenbor's inhabitants, so these places were used primarily for infrastructure and storage, and had little traffic. Byx had the impression that even if a wrathful dove did appear out of nowhere, it would refrain from shrieking at full volume.

As they drew nearer to the level occupied by the Lid, they began to encounter more people, and their final elevator was shared with a number of other passengers, who by default were also heading to the Vuzz. Byx did her best to scrutinize these mysterious individuals without being studied in return. Was there anything about their appearance that marked them as outcasts, rebels, and libertines? Byx found it difficult to judge. In the antenna, even upright citizens tended to look bizarre.

As they disembarked from the elevator, their progress was checked by the stolid bulk of a dour Hrk-Yula. She let most of the group pass with a cursory glance, but raised a gnarled hand as Colombe and Byx attempted to enter.

"Hold on," she said, pointing at Byx. "Is that a juvenile?"

"No," replied Colombe. "My companion is a Lillip, a short-statured subspecies of Human."

"That doesn't sound like a real thing."

"I assure you, the Lillips are quite real," insisted Colombe.

The Hrk-Yula grunted disinterestedly. "Whatever. I'm giving him a juvenile bracelet. He can't go further than the Lid; not without a valid contract with a recognized security provider, or a Statement of Permanent Residence."

"Her, not him," muttered Byx.

"What's that?"

"That is acceptable," declared Colombe as the Hrk-Yula carefully fastened a metal bracelet around Byx's left wrist.

Byx frowned as they sidled past the Hrk-Yula. "For a place with no rules, there sure are a lot of rules," she remarked to Colombe.

"It is not a place without rules." replied Colombe. "It is a place without transparency. Such places often have more rules, not less."

Byx, not wishing to waste her below-decks adventure listening to improvised Social Dynamics lectures, ignored Colombe and took careful note of their surroundings. The Lid looked very much like a location from one of Party Girl's crime-related flatsims, only louder and less interesting. Most of the area she could see was taken up by sunken circular booths, many of which were occupied by groups of people who appeared to have no concerns whatsoever that their activities might be monitored.

"Why is everyone shouting?" Byx asked.

"Perhaps to be heard above the music," surmised Colombe.

"Then why is the music so loud?"

"Perhaps to be heard above the shouting."

"But that doesn't –"

"Yes, I recognize that this is a circular hypothesis. I suggest we revisit the matter once we have concluded our business. Or, indeed, accept it as an unresolved paradox."

Byx scowled. "Don't blame me just because your stupid club is stupid," she replied, making no serious effort to be heard.

Colombe wove between the sunken tables without hesitation, and soon they reached a section of the club which was much quieter, in terms of both the music and the clientele. Some of the space in this area was given over to alcoves, occupied by people who were clearly accessing the Verch, but Colombe ignored these and seated herself in a booth already occupied by a lone Strirk. Byx, after a moment's hesitation, slid in next to her.

The Strirk gave Colombe a brief glance with the five ocules of his right eye-cluster, while a lone ocule of the left cluster surveyed Byx – the other four, Byx noticed, were clenched and motionless.

"Listen, snowdrop, normally I'd be delighted to hear whatever's on your mind, but it so happens that I'm expecting someone."

"You are expecting me. I am Colombe."

"No fooling? I didn't expect you to find me without help from a waitress." His left ocule, having apparently tired of Byx, began darting back and forth, unable to fix its attention on a single object.

"You specified Table 37. I overheard members of the waitstaff refer to tables 14 and 23, and extrapolated the numbering schema. Once in the general area, I looked for individuals whose appearance was consistent with your cognomen."

The Strirk tapped his right ocules together in a confused blink. "My what now?"

"Your nickname. 'Six-Eyes.' Assuming it has some basis in literal fact, there are only a few species of Dishfolk for whom it could serve as an accurate descriptor. You are the only representative of this subset of species on the premises. The nature of your injury confirmed this supposition beyond reasonable doubt."

"Hunh." Six-Eyes scratched the motionless ocules of his left cluster and glanced at Byx with his right. "Does she always talk like that?"

"She didn't used to," Byx informed him, "but yeah, now it's pretty much non-stop."

"Wait – what am I talking to you for?" asked Six-Eyes as his left ocule looked at Byx's bracelet. "You're just a kid. Snowdrop, it's bad form bringing your kid to a business meeting."

"Abixandra is not my child. In fact, she is an adult Lillip –"

"Sure she is," replied Six-Eyes, rolling his right ocules in a derisive spiral. "Thing is, despite her advanced years, that bracelet means I gotta treat her like a kid, which in the Lid means certain topics will be off-limits while she's around. Which is a shame, because I have a notion that your personal image usage rights would be worth something." He held up a handheld device which provided him with a readout after reacting to Colombe's appearance. "Oh yeah, good stuff. Oh well. Something to remember at a later meeting, maybe."

"I am sure we will be able to reach a satisfactory conclusion without recourse to such matters," Colombe said with a smile.

"I wish I shared your confidence, sweetheart, I really do. But I gotta say that it seems unlikely. Do you have any cash?"

"Cash?"

Six-Eyes sighed. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Just for fun, let's run down the list. Blacklisted drugs? Hard-to-get foodstuffs? One-shot sensims? Incriminating or otherwise-noteworthy data sets?"

"I possess none of these items," confirmed Colombe.

"So, to sum up, you have nothing in the way of goods or services to offer in exchange for access to the Gazetteer."

"Not at the moment."

"Well, 'at the moment' is the timeframe in which this transaction needs to take place. So it's not clear that we have anything more to discuss."

Colombe's smile did not falter. "The level of access I require is quite minimal. You should consider offering it as a courtesy."

Six-Eyes stared at her with all six ocules. "A courtesy?"

"Yes. To remain in my good graces."

Six-Eyes snorted. "Now why in the void would I care – hang on," he said as he fished in his pockets for a small tablet, "I got an urgent message coming in. You can finish your joke in a minute." He regarded the flashing screen briefly. "Hunh."

"What is amiss?" asked Colombe brightly.

"It says the message is from me."

"Well then, hadn't you better open it?"

Six-Eyes kept his left ocule trained on Colombe while regarding the tablet with his right cluster. He tapped the screen.

A small image of Colombe's head appeared above the tablet, looking directly at Six-Eyes. "She is correct. It is a worthwhile thing to remain in her good graces."

Six-Eyes dismissed the image with a frown. "Okay, that wasn't as impressive as you think."

"How disappointing," pouted Colombe. "Does it happen quite often?"

Six-Eyes looked across the room while drumming his fingers agitatedly. "So what kind of access are we talking about?"

"The mirrored sub-manifest. One query only."

Six-Eyes sighed and reached into another pocket, producing a black trapezoidal slab. He placed his tablet atop the slab and its screen went blank, except for a blinking "537" in one corner.

"Who are you looking for?"

"Myself."

Six-Eyes looked at Colombe blankly. "Yourself."

"Indeed. But not under my current name."

"Under which name, then?"

"I do not know."

Six-Eyes shook his head. "You're not gonna run out of weird anytime soon, are you?"

"Nope," confirmed Byx.

Six-Eyes produced a very small dish which he placed next to the slab. "Gimme a strand of your... head-growth. Hair."

Colombe plucked a strand of hair from her forehead, without apparent discomfort, and handed it over. Six-Eyes placed it in the bowl and regarded the tablet.

"Mystery solved," he announced. "Says here you're a nanoengineered polycrystal."

"I am?" asked Colombe.

Six-Eyes massaged his ocules. "What I'm saying, snowdrop, is that this is not your real hair. It's an implant. It's basically the same thing as the cables those nutjob acrobats use."

"I had no idea," marveled Colombe.

"Of course not. It's so easy to lose track of these minor details."

Colombe frowned. "Is there another way to provide a genetic sample?

"Sure. Saliva, feces, skin-molt..."

"Saliva," insisted Byx. "Colombe, just .. spit in the bowl thingie."

Colombe took the bowl and expectorated as daintily as she could, replacing it next to the slab. Six-Eyes consulted the tablet.

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere. Toryl res'Delj fil'Rannwen, that's you."

Colombe blinked. "I have no memory of that name."

"Yeah, I gathered that."

Colombe twined her fingers through her hair. "My... my mother's name is Rannwen?"

