NOEMI STANDS ON THE BRIDGE OF THE DAEDALUS, screaming. With fear, with rage, with horror—every reason a human being can scream, all of it’s pent up in her and coming out in one anguished howl.

On the viewscreen is Genesis, or what’s left of it.

The bombing has turned their green continents gray. Mud-colored seas shrivel and evaporate before her eyes. Every city is gone, every church, every person. Earth has destroyed her world, and now they all have to die together.

“It’s not too late,” Abel says. “We’ll go back in time and stop it.”

“We can’t go back in time.”

“I can. Mansfield gave me that power.”

“Really?” She brightens. They can go back and save Genesis—or further, to before her family was killed—no, even further. They’ll save Earth, go back and fix things there. They can save humanity itself.

Abel opens his chest like a computer panel and pulls out a smooth, asymmetrical chunk of red glass. Somehow she knows this is what will send them back in time. But Abel goes limp and slumps against the wall. Only then does she realize this is his heart, or his power, something he needs to live. He’s broken himself for her.

“No, Abel, don’t.” Noemi tries to shake him, but his eyes are closed, and maybe he’s dead—now she’ll have to bury him in a star—

“Noemi?”

She awakens at the moment the dream would’ve gone from disturbing to nightmare. Noemi takes a deep breath and lets the images slip away. Even the scariest dreams fade quickly if she refuses to think about them during her first waking moments.

“Are you all right?” It’s Abel, lying a few meters away in a medical bed, although he isn’t hooked up to electronic monitors like she is. “You seemed to be experiencing disturbing REM sleep.”

“I was.” She needs to stare at him for a few long seconds, to see him whole once more. “It’s okay.”

“You appear to be much improved.”

The medical sensors beep and glow above her—no wonder she had weird dreams. She can’t interpret whatever data they’re sending, but it doesn’t matter, because Noemi feels better. So much better, all the way down to her marrow. Her fever has broken, and the itchy white lines on her skin have faded almost to invisibility. Earth’s scientists must have gotten further along in fighting Cobweb than she’d realized. Harriet made it sound so dangerous, but probably Vagabonds don’t get the latest medical news.

“I feel almost normal.” She begins to smile as she looks over at Abel, who smiles back. It’s weird how ordinary it seems to wake up near him now, when that first morning on Wayland Station was so incredibly strange. “Just tired, and a little hungry.”

“Should I summon someone to bring meals?” Abel sits upright, clearly eager for something to do. He seems more dedicated to serving her now than he was when he had to. “Or perhaps there’s something in this room. Juice, or a nutrition bar—”

The air seal around the door hisses as it swings open, and the Tare model and Dr. Dunaway walk back in, each clad in white coats. Noemi’s memories of Ephraim Dunaway are blurry, but she remembers his gentle brown eyes and the sureness of his hands.

“Good morning,” says the Tare model. She snaps on the overhead lights, leaving Noemi squinting; Abel, taking the hint, shields his eyes with his hand. “Your condition has improved substantially.”

“I can tell.” Noemi props up on her elbows. How much longer will she and Abel be stuck on Stronghold? They’re under quarantine for twenty-five hours, and she doesn’t think more than ten of those have passed. At least she and Abel can get back to the mission right away.

Or can they? Has their ship been put under quarantine, too? Landing on Stronghold is strictly regulated; takeoffs might be as well.

We can do this, she reminds herself, looking over at Abel. It feels natural to use we. They’re in this together now. She remembers how tenderly he cared for her when she was sick and marvels at how strange and yet wonderful it is to trust someone that much.

But they’re not even out of the hospital yet. “The speed of your recovery is irregular.” The Tare model frowns, like good news that doesn’t match the expected data set is more of an annoyance than a reason to celebrate. “We should run further tests to determine the reasons for your swift response to the drugs.”

So it’s not that Cobweb is less scary; it’s that Noemi kicked it fast. The reason’s irrelevant, in the end. All that matters is that she and Abel get out of here soon.

“And Abel? Um, my husband?” Please let them not have noticed anything, please. She glances over at him and sees the moment when he realizes he needs to act concerned about his health. He fakes it so well she has to struggle not to laugh.

The Tare never looks away from the readouts, never once makes eye contact with her patients. “His culture came back perfectly normal, and he’s shown no signs of infection. Assuming his condition does not change, you will both be released from quarantine in another fifteen hours. We’ll get your additional tests under way as soon as possible. The sooner you and your husband can complete processing, the better.”

“Thanks.” Noemi doesn’t quite understand how Abel’s culture could have come out fine, and from the way he’s frowning, she can tell he’s confused by that, too. Shouldn’t a tissue sample from a mech be sterile? Unable to create life? Maybe the dish got contaminated.

The Tare nods toward Ephraim. “Dr. Dunaway, I will undertake the necessary lab work while you complete rounds.”