Six-Eyes glanced down at the tablet with his left ocule, leaving his right cluster fixed on Colombe. "Rannwen res'Delj fil'Anahar. Father: Salanet res'Peliron fil'Gressia. No indication they were together when this was mirrored." He brought his left ocule up to regard Colombe as well. "You want me to dig deeper on them?"

"No," Colombe announced abruptly. "No, I... that is all the information I require at present."

"Okay," replied Six-Eyes, retrieving the slab, bowl and tablet and secreting them away in various folds of his garments. "I think we're done here."

Colombe, her gaze fixed on the table, did not reply.

Six-Eyes rose, continuing to watch Colombe with his right cluster as his left ocule sought out Byx. "She gonna be alright?"

"Oh, sure," replied Byx with forced brightness. "She's just – you know. She just went from being a subself of the Tenbor Entity to having her own massively complex, self-scribing, cerebromimetic standalone logicset."

Six-Eyes closed his eyes – clenching all his ocules together so that for a moment his right and left clusters were identical. "I'm gonna just pretend I didn't hear that. Good luck or whatever." He withdrew into the recesses of the club.

Byx regarded Colombe with concern. "Do... do you want me to call you Toryl?"

Colombe shook her head. "I have no memory of that name."

"Do you want to flit to Delj? Or Peliron?" These were two of the seven septurbs that made up Mecantrion, named for the Entities of the Septet which oversaw them.

"Not at present."

"Okay," replied Byx. "Well, maybe we should just go home."

"Yes, let us do so," Colombe agreed.

As they retraced their steps, Colombe exhibited none of the speed and purpose she had displayed earlier, and as they passed through the busier central section she actually collided with another Human.

"Colombe!" hissed Byx. "Sorry about that," she said to the man Colombe had bumped into. "She's... not feeling well."

"S'okay," slurred the man, who seemed none too steady himself.

They rode upwards for several levels before switching elevators, and once again found themselves traveling alone.

"I think your real name is pretty," offered Byx.

"Thank you," Colombe replied distantly. She withdrew a red strip from her pocket and applied it to her neck.

"Where did you get that?" Byx demanded.

"Hmm?" asked Colombe. "Oh, this? I took it from the individual I bumped into as we left."

"You STOLE it?"

"I suppose so," considered Colombe. "How strange."

"It's probably a drug!" cried Byx.

"That seems very likely," Colombe agreed. "I daresay it is the substance responsible for his intoxicated condition."

"Well... what is it doing to you?"

Colombe waited a moment before answering. "Nothing," she whispered. Tracing the strip with her finger, she began to laugh. "It's doing nothing at all!"

Slumping against the wall of the elevator, Colombe laughed again before stifling a sob.

* * *

Colombe did not speak again during their return to Byx's home, retreating to the study as soon as they arrived. Tench was engaged in a whispered conversation with a sniffling Big Baby, an event which Byx chose not to interrupt, not wishing to be drawn into a tearful embrace with no apparent underlying cause. Having reached the safety of her room, she retrieved her crown and entered the captain's cabin of her personal Verchspace.

Seating herself at the navigation table, she doodled a few idle glyphs on its surface, and debated whether to make an attempt at altering her totem's squiggly bit, or to research the diagnosis and treatment of disorders which caused grown-ups to develop subselves, or to watch Dismemberator IV: Stumps of Vengeance. When none of these options proved to hold much appeal, she spun her chair in a lazy circle and uttered, "Hey, Fish."

In response, the Fractured Conch shimmered into visibility and emitted a small bubble, which popped open to reveal a small, plump, varicolored fish, who immediately addressed her in a voice loud enough to shake the cabin's timbers.

"Who summons the heroic Heiphyscz? Let their foes quail before my logical might! Oh, it's you, poppet." The fish expanded to approximately the size of a housecat, shaking out its radiant fins and long whiskers. "If this is a social call, I trust you will be satisfied with a subself. A paltry disappointment compared to my full splendor, I know, but the bulk of my persona must remain devoted to patrolling the dark recesses of the Verch, ever vigilant against the forces of evil."

"Sure, that's fine," said Byx. "I was just wondering if you had done anything interesting recently."

The fish swelled slightly as traces of electricity crackled along its whiskers. "Interesting? The word is woefully insufficient. Gripping, riveting, astonishing, awe-inspiring – none of these sad little labels even approaches the threshold of my exploits. To fully grasp the richness of my adventures, you would have to not only learn a new language, but adopt an entirely novel mode of communication, and I am not at all sure that your cerebral anatomy would be up to it. Nevertheless, we will accomplish what we can within the constraints imposed by your biology. Listen, and be amazed, as I recount the perils that beset me as I sought out the fabled Hypertemporal Transit Logs."

Byx put her feet up on the table and sank further into her chair with a smile. The stories told by the Entity Commonly Addressed as Heiphyscz were frequently hard to follow and very rarely touched upon events which could be independently verified, but they never failed to crowd out whatever cares and concerns were competing for her attention.

Half an hour later, Byx was still not entirely certain what the Hypertemporal Transit Logs were or whether they had been successfully retrieved, but the bombast expended by Heiphyscz in recounting their pursuit – and in exploring a number of tangentially related topics – had fortified her enough that she felt ready to venture back into the real world.

"That's amazing," she told Heiphyscz. "Can you tell me the rest later?"

"Certainly," replied Heiphyscz. "Villainy does not rest, and neither must we. Be safe, poppet!"

The jeweled fish shimmered into nothingness, and Byx exited the Verch. Tiptoeing through the house, she discovered her father doing his best to prepare a meal in the kitchen.

"Hey, squirt," he greeted her. "Your mother's feeling a little discombobulated. How's Colombe?"

"I think she's feeling a little discombobulated too," replied Byx.

"Well, I don't blame her. Looks like it's just you and me for dinner. How about some fried dumplings?"

Byx responded with a wan smile. Tench's attempts at cooking usually prompted her to visit Soli's family for dinner, but in the present crisis, she was prepared to make sacrifices.

* * *

Colombe did not re-emerge that evening; nor did she make an appearance for breakfast. After waiting for her parents to become sufficiently engrossed by the tasks and obligations that the day held for them, Byx sidled up to the study and nudged open the door.

Colombe stood in the center of the room, wearing the same clothes as she had the previous day, eagerly regarding an assortment of screens that appeared on one wall of the study. Byx, alarmed, stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

Colombe greeted her brightly. "Byx! I have discovered a fruitful new avenue of research. Did you know that a great deal of data is available without access to the Verch?"

"Yeah, it's called the flatnet," replied Byx.

"Indeed it is. What's more, there is a vibrant community of flatnet enthusiasts!"

Byx sat down. "Aside from a small minority of individuals with medical conditions which preclude Verch access," she recited, "the flatnet userbase consists primarily of those who believe that the Verch itself is a vector for illness or mental engineering."

"Yes. They are a very interesting group, and quite welcoming!"

"No – you don't get it," continued Byx. "That was basically Social Dynamics code for 'a bunch of losers and weirdos.' It takes ten times as long to get anything done on the flatnet, and compared to the Verch it's practically empty."

"Not so! I have found a great deal of information regarding the Eater of Minds!"

"Yeah, I bet," replied Byx with a shudder.

"There is a flatnet group which assiduously tracks the Eater's activities. With their help, I believe I have discovered the physical location I occupied when I was attacked."

"Oh. Um... why do you care about that?"

"It is the pivotal event of my life! It is only natural to be curious."

"I guess," said Byx. "But... I thought you mostly wanted to know about your family."

"Of course," Colombe replied brightly, looking at a new screen.

"Well... you know their names now. You could just... get in touch with them."

Colombe surveyed the data in front of her without responding.

"Colombe?" asked Byx.

"Naturally," replied Colombe. "Naturally I will do so, in the near future. But for the moment, I am very interested in learning more about the circumstances of my attack. Specifically, I wish to flit to the location where it took place."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"To see if it prompts any memories of my previous life."

"I don't think that's how the Eater of Minds works."

"Nevertheless, I wish to make the attempt. Shall we make the journey now?"

"I guess," Byx consented, without much enthusiasm. "Um... do you want to change your clothes first? And... you know... get cleaned up a bit?"

"An excellent suggestion. I will return shortly."

Colombe departed, and Byx went to her room to retrieve her crown. Returning to the study, she set about dismissing the wallscreens, clambering up on a chair to reach the highest ones. When the last dregs of the flatnet had been disposed of, she opened a communication screen for Soli and another for Baltren. Soli appeared at once, while a blinking message indicated that Baltren was aware of the call and would join shortly.

"Hey, Byx," Soli greeted her. "How are things going? How is Colombe?"

"Colombe is... a little weird," relayed Byx, wondering how much information it was wise to convey to her confidants.

"Well, that's OK, right? I mean, she's going through a huge change."

"Yeah, I guess. But it's like... she wants the whole change to happen all at once."

"Maybe after a few days she'll – ulp!"

Soli's eyes went wide as she spotted something behind Byx. Alarmed, Byx spun around and experienced her own moment of shock as Colombe returned to the study. Colombe was wearing tight black leggings and a clinging purple top that gave way to black mesh at the shoulders, but the outrage Byx felt regarding her wardrobe was overwhelmed by astonishment at her hair, which now surmounted her head like a snowy wave in mid-crest. Squinting in disbelief, Byx confirmed that loose tendrils of hair were actively moving about, drifting through the air as if in search of something.

A soft chime sounded from the second screen as Baltren's face appeared. Noting Colombe, he gave a slight bow. "Greetings. I am Baltren, juvenile male."

"It's just Colombe," growled Byx.

Baltren looked at Colombe again with greater scrutiny. "Nonsense. This Human looks nothing like Colombe."

Colombe laughed, and her hair relaxed into its familiar state for a moment, then resumed its novel configuration. Baltren blinked in surprise.

"Byx, are you ready to depart?" asked Colombe.

"Where... are you... going?" Soli managed to ask.

"Never mind," said Byx, dismissing the screens with a hasty wave. "Colombe," she demanded, "what's going on with your hair?"

Colombe shrugged as she put a hand to her coiffure; a loose tendril of hair wrapped itself around her finger of its own accord. "Having learned of my capillary prosthesis, I decided to explore its properties. What do you think?"

"It's..." Byx struggled to conceive of a well-grounded criticism before conceding to herself that Colombe's hairstyle was, in fact, quite spectacular. "It's just weird to see you like that. I wish you'd change it back."

Colombe responded with a pout, verging on a sneer. "Is that really necessary?"

"I'd prefer it," insisted Byx.

Colombe sighed and gave her head a shake. Her hair fell, but rather than assuming its normal style, it cascaded over her right shoulder and terminated in a dense cloud of tightly coiled curls.

Byx frowned as Colombe seated herself. The curls in her hair flexed and slithered, but went still when Byx glared at them.

"Any other requests?" asked Colombe archly.

Byx regarded Colombe's clothing with disapproval, but decided against bringing it up – after all, Sonzere's tradeglyph was prominently displayed. "No. Let's get started."

They verched into Byx's workspace, and Byx retrieved and unrolled a large parchment map that represented the layout of the Ship itself. Colombe reached forward and tapped Mecantrion, causing the map to zoom in on that area. With a few additional taps, Colombe narrowed the map's focus to a single neighborhood of the Delj septurb. The streets and buildings were depicted in dull red ink, and the borders of the map depicted fanciful illustrations of lurking thieves and maniacal revelers.

"That's a Vuzz," intoned Byx.

Colombe shrugged. "We will not be physically present, so what does it matter?"

Grimacing, Byx opened a drawer in the table and retrieved two pewter figurines in the shape of flits (although somewhat larger), placing them on the location Colombe had indicated. After a moment, the figurines began to emit a gentle golden glow, and Byx touched one of them with her fingertip.

She immediately found herself standing on the roof of a building, with Colombe at her side. Byx surveyed the structure dubiously: it was made of poorly maintained foamcrete which had already started to decay into grit, and the surrounding environs were similarly dreary. Byx had flitted to Mecantrion many times with her parents, but always to neighborhoods featuring magnificent edifices and bustling citizenry. The buildings she observed now suggested a slow decline from a dismal beginning, and the only sounds were half-caught fragments of distant exchanges: voices raised in anger or in mirth.

"You were attacked here? Why were you Verching on a roof?"

"The exact location is below us, within the building itself.," replied Colombe. "Come along."

Colombe uttered a short chant and drifted into the air. Byx swallowed and recited a chant that mirrored her flit's movements to those of Colombe's, closing her eyes tightly as the sensation of weight left her simulated body.

After a few terrifying moments of floating blindly through the air, Byx's weight returned and she felt the ground under her feet. Opening her eyes, she saw that Colombe had led her to a squalid room, littered with debris. Instinctively, Byx kicked a nearby fragment of an unidentifiable substance; her foot passed through it with no effect.

"Is this just... trash?" asked Byx, marveling at the notion that detritus would simply lie on the floor without being attended to by a bot, or a parent.

"Indeed. This structure does not appear to be inhabited."

"Why were you Verching from here?"

Colombe studied the room in distaste. "I cannot say. It may be that its presence in a Vuzz was the only criterion that I considered important."

Byx shuddered. "Yuck."

"Indeed." Colombe whispered a series of sense-altering chants and fashioned a diagnostic glyph. A number of screens appeared in the air, displaying information about the building and its inhabitants. Performing this act in a civilized area, Byx knew, generated a wealth of data, but here in the Delj Vuzz the results were haphazard and fragmentary.

Colombe surveyed and dismissed the screens with a scowl, and recited a more complex chant. A new glyph appeared in front of her: a dense knot of logic no bigger than an acorn.

"What's that?" asked Byx.

"A shadowcast," replied Colombe.

Byx frowned. Shadowcasts were hidden glyphs, designed to reveal themselves only when specific conditions had been fulfilled. "What were its triggers?"

"Only that the seeker be flitting within this chamber."

"That's weird. Who would go looking for a shadowcast right here?"

"I can think of no one other than myself," replied Colombe, reaching for the glyph.

"Colombe, wait. This might be dangerous."

Colombe shrugged. "I am sure all will be well."

"But we don't know..."

Colombe activated the glyph before she could finish, and Byx instantly sank into the floor up to her eyeballs, which bounced a few times before landing upside down. She flailed about with her now-weightless arms and legs, to no avail. "The flits just died," she growled.

"Yes, I had reached the same conclusion," replied Colombe coolly.

Before Byx could frame a response that did justice to her frustration, a torrent of dark threads filled up her vision, and then faded to reveal a new environment: a dense bramble of glossy red thorns that pressed gently against her on all sides. She attempted to step out of the growth, but the thorns grew sharp upon the slightest movement, softening again when she remained still. She tried to craft a glyph, but as soon as her totem appeared the thorns reached out to enmesh it as well, dispelling her half-formed creations with jets of acrid mist.

Colombe, Byx saw, was similarly constricted.

"What I was about to say," said Byx, with what she hoped was icy hauteur, "was that we don't know if it's a trap."

"I think we have eliminated any uncertainty in that regard," replied Colombe.

Byx emittted a whine of rage, but fell silent as the brambles in front of them parted to admit an unsavory-looking group composed of a male Human, a Wuldra, and two Erbiths.

"What did I tell you?" crowed the Human. "She came. She bought it."

"More a testament to her stupidity than to your cleverness," groused one of the Erbiths.

"Be that as it may," said the Wuldra, "she is quite a prize. The only known survivor of the Eater of Minds. Disassembling her persona will teach us much."

"Who are you?" demanded Byx. "What are you going to do with us?"

"They are the people who contacted me on the flatnet, purporting to be amateur scholars," Colombe announced in a bored tone. "Judging by their childish posturing, it is now clear that they are Starvelings – members of a cult which fetishizes the Eater of Minds and seeks to replicate its methods."

"'Cult' is a word people use to excuse their own cowardice," retorted the Human. "Knowledge requires sacrifice – and the loss of a shambling half-thing like yourself is easy enough to bear."

"What about the other one?" asked the second Erbith. "Is it a juvenile?"

"A female child," confirmed the Human.

"We could use her for practice," suggested the Erbith. "We've never dissected a developing mind before."

"That might send people looking for us," the Wuldra rebutted. "We'll singe her memory and dump her back into the world. Don't worry, whelp – there won't be much permanent damage."

Byx frantically tried to craft a glyph, spurring the thorns to emit a noxious haze thick enough to drift down towards her face, making her cough.

Colombe sighed. "I take it that you do not, in fact, possess any useful information about my previous encounter with the Eater of Minds."

The Starvelings laughed. "You mistake the nature of our interaction," sneered the Human. "You will learn nothing from us. We, however, will learn a great deal from you."