“No, no. You do the rounds. I’ll take care of this.” Ephraim’s broad hands go to Noemi’s medical sensors, and he smiles until the moment the Tare leaves the room. Then he starts yanking them off her, so fast and hard it hurts.

“Ow!” Noemi yelps. “What are you doing?”

“This is not correct procedure.” Abel’s instantly on his feet. He crosses the room in a few steps to stand on the other side of Noemi, as if he’s going to bodily pull her away from Ephraim. “Your behavior has been aberrant from the beginning—”

“Oh, yeah, you two are calling me aberrant.” Ephraim keeps going, rapidly freeing Noemi from the final sensor. He looks down at Noemi so intently that she’s reminded of Captain Baz. “You have to get off-planet as fast as you can. You and your husband. Which is why I’m getting you both out of this hospital, now.”

“What do you mean?” Noemi demands as she sits upright. She still feels a little woozy, but compared to the terrible fever yesterday, this is nothing. “Where are you taking us?”

“To your ship.” The satchel he walked in with seemed like an ordinary bag, but now he unzips it to reveal a few thin black hyperwarm jackets. He tosses two toward her and Abel, then begins shrugging the third on himself. “I brought some of the strongest sedatives we’ve got outside lock and key. When you guys are off-planet again, I’ll drug myself and tell them you were responsible.”

“Stop!” Noemi hops off the gurney. “Can you explain exactly why you’re framing us for a crime?”

Abel’s eyes narrow, his anger intensely human as he says, “We can’t engage in criminal activity based on the suggestion of someone who hasn’t been wholly honest about his intentions.”

“And now you have the nerve to call me dishonest. Unbelievable.” As obviously annoyed as Ephraim is, he continues preparing to smuggle them out of the hospital.

Yet Noemi believes Ephraim is doing this for their own good—or, at least, what he thinks is their own good.

She ventures, “Is this—is this about Abel?” If Stronghold’s authorities figured out what he is, would they want to keep him for themselves? Is that what Ephraim’s trying to save them from?

Ephraim shakes his head. “It would be about him, too, I bet, if his blood test hadn’t come out so strange. As it is, it’s only about you.”

“That’s not an explanation.” Abel’s voice has become firmer. Almost defiant.

Ephraim looks nearly as irritated as she feels. “You two know the reason. Why are you pretending you don’t?”

Noemi says, “Could you just say, in plain words, what—”

She falls silent as Ephraim steps closer and points at her to emphasize every word. “You. Are. From. Genesis.”

A wave of dizziness washes through her, but Noemi grabs the edge of the bed to remain upright; Abel’s hand closes around her upper arm, supporting her for the second it takes to regain balance. This is no time to lose control. She and Abel exchange glances. Should they deny it? No, there’s no point. She says only, “How did you know?”

“Your medical results.” Ephraim zips up his jacket. “Your lungs are almost completely free from contaminants. So is your blood. We don’t see that anymore. Either you were cloned in a lab or you’re from Genesis, but your genetic structures are too stable to be a clone. Plus, you responded to those antiviral drugs so fast it’s obvious you’ve never built up any resistance. Most people run the gamut of all the antiviral meds we have while they’re still kids. So, Genesis.”

Noemi’s gut tightens. “There weren’t going to be other tests, were there? Was the Tare sending me to—to interrogation, or prison, or—”

“The tests were real. They haven’t caught on yet.” Ephraim goes to a monitor—checking the hallway, she realizes, to make sure no one’s coming. “See, a Tare model’s programmed to deal with illness or injury. It would never occur to one of them that someone might be too healthy.”

“Of course,” Abel says. His face reflects the confused wonder she’s seen in him before when humans glimpsed something no mech ever could.

Ephraim continues, “But when we ran the next battery of tests, those results would go to our ward supervisor, who’s human. Chances are she’d put it together as quickly as I did, then order testing on your hubby here, too. If his test hadn’t been contaminated, I bet it would show the same results, wouldn’t it?”

Abel says only, “Don’t be so sure.”

Running one hand over his close-shorn hair, Ephraim takes a deep breath. Noemi hadn’t realized how worried he is until now, as she sees him steadying himself. “So you don’t go for those tests. You guys get off-world before the authorities here realize they’ve got traitors in their midst.”

The word traitors stings. “If that’s what you think of us, then why are you helping me?” Noemi demands.

“Do I have to tell you my whole life story?”

She folds her arms in front of her chest. “If you want me to go against orders and agree to be set up for a crime, yeah, actually, you do.”

Taken aback, Ephraim holds up both his hands. “Hey, this isn’t any kind of trap or anything.”

Abel raises an eyebrow. “Convince us.”

“We don’t have that long!” Ephraim protests.

Noemi thinks this guy is being honest—but she can’t afford to go on her gut alone. “Then you’d better talk fast.”