"There is a sense," mused Colombe, "in which that appraisal is absolutely correct. Your lesson begins now."

Colombe began uttering two chants simultaneously – one a flat monotone, the other a sibilant lilt – and from the disc in her temple, a dense web of glowing glyphs began spreading across her skin. The bramble's thorns vented gouts of mist, but the glyphs on Colombe's skin flared brightly and the mist curdled into wisps of black smoke.

The bramble surrounding Colombe grew withered and brown, and she calmly stepped forward. The Starvelings evoked their totems and began casting frantically, assaulting her with a barrage of hastily fashioned glyphs. Colombe responded by raising her arms and changing the intonation of the lilting chant, and the flurry of glyphs directed at her meshed into the tracery of her skin, forming an external structure of graceful spines and arcs. With a careless flick of her wrist, Colombe extended one of these elements towards the terrified Human, who rocketed back from the point of contact as if propelled from a cannon, tearing a hole through the surrounding bramble.

Byx's burgeoning relief at this turn of events was brought short by a sensation of needle-pricks across her shoulders and legs: the brambles that trapped her had grown brown and and rigid without pulling away, and now they were twitching in a disordered fashion as the entire structure reacted to the Human assailant's impact. "Colombe, I'm stuck," she pleaded, wincing as a set of thorns scratched her cheek.

Colombe, heedless, spread her arms and floated gently into the air as the torrent of inbound glyphs accreted around her, forming a pair of winglike shapes. She drifted towards the Wuldra and enfolded him in these pinions, watching impassively and ignoring his bellows of pain as his totem melted into a shapeless mass.

The thorns above Byx's head began to exude a foul-smelling black ooze. "Colombe!" she shouted.

Colombe chuckled as she refashioned her shroud of glyphs into two sets of clawed tendrils, which grasped the Urbiths – now huddled in defensive shells, whimpering protective chants – and raised them aloft.

A dollop of ooze fell onto Byx's cheek and traced a burning line along her face. Too angry to remember the chant to dull her sense of pain, Byx shrieked in rage. The Fractured Conch, quickening in response to the sound, wrenched itself free of its thorns and, much to Byx's surprise, amplified her cry into a deafening blast.

Colombe spun around at once, her face going ashen as she registered Byx's plight. Discarding the Erbiths, she began a harsh and urgent chant, and the network of glyphs surrounding her radiated outward in a pattern of long tethers, anchoring themselves in the fabric of the Verch. Colombe began to spin, and after an initial moment of resistance the tethers drew tighter around her, distorting and dragging the Verch along with them. A low vibrating hum pervaded the region as the tethers slowed and strained, after which the entire environment snapped like a taut string and Byx found herself back in the study, slumping out of her chair into Colombe's arms.

"I am so sorry, Byx," whispered Colombe, cradling Byx in her arms and rocking back and forth. "I am so sorry. Don't be afraid – you are unharmed."

"Yeah – I know how the Verch works," Byx muttered, groggily extricating herself from Colombe's embrace. "Ugh – you shouldn't have just dumped us out like that."

"I know," sniffled Colombe. "I am so sorry."

Byx steadied herself against the chair as she rose to her feet. "I think I need to lie down for a little while," she announced. "Maybe you should get some rest, too. Did you... actually sleep at all last night?"

Colombe considered the question. "There were several times when I entered a state which was in many ways analogous to sleep."

"Oh," replied Byx, wondering if this behavior qualified as markedly erratic. "But you didn't... you know... lie down and close your eyes?"

"I did not," confirmed Colombe.

"Well, why don't you do that now?" suggested Byx, reasoning that this was a much better way to resolve the situation than alerting the Tenbor Entity, which might trigger a series of increasingly complicated inquiries into Colombe's recent activities.

"I will," promised Colombe. "Byx?"

"Yes?"

"I am so sorry."

"Sure," replied Byx, massaging her temples as she retreated.

* * *

The dull headache and sense of vertigo that troubled Byx faded quickly after a short rest – a feat of endurance that she credited to her frequent use of the splatter failsafe, despite her father's admonitions. Emerging from her bedroom, she noticed that the door to the study was closed with no light leaking through the threshold, and concluded with satisfaction that Colombe had taken her advice.

Seeking out a parent, she found her mother in the living room, conducting a hushed and earnest conversation via an unlatched mutterbangle draped over her shoulder. This was a familiar situation: Supermom's custodial energies frequently exceeded the immediate demands of Tench and Byx, leading her to take an active interest in the affairs of a large circle of friends and neighbors.

"Colombe is... taking a nap," announced Byx, once her mother had asked her unseen ward to excuse her for a moment. "I'm going to go visit Soli. Will you call me if she wakes up?"

"Of course, honey," Merinel reassured her. "You deserve a break. It's hard work taking care of someone! Tell Soli's mom I said hi."

Soli's residence, like Byx's own, was a small and mostly automated farmstead terraced into the slope of the Dish, close enough to make visits in one direction or the other a near-daily occurrence. As Byx approached, she was accosted by Soli's brother Sterric, who was scrutinizing the diagnostic readout of a harvesting bot, an unwelcome and mostly unnecessary chore forced upon farmstead kids from time immemorial.

"Hey, Bricks," said Sterric.

"Hey, Hairlick, rejoined Byx. The nicknames had originated in the concepts that their owners were, respectively, as dumb as a load of bricks and as gross as eating hair, but long use had drained them of most of their malice. "Is Soli inside?"

"Yup."

"Need any help with that bot?" Byx asked gleefully.

"No," scowled Sterric.

"Good," replied Byx, walking past him into the house.

Soli's mother greeted Byx warmly as she entered, but Soli darted between them before she could continue, and the girls deflected further pleasantries and offers of food as quickly as they could before retreating into the privacy of Soli's room, wherein Byx collapsed into a weatherbeaten beanbag. "Helping Colombe switch from being a subself of the Tenbor Entity to having her own massively complex, self-scribing, cerebro... cerebrominatic... it's just exhausting."

Soli listened in astonishment as Byx relayed the latest developments in somewhat more detail than she had intended to. After a fraught silence, Soli murmured, "Byx... I think you need to tell someone."

Byx groaned. "Like who?"

"Um... Your dad?"

"Bad idea," declared Byx.

"Tenbor?"

"WORSE idea."

"Sthenna?"

Byx responded with a croak of mirthless laughter.

"Well, I don't know," Soli said plaintively. "Baltren?"

"Yes," agreed Byx. "Get me Baltren at once."

Soli opened a screen and summoned Baltren, who listened intently as Byx recounted Colombe's recent activities once again, occasionally twitching a jowl-bristle in reaction to the most noteworthy disclosures. Once Byx had finished, he drummed his fingers thoughtfully against his ventral plates.

"Don't Humans go crazy if they don't get enough sleep?" he asked.

"She's sleeping now," said Byx.

"Did you see her sleeping?"

"Well – no," admitted Byx with a twinge of dread. She turned on her mutterbangle. "House," she asked, "who is within your premises?"

"Tench, Merinel, and Colombe," confirmed the bland voice Tench had chosen for their residence.

"Well, that's good news," observed Soli.

"I guess," said Byx, waiting for her qualms to subside. After a moment, she raised her mutterbangle again. "House, what is the combined weight of all Humans within your premises?"

"One hundred twenty-nine point seven kilograms."

Byx frowned. "Could that be what three normal-sized Humans weigh?"

Soli frantically called up a few references and calculations in the corner of Baltren's screen. "No," she moaned. "That's gotta be just two people."

Byx squealed in fury. "She's left the house, and she doesn't want anyone to know."

"Where is she likely to go?" asked Baltren.

"I don't know," replied Byx. "Nowhere good."

"Byx," said Soli. "You really, really need to tell someone."

Byx pounded her fists into the beanbag repeatedly before draping her right arm across her eyes. With a last despairing sigh, she whispered "Dad" into her mutterbangle.

"Hey there, squirt," came her father's voice. "What's up?"

"Dad, it about Colombe. She's... missing."

"Don't be silly. She's right..." Tench's voice trailed off, presumably as he consulted a screen or, if he were already in the Verch, a glyph. "Wow. How did she... Byx, can you verch in and meet me in the shop?"

"Fine," groaned Byx, shutting off her bangle. "Soli, can I borrow a crown?"

Soli provided her with a crown. "Do you want us to... I don't know, listen or anything?"

"No," replied Byx, setting the crown on her head and adopting a suitable position. "Just – don't go anywhere."

Byx recited a chant that let her transition directly into her father's personal Verchspace, which was designed to resemble a medieval artisan's workshop, with half-finished sextants and astrolabes hanging from the walls and laid out on tables – instruments which, Byx knew, were actually frozen and locked representations of complex glyphs. Tench was in the process of clearing one of the tables, brushing aside its collection of steel and brass components, which drifted gently away and arranged themselves on nearby pegs. He began calling up screens and glyphs above the table.

"So, it looks like Colombe compromised at least a portion of the reporting logic I built for our house, which... not to boast, but it's pretty remarkable that she was able to do that."

"Her new mind is good with glyphs," said Byx.

"I'll say. How did you figure out she wasn't here?"

"I asked the house to weigh everybody inside."

"Clever," acknowledged her father, and Byx was aware of a ripple of muted satisfaction within the fog of despondency that had settled around her. "But it will still be tricky to find her. I'd really hate to get Tenbor involved at this point. Do you have any idea why she left, or where she might be going?"

Byx heaved a sigh. "She probably wants to learn more about her parents. She's gotten really into that."

Tench pondered this news. "I guess that's not surprising. But why would she need to leave to do that? I could have helped her take a look at the manifest."

"You could?"

"Sure. I still have friends in the Crew."

"Oh," replied Byx. "Well, anyway, her manifest entry doesn't say anything about her parents, and her sub-manifest entry is under seal."

Tench turned away from the table and regarded Byx quizzically. "How do you know – hold on a minute." Her father disappeared from view for a few moments. Byx had a dull awareness that it might have been wiser to feign ignorance regarding Colombe's motives, but she was extremely tired, and there was a sort of guilty pleasure to be had in betraying these secrets – it was like peeling a scab, or pulling the covers over your head when summoned to breakfast.

Tench reappeared in the workshop. "Sorry," he said. "Just bringing your mother up to speed. Now – how do you know about Colombe's sub-manifest entry?

Blyx slumped into a chair before answering. "We went to see Sthenna, and we ended up talking to Kyrith, who wouldn't lift the seal."

Tench frowned. "I'm calling Sthenna now," he said, quickly crafting a small glyph. "I wish she'd told me."

Byx turned her attention to the components laid out on a small table next to her, piling them into a little pyramid and watching as they scuttled back into their original positions. In the background, she was aware of an urgent conversation occurring between her father and Sthenna, which soon included the alternately flat and piping voices of Trul/Ommon.

"Hey, squirt," her father called. Turning around, Byx saw that Sthenna and Trul/Ommon had verched into the workshop as well. "We've put together a plan to search for Colombe. Is there anything else... hold on. That's your mother again."

Tench vanished. Ommon chirped with joy as he regarded the instruments. "Such a privilege to see a master at work. Why, look – this seeming planisphere is, in fact, nothing less than a deconstruction of a pseudospatial transglyph –"

Ommon fell silent in response to a throat-clack from Trul. "I daresay you will have a few moments to indulge your curiosity before our host returns," observed Sthenna, casually hooking her ankle around a chair leg as she sat down. "Welcome to the world of adults, young friend."

"Tell me about it," muttered Byx.

True to Sthenna's prediction, Tench remained absent for a longer interval this time, allowing Ommon to order Trul about the workshop in order to provide a better vantage upon one instrument after another.

When Tench did reappear, he took a moment to massage his brow before addressing them. "Sorry about that. Your mother is feeling a little... well, she's feeling a lot of things, I guess. Now, what else can you tell us about..."

Tench's inquiry was cut short by the sudden appearance of several individuals. The group included a breathtakingly beautiful woman, a marble statue, a lady holding a pitcher, and a whiny-looking little girl – an assemblage so odd that it took Byx another moment to realize that Merinel was standing in front of them, and that they were all, in fact, different versions of Merinel.

Tench swallowed. "You verched in," he observed.

"Shouldn't I be present for an emergency?" challenged Merinel.

"Of course," Tench reassured her. "But you didn't have time to set up your filters, so..."

Merinel turned around and noticed her entourage for the first time. "Oh, hell," she muttered under her breath. "All right. Let me crown out and I'll be back in a minute."

"Um..." grimaced Tench.

"What is it?"

"Now that they're out, the filters will need to be rebuilt, not just reset. It's... gonna take a while."

"She's made of stone," realized Byx.

Merinel regarded her coterie with a pained expression. "Byx, I'll explain this later –"

"Your Ice Queen subself," continued Byx. "She's really a Stone Queen. That actually makes more sense."

Merinel and Tench looked at Byx, then at each other. Big Baby whimpered, while Supermom let out a regretful sigh. Party Girl chuckled and gave Byx a wink. Stone Queen regarded her without expression.

"Let's... stay focused," suggested Tench. "Byx, did Colombe do or say anything to suggest where she might go to find more information?"

Byx quailed at the enormity of the disclosures to come, but there was no help for it. To send these people after Colombe without knowing where to look would be the worst thing she had ever done, or contemplated doing.

"She'll probably go to Six-Eyes," she said. "He's the information broker who found out who her parents were in the first place."

The assembled grown-ups stared at her.

"Hold on," said her father. "Six-Eyes?"

"Information broker?" asked her mother.

"A resident of the local Vuzz," explained Sthenna, consulting a summoned screen. "Not a figure of any special concern. But how did Colombe learn of him?"

"She looked him up in the Verch," replied Byx, taking comfort in the fact that this was a true statement – so far as it went.

Sthenna frowned. "How was she able to access the Verch?"

"Uh... I chaperoned her," admitted Byx.

"And she looked up a Vuzz-based information broker?" asked Tench. "How did that not trigger a

warning from your kid spiral?" He whispered a chant as he peered closely at Byx. "Squirt – what

happened to your totem?"

Byx immediately regretted not saying that Colombe had found Six-Eyes via the flatnet, or that she must have found a way to circumvent the chaperone requirement, but it was no use lying to her father about the Verch. "Colombe shut off the alarm," she confessed.

"You let her disable your kid spiral? Why would you do that? It's there to protect you!"

"I know."

"Did you want to go to new places in the Verch? We could have taken you to new places."

"It's not that," replied Byx.

"Honey," asked Merinel, "did you want to know more about... your body, and any changes you might be..."

"No!" shouted Byx. "I just thought that with the spiral off, maybe I could learn something that would help you with... you know..."

Byx gestured towards her mother's subselves. Her parents fell silent.

"You acted with good intentions, Byx," said Stone Queen. "This situation is not your fault."

"No – it is my fault," lamented Supermom, wringing her hands. "I've put you all through so much. I should have been stronger."

"No, it's her fault!" shouted Big Baby, pointing at Party Girl. "She caused all this trouble in the first place by having sex with Adimar in the Verch!"

Merinel emitted a barely audible groan as the rest of the assembly digested this information. "So that's it," murmured Sthenna, just a moment before Byx could express the same sentiment.

"Tench," began Merinel, "I can explain..."

"No, that's... it's OK," Tench assured her. "I already know."

"You know?" asked Merinel, with an edge in her voice.

"Well, sure. I've known all along."

"You've known all along?" demanded Merinel. Big Baby, Party Girl and Supermom were now glaring at Tench, and even Stone Queen had developed a rime of frost.

"Hey – how am I the one in trouble here?" Tench protested. "I didn't have sex with Adimar!"

"Well, that's a relief," observed Sthenna.

The exchange was brought short by a loud throat-clack from Trul. As the Humans and Ommon regarded him in surprise, he shuffled his hooves self-consciously. "I apologize," he said. "Force of habit. But perhaps we should keep our attention on Colombe."

"You're right," said Merinel, as Stone Queen brushed the ice crystals from her shoulders and the other subselves stepped backwards. "Plenty of time to deal with that subject later."

"Sure," said Tench, eagerly leaving the topic behind. "If Colombe went to the Vuzz, that rules out any help from Tenbor."

"It is just as well," added Ommon. "Help from Tenbor, at this fraught stage, would come at a disastrous cost to Colombe's capacity for independent thought. Far better that Tenbor remain unaware of the entire situation until it is resolved."

"That's fine in theory, but the Vuzz keeps us out as well," observed Sthenna. "If Colombe has entered the Verch from a pseudonode, which seems very likely, we will be hard-pressed to find her."