Ephraim stands still for a few seconds, long enough that she thinks he might confess his real plan or call for security. When he speaks, though, his voice is low and grave. “Thirty years ago, my mother served on a medical ship in Earth’s fleet. Her ship was shot down during one of the worst battles of the war. Mom was the only survivor of that crash on Genesis—and she was six months pregnant with my big brother. So she was stranded. Helpless. Scared she was going to miscarry in the wreckage or in prison. But then some people from Genesis found the wreck. They’d been told to report any military survivors, but they took pity on Mom. Showed her mercy. They got her to a nearby house where a nurse could make sure the pregnancy was okay. After that, they helped her detach a hoverpod from the wreckage, and with that she was able to get into low orbit around Genesis and call for rescue. They said it was what their gods would want them to do.” His dark eyes focus on Noemi’s with uncanny intensity. “I don’t like what your world has done to this galaxy. I don’t see how you can be merciful to an individual but tell all of humanity to go straight to hell. But my whole life, I’ve always known I owe you. I owe Genesis for my mother’s life, for my brother’s, and for my own. The minute I figured out where you were from, I knew I finally had a chance to pay that debt. So I’m paying it.”

Noemi’s come to second-guess so much about Genesis on this mission—but she remembers what her world can be at its best. “Thank you.”

Ephraim gestures toward the hyperwarm jackets. “You can thank me by putting those on already! We need to move.”

She and Abel exchange a look. Abel still seems wary, but when she reaches for her jacket, he follows suit.

Fever blurred her memories of arriving at the hospital. Everything after the landing pad is nothing but whirling confusion. Noemi feels as if she’s only now about to see Stronghold for the first time. The hospital corridor looks ordinary enough; so does the service area Ephraim rushes them into.

But going outside is worse.

As they walk out into the cold air, Noemi’s breath turns to fog as she looks upward. The dark gray sky looms low over Stronghold as though it were a dome built to keep them in.

“Has quarantine been necessary in the past?” Abel keeps staring at Ephraim with the same steely focus he gave the Queen mech when she last attacked. “There are so few habitations nearby. No roads. No town.”

“When Cobweb first went around—” Ephraim shakes his head as he turns up the collar of his jacket against the chilly wind. “It’s nasty stuff. Earth says we’ve got it contained, mostly, but they’re not fooling anybody. We’re never more than one outbreak away from another pandemic.”

Pandemic? How many more horrors of the past thirty years will she discover?

We left humanity with nowhere to turn, she thinks, guilt settling over her like a cloud. And no better world than this.

Their gravel pathway leads between the stone facades of two buildings in the hospital complex but offers a narrow glimpse of the world beyond. Noemi sees gritty gray soil, grass that’s more silver than green, and a few trees that must be native to this world. The trunks and branches bend in so many directions that it looks like it’s been tied in knots, and its round leaves are pure black.

“How does anything live here?” she murmurs.

Although she’d meant it as a rhetorical question, Ephraim answers. “Anything that survives on Stronghold gets strong fast. The native flora and fauna—they evolved out of bitter soil and a hostile sky. They’re mean as hell and twice as ugly, but they’re tough. Those trees over there, you can’t even cut them down for wood. You’ll pound your ax to metal shavings before it takes more than a few scrapes to its bark.”

“I can’t tell whether you hate them or admire them.”

“I can do both at the same time.” In his voice she hears both chagrin and a strange sort of pride.

She quickens her steps to keep pace; she’s still wobbly from the aftermath of Cobweb, and Ephraim’s a tall man with a long stride. Abel stays by her side, obviously ready to help if needed. Yet he remains unusually quiet, not saying a word. She asks Ephraim, “What about the people who live here? The colonists? Are they just as tough?”

“They get to be.” Ephraim realizes how hard she’s working to keep up and slows his steps. For all his anger, all his secretiveness, this guy is still a doctor at heart. “You have to be sturdy just to get through screening. Doesn’t matter if you’re a musical genius, or if you can tell good jokes. Doesn’t matter if you’ve got a face like Han Zhi. If you’re not strong, or can’t at least get strong fast, it’s back to Earth for you.”

Noemi thinks of the little boy at screening and wonders whether his family got through or not. What would it be like, taking your children to the one place in the galaxy where you thought they might have a chance to grow up, only to be turned away?

Ephraim continues, “I was born here. But I’ve never been… a man of Stronghold, I guess you’d say. Seems to me like there’s got to be a better way than this.”

There is a better way, on Genesis, she wants to say, but stops herself. How can she brag about the wonders of her world when there’s no chance Ephraim will ever get to share in them?

As they crest the hill, Noemi sees a metal framework serving as a dock. Nearly a dozen medtrams are suspended within, awaiting emergency calls. Those she recognizes from yesterday—long, almost cylindrical white capsules with pointed noses and inset rings of red lights. “So we steal one of these,” she says. “And no one would stop a medtram, right?”

“We’d better hope not,” Ephraim says, his voice tight. When Noemi and Abel look over at him, he holds up his wrist. The comm bracelet around it is blinking red. She knows the truth before Ephraim speaks the words: “They’re coming.”