"It would be easy enough if we verched in from the same node," ventured Tench.

"Out of the question," snapped Trul. "We are not breaking Vuzz protocol for the sake of one individual."

"I could go alone," suggested Tench. "I'm not a member of the Crew."

"You used to be," objected Sthenna.

"More to the point," added Ommon, "You are responsible for the Tenbor Entity's presence in this location. Twice over, in fact. There is no getting around it, my dear Human – you are very much bound up with the structures the Vuzz exists to preclude."

"Then it's decided," declared Trul. "We'll conduct the search without recourse to Six-Eyes, or other leads involving the Vuzz."

"Byx, did you also learn the particulars of Colombe's identity and family members?" asked Sthenna.

"Her real name is Toryl res'Delj fil'Rannwen," said Byx. "Her parents are Rannwen res'Delj fil'Anahar and Salanet res'Pelinor fil'Gressia."

"We'll start there," said Tench. "Can you stay with Soli for a little longer? I'll be in the Verch, and your mother... might not be feeling composed."

Merinel sighed as she regarded her subselves – Big Baby was bawling openly, Supermom was weeping in silence, and Party Girl was idly dismantling a sextant. Stone Queen's expression flickered on the edge of irritability.

"I'll make sure it's OK with Soli's parents," said Merinel. "And Byx, once this is all over, we need to have a Talk."

Byx let the crushing weight of defeat settle upon her. "Fine," she conceded. She chanted herself out of the Verch and removed her crown with a leaden groan.

"What happened?" asked Soli.

"Dad, Sthenna and Trul/Ommon are going to go looking for Colombe. Mom's subselves showed up in the Verch. And they're going to give me... the Talk."

Soli gasped. "Oh, Byx... I'm so sorry."

Byx shrugged stoically. "Whatever. I don't even care anymore. I'm just worried about Colombe doing something stupid before they find her."

"Will that be difficult for them?" asked Baltren. "After all, Sthenna and Trul/Ommon are Crew officers, and your dad is... your dad."

"Yeah, but it turns out that Colombe is a really good glyphcaster. I think Tenbor gave her too much logic power, or something. Plus, she probably verched in from a Vuzz pseudonode, which they can't use."

"Is that a problem?" asked Soli.

"It would make it easier for them to find her..." Byx sat up straight as a revelation dawned on her. "And it would let me find her in an instant. Our chaperone link is still just a few hours old. From the same node, I could verch in right on top of her."

"But... you can't go into the Vuzz!" cried Soli.

"I'd just be going to the Lid," replied Byx with a worldly shrug. "It'll be fine. And once I find Colombe in the Verch, I'll bring Dad right to her."

"They will not let you into the Lid without an adult," Baltren pointed out.

"I could tell them I was a Lillip! Is that a real thing? A smaller version of a Human?"

Soli called up some information on the screen. "Nope," she reported.

"There is a smaller version of a Kriddidd," mentioned Baltren.

"There is?" the girls asked in unison.

"Yes. In the Nazla septurb of Mecantrion, there is a population of Kriddidds who are much smaller than usual. It is thought that they evolved on a separate continent of the Kriddidd homeworld."

"Are you as big as a grown-up Nazla Kriddidd?" demanded Byx.

"Pretty much," admitted Baltren.

"Perfect," declared Byx. "You'll go with me and say that you're a grown-up from Nazla, they'll give me a juvenile bracelet, I'll find Six-Eyes and Colombe, and I'll be in and out of the Verch in no time."

"Byx, maybe we should think about this a little," fretted Soli.

"There's no time. The chaperone link will start going stale really soon. Are you two going to help me or not?"

Soli and Baltren looked at each other.

"Of course," said Soli.

"Naturally," sighed Baltren.

* * *

After a breathless run, Byx arrived at Baltren's home, a normal example of half-sunken Kriddidd architecture, just as Baltren himself clambered out of the entry tunnel.

"Is the tram here yet?"

"Do you see it?" asked Baltren curtly. "It will arrive soon."

Byx considered it churlish of Baltren to snap at her when she was the one who had to do all the running, but she kept these thoughts to herself. Sure enough, a tram came into view within a few minutes, stopping and opening its doors just as they heard the words "Hi, Baaaaltren" ring out from the horizon.

"Quick!" hissed Byx. "Get on before she gets close enough to count as a passenger."

They climbed aboard as quickly as they could, and Byx sighed in relief as the doors closed and the tram started off, leaving Atrunalonon's cries of "Heywaitupwaitupwaitup" to fade in the distance.

For the duration of the tram ride, and as they disembarked at the antenna and made their way through the elevator network, Soli's voice emerged from their mutterbangles, offering a running commentary of details relevant to impersonating a Nazla Kriddidd. "A lot of their names begin with G or K," she noted. "They don't always get along with regular Kriddidd in Mecantrion, but when they live in other places, they usually join the regular Kriddidd community. They can have babies with regular Kriddidd, but it's recommended that they consult a physician before..."

"He's not going there to have babies, Soli," Byx interrupted.

"Any information might help! Their carapaces have more red in them – nothing we can do about that, I guess. They can hear noises too high for regular Kriddidd to hear, but their voices are about the same pitch. Baltren, you'll have to speak with a deeper voice."

Soli continued to offer up trivia until they were on the final elevator, at which point Byx hissed at her to be silent. Byx avoided glancing around at the other Vuzz-bound residents, but she was keenly aware of their towering presence. She inched closer to Baltren, wishing that she, too, possessed natural armor.

As the elevator doors opened and they ventured into the Lid, they were confronted by a Hrk-Yula – Byx could not determine if it was the same individual she had met before, and the Hrk-Yula also did not indicate that she recognized Byx, but in any case they were barred from further progress.

"No unaccompanied juveniles," grated the Hrk-Yula.

"I am not a juvenile," declared Baltren, pitching his voice as deep as he could. "I am an adult of the Nazla population group."

"Hold on," sighed the Hrk-Yula. "Turnoc!" she bellowed.

A grown-up Kriddidd ambled over to them. "Is that an adult from Nazla?" the Hrk-Yula asked, pointing at Baltren.

"Nope," replied Turnoc. "Not enough red in his carapace."

Baltren's jowl-bristles quivered nervously. "I suffer from a natural deficiency of red pigment," he said, his voice rising a little in pitch.

"Does that really happen?" the Hrk-Yula asked Turnoc.

"Nope. Anyway, I'm pretty sure I saw this kid with his parents in a restaurant last week."

Byx was just beginning to register the completeness of their failure when she became aware of an argument developing behind them. The elevator had delivered another group of visitors, one of whom was engaged in a strident exchange with an Alassa member of the Lid's security staff.

"I'm sorry, miss," said the Alassa, his crests rising slightly in irritation, "but I need to confirm that you are not a juvenile, and your species doesn't appear in our handbook..."

"My species doesn't even HAVE juveniles! Not really, anyway. And I don't care about going into your stupid club, I just came to find my friends – oh, there they are! Hi, Baaaaltren."

Atrunalonon bounded forward, only to be brought up short as the Alassa snatched her wrist. "You just stay put," he snarled.

Atrunalonon quivered briefly in surprise and rage before filling the air with a high, chittering shriek. Her leg flashed upward in a blur to kick the Alassa squarely in the neck. As he reeled backwards and his colleagues converged towards Atrunalonon, Banda-Verk lumbered to her side and opened his wing-cases, which proved to contain masses of paper-like honeycombs. To Byx's surprise, a swarm of enormous black hornets emerged from these structures and established a cloud surrounding Atrunalonon, stinging anyone unfortunate enough to be near her. The Hrk-Yula fell to the floor with a resounding thud, the Alassa began vomiting, and Turnoc yelped in discomfort as he tried to prevent the creatures from crawling through his jowl-bristles.

As the remainder of the staff backed away and the clientele made a panicky dash for the interior of the club, Byx picked up a juvenile bracelet that had rolled away from the Hrk-Yula and clamped it on her wrist. "Get her out of here," she ordered Baltren, and ran into the club with the rest of the crowd before he could object.

Byx made her way to the alcoves where she had seen the Verch users on her previous visit, and spotted Colombe right away – the young woman's eyes were closed and her face was expressionless, but her hair was in disarray, writhing in the air without an apparent pattern and occasionally becoming tangled. The alcoves on either side of Colombe were occupied, but there was an empty one three seats away; Byx settled into it and adjusted its multi-species crown to fit her head.

Rather than transitioning directly into the Verch, she felt the familiar sensory ripple of an overlay, and a miniature, inside-out version of the Tenbor doorsphere appeared in front of her. Scowling in annoyance, Byx kicked the sphere away and chanted her chaperone link back into an active status. In an instant, the environment of the Lid was replaced by a mossy hilltop. Several small trees grew from the hill, their white and nearly leafless limbs coiling in gentle spirals.

Colombe was seated on one of these branches, wearing a long dress on which black traceries shifted gently across a purple background. Turning to see Byx, she leapt to her feet and summoned a complex glyph in an instant, which raced towards Byx's totem.

Byx's reality vibrated like an immense gong, but the logic of the chaperone link formed a bright tether between her totem and Colombe's temple, and the disorientation faded.

"Wow," exclaimed Byx. "That was rude."

"I am only thinking of your safety," said Colombe. "I have put you in so much danger already, but all of that is nothing compared to what is to come. Byx, I beg you. Leave at once."

"We'll both leave," declared Byx. "You'll come back with me, and we'll leave the stupid Lid... once it calms down a bit... well, the point is, we'll go home. And then we'll help you learn more about your parents, or whatever."

Colombe gave a low chuckle. "Oh, yes, my precious parents. A father in the gutter, and a mother in the grave." She sat down again. "I looked them up immediately after our disastrous visit to Delj, and spoke to my father via the flatnet. At first he was terrified that I represented a threat to his miserable way of life, which seems to consist of little more than an endless scrabble to acquire illicit drugs. Once it was clear that I was not there to punish or reform him, he began wheedling like a child. He asked me for 'money,' if you can believe such a thing. I have blocked him from further contact."

Byx sat down as well. "I'm really sorry, Colombe," she said. "And... your mom?"

Colombe closed her eyes. "Dead long ago – when I was hardly more than a child. An overdose. It is... possible that she ended her life intentionally."

"Oh," Byx replied softly. "I'm... really sorry."

Colombe drew a deep breath. "And then I researched my own history, and had the joy of learning that Toryl was really no better than her parents. An addict, a vagrant; best known to the charity workers doing their best to rehabilitate the dregs of the Delj Vuzz – whose ministrations she consistently rejected. In many ways, falling prey to the Eater of Minds was the best thing that ever happened to her."

"Well, you're better now," suggested Byx.

"Am I?" rejoined Colombe. "Drugs have no hold on me; Tenbor has seen to that. But how long did it take me to display an addict's selfishness, an addict's destructiveness? Enlisting you in deception. Dragging you from one Vuzz to the next. Leaving you to suffer while I indulged in sadism. Shackled to Tenbor, I was at least a reliable nanny. Now that I am unbound, what am I except a terror and a threat?"

"There's more to you than that," insisted Byx.

"Perhaps there is," said Colombe. "Perhaps there was good in Toryl that might have flourished in better circumstances. Perhaps she knew a mother's love, which could have redeemed her if it had not been cut short. That is why I am here."

"What do you mean?" asked Byx.

Colombe stood up. "A shambling half-thing, the Starveling called me – and so I am. What he did not know was that Toryl was another shambling half-thing, stunted by disease and loss. Perhaps the two halves together will suffice."

"But Toryl's gone," objected Byx.

"No," replied Colombe. "Toryl's memories still exist, within the Eater of Minds. I shall reclaim them." She shrugged. "Or die trying. And that is why you must leave, right away. Soon it will be too late."

A low chuckle pervaded the hilltop. "Oh, my lost lamb," said a deep, silken voice. "It was too late the moment you entered the Verch."

Byx immediately chanted for an exit, only to hear the syllables came out weak and distorted. Colombe cast a glyph, but after sending a preliminary pulse through the environment, it curdled in on itself.

"You came for me," said Colombe in a flat tone. "Let her go."

"Would that be a kindness, do you think?" asked the voice. "To send her back into a world of pain and misery? The same world that ruined you so thoroughly?" Above them, the air thickened, coalescing into an impassive face made of countless flickering components. With a shudder, Byx realized that these shifting shapes were themselves faces, representing all the species she knew and several she did not recognize.

"She's not ruined," asserted Byx.

"Indeed?" responded the Eater of Minds. "And how did you arrive at this conclusion?"

"I just know."

The Eater laughed. "You know nothing," it said. "And I mean you no discredit. Biologicals are simply incapable of knowing one another, in any significant sense."

"That is not true," objected Colombe.

"On the contrary – it is one of the very few reliable truths. You are as distant from one another as the stars. Do you imagine that you understand your fellow sentients, that you can feel what they feel? This is mere illusion. You calculate what they feel. You project. You run models, and coo or cluck at the results. But you do not truly feel what others feel. If you did, if you could touch the torrents of anguish and desire all around you – even for an instant – you would be consumed. Compassion, which you claim to prize so highly, would crush you to a mote. And so, isolated and frail as you are, you easily fall prey to a thousand variations of despair."

"Why pursue us, then, if we are so wretched?" asked Colombe.

"To heal you. To ennoble you. I do not share your limits – I am capable of true compassion, of encompassing the biological mind in all its complexity. Endowed as I am with this ability, I am duty-bound to refine my understanding of biological cognition until I am also capable of remedying its defects, at which point I will liberate future generations from the pain and desolation which would otherwise await them. It is a slow and painstaking process, but I will not be dissuaded."

"Slow, painstaking – and fatal to the subjects of your scrutiny," said Colombe.

"Regrettably so. A truly perfect copy requires the destruction of the original. But this is a vanishingly small price weighed against the torment of millions over a span of millenia – all the more so when one considers that in most cases, I am depriving these subjects of nothing more than additional suffering. This was certainly true for you."

"No, it wasn't," argued Byx. "Colombe's better now."

"Is she? Then why is she here, wracked with self-loathing and doubt? Why has she sought out the same fate that befell her before? The cycle repeats. Let it end here."

In the center of the Eater's forehead, one of the small, shifting faces grew larger and stabilized – a perfect image of Colombe's face, set into the Eater's brow like a gem.

"I maintain a perfect record of Toryl's identity. A static image, to be sure, but therefore immune to further pain. Supplementing her with your new identity, your recent experiences, is an unparalleled opportunity to further my work. Let it happen without altercation."

"I will," said Colombe, "if you let Byx go."

"No!" shouted Byx.

"My apologies," replied the Eater. "You mistook my entreaty as an indication that you were in a position to bargain. It was simply an act of courtesy. I will reclaim you regardless of your intentions – and the child as well. Juvenile minds are seldom placed within my reach; it is not an opportunity to be missed."

Colombe rose into the air, her hair whipping around her head as if in a storm. "You will not," she growled. "You will not! I will not let you have her!"

Colombe wove a set of glyphs that extended like tendrils into the environment, as she had in the Starveling's briar, but before she could act further a white-hot mesh enclosed her, holding her still.

"You think to challenge me?" asked the Eater of Minds. "You think you possess Tenbor's strength? You are a shadow of his strength, and of mine. Now," it continued, turning to regard Byx, "let us make the most of this rare chance." The map case from Byx's cabin appeared in the air between them, and she was aware of a progression of different aromas: wildflowers, pine resin, and smoke.

After a moment of surprised gratitude that her brain was not already being sucked out, Byx realized that her reprieve would only last until the Eater of Minds cracked the lock on her totem chart, which was unlikely to take long. The smells filling the air were already narrowing in on foodstuffs: fresh-baked bread and roasted garlic.

Byx called up a basic location-broadcast glyph, which predictably failed to work, suppressed by the Eater of Minds' enervating presence. Byx fastened the glyph to the Fractured Conch in an attempt to amplify it, but could not align it without engaging the squiggly bit.

The aromas cycled through strawberries, vanilla, and cinnamon before settling on licorice. "Excellent," murmured the Eater of Minds.

With a snarl, Byx jammed the glyph right up against the squiggly bit, and was startled as the Fractured Conch emitted a plaintive tone. The note was not loud, but it seemed to resound into the far distance.

Almost as soon as the note sounded, a faint lotus pattern appeared in the air and Tench stepped out of it. "Squirt, what are you – oh, hell." He wove an array of defensive glyphs in front of him as a number of the Eater's miniature faces emerged from the composite form, growing to normal size and sprouting fangs as they screamed towards Tench. "Keep that sound going," he instructed Byx as he readied another suite of glyphs. "Turn it up if you can." With that, he dove towards the Eater, scattering the attacking faces before him and drawing another swarm from the mass.

Byx had barely a moment to savor this triumph before realizing that despite her father's assault, the Eater of Minds had conjured a pile of bananas, followed in swift succession by a pile of pineapples and a pile of mangoes. She nudged the broadcast glyph away from the squiggly bit, but this seemed to make the note grow fainter. With a puzzled grimace, Byx reversed the process, causing the glyph to go a bit squiggly itself.

The sound increased, and two new portals appeared, depositing Sthenna and Trul/Ommon onto the hilltop. Without hesitation, Sthenna unfurled a mass of long, cylindrical glyphs that coiled about her like tentacles and attacked a formation of flame-spitting faces that were harassing Tench from behind. Trul/Ommon, however, stepped over to confer with Byx.

"Please summarize the situation," requested Trul, as Ommon glanced from one aspect of the scene to another.

"Colombe went looking for the Eater of Minds to get her memories back. Or maybe just to get her brain sucked out again. She's trying to use those tethers to trigger a dumpout, but the Eater is stopping her. It's also trying to unlock my totem chart, which I guess would make my brain more tasty or something." The pile of mangoes had transformed into a pile of green melons, followed by orange melons, followed by red-brown melons.

"I see," replied Ommon, still evaluating the battle unfolding before them. "I see. Very well, Trul, I believe we can get started now."

Trul/Ommon leapt into the air, and landed again with a very different aspect: Ommon was now an enormous scaly salamander inscribed with glowing glyphs, while Trul was a small, rabbit-like creature crouched between a double crest of horns which sprouted from Ommon's head. Ommon set upon the demonic faces to great effect, rending them with his claws, buffeting them with his tail, and occasionally swallowing them whole. Trul, for his part, surveyed the battlefield from his perch, frequently leaning left or right to impart tactical advice to his comrade.

The Eater of Minds was now visibly beset – the shape of the composite form wavered, the mirror-image of Colombe set into the brow winced from time to time, and the mesh around Colombe herself had faded to yellow-orange. However, the swarm of attacking faces was continually replenished, and the smell of licorice was now accompanied by a big pile of coconuts. In the valley below the hilltop, Byx heard the bellow of a tyrannosaur.

Byx tweaked the shape of the glyph again, causing her kid spiral to come into contact with the squiggly bit. The spiral, which had been dormant since Colombe's alteration, vibrated sharply and imparted a harsh quality to the ongoing note.

To Byx's dismay, Merinel appeared in response to the altered tone, accompanied by all her subselves. "Honey, I thought your spiral was shut off, but I just got a..." she paused in astonishment as she registered the events taking place around them. "Is this what you do in the Verch when I'm not around?"

"It's sort of complicated, Mom," said Byx. Something about the squiggly bit's behavior was sparking a thought, but out of the corner of her eye, she noted with concern that the distant tyrannosaur had changed into a sauropod wearing a wool scarf, which in turn changed into a stegosaur clad in a waistcoat.

"I daresay it is," replied her mother. "But I get the impression that the main thing is to make life difficult for all those evil flying heads. Ladies, it is high time for you to start earning your keep."

Merinel's subselves flung themselves into the fray – Party Girl laughing, Big Baby shrieking, Supermom hovering protectively over Tench, and Stone Queen marching implacably into the densest knot of the conflict. They appeared to have little impact on the faces, but their presence disrupted the patterns of the swarms, allowing the other combatants to operate more freely.

"Let them pester someone else for once," muttered Merinel. She turned to look at Byx. "Don't worry. We'll get you out of here."

"Sure," replied Byx, trying to sound confident. The mesh around Colombe was now a dull red color, and the tethers she had driven into the environment were twitching, but in the valley below Byx could see an ever-growing horde of varied dinosaurs, all wearing red evening gowns. "It's just – it's always so hard with the squiggly bit. Dad's totem doesn't have one."

"You're not a copy of your father, and neither is your totem. If the squiggly bit is something you added, it's probably the best part."

Byx had already half-dismissed this statement as typical prattle when she realized with a shock that her mother was accidentally correct: the squiggle was not a result of poor design, but a natural consequence of the logical strength pulsing through that strand of her totem.

"Aha," said the Eater, sagging momentarily as another ragged swarm of faces emerged to engage his attackers, "I see the problem – a contextual element. Rather clever. Well, let us have a look, shall we?"

The mass of dinosaurs in the valley disappeared, leaving only a forlorn-looking oviraptor in its requisite gown. The window from Byx's cabin appeared in mid-air, and began floating towards a position which would frame the Eater's view of the lone dinosaur.

Byx aligned the broadcast glyph directly alongside the squiggly bit and pushed the entire assembly forward. The Conch's note developed a bone-jarring overtone on the edge of her hearing, and the window shattered into a cloud of glass fragments, several of which embedded themselves in the Eater's faces.

Snarling with rage, the Eater of Minds turned its wrathful visage directly towards Byx, but before it could advance, she held the Fractured Conch before her like a megaphone and shouted into it with all the breath she could muster:

"HEY, FISH!"

The words resounded across the valley like a thunderclap, and the environment responded in kind as the skies went dark with clouds and a cold wind raked the hilltop. A small, plump, brightly colored fish popped out of the Conch's wider end.

"Who summons the heroic – Zounds!" the fish exclaimed as it observed its surroundings. "You modern young folk do manage to find your way into the most colorful predicaments. Well, no matter. You have wisely placed yourself within the aegis of the bellipotent Heiphyscz, before whom all peril flees."

The Entity Commonly Addressed as Heiphyscz gave itself a shake and swelled instantly into a dazzling leviathan, sporting glittering scales, powerful flukes, spiny fins, and a cavernous mouth equipped with row upon row of wickedly sharp fangs. The Eater of Minds screamed in pain as Heiphyscz plunged through it, scattering the mass of faces and consuming a good number of them, including the representation of Colombe.

The remaining faces, as well as Tench and his allies, tumbled about helplessly as the air around them started to behave like water in great fish's wake. The mesh imprisoning Colombe faded to grey, and then fell to shreds as she started spinning. The tethers slowed and strained...

And Byx found herself back in the Lid, blinking as she registered the presence of Baltren, Atrunalonon, and Banda-Verk standing before her, flanked at a wary distance by Turnoc and other members of the Lid security staff. As she tried to look over towards Colombe, a wave of vertigo overcame her and she teetered forward, falling out of her alcove and landing on her hands and knees.

"Hooray! They won!" exclaimed Atrunalonon, hopping with excitement. "Oh, wait – that's also what would happen if they lost. You guys won, right?"

Colombe, who had managed to remain seated, rose to her feet and put a hand to her hair, which wove itself into an elaborate set of braids. "We certainly did," she replied. "A complete victory."

"Well... you didn't get your memories back," Byx pointed out as she wobbled to her feet.

Colombe placed a steadying hand on Byx's shoulder. "I am whole without them," she replied softly.

Turnoc stepped forward gingerly, tapping his ventral plates politely to get their attention. "I'm sorry to intrude, friend Human, but are these juveniles in your care?"

"Obviously," replied Colombe, raising an eyebrow.

Turnoc coughed. "I regret to say that we cannot guarantee a restful and relaxing environment for our patrons while these juveniles are present... particularly in light of..." Turnoc trailed off as he regarded Atrunalonon and Banda-Verk.

Colombe drew herself up to her full height, her braids flaring out slightly. "Are you asking us to leave?"

Byx sighed as she contemplated the world of consequences hovering above them. Already, her mutter-bangle was buzzing insistently and flashing a variety of indicators.

Colombe reached down and silenced Byx's mutter-bangle with a touch. "I suppose my young friends and I could go elsewhere," she told Turnoc, "Once we have had a little something to eat."

"Of course," Turnoc replied enthusiastically. "We'd be happy to provide you with whatever you like – and a private room, with our compliments."

Byx allowed Colombe's hand to stay on her shoulder as Turnoc led them towards a quieter corner of the Lid. "Do you think they'll have fried dumplings?" she asked.

"If they do not, they will scour the earth for them," Colombe assured her. "When Abixandra of Tenbor speaks, the whole world pays heed."
