It was late at night when Joseph's mom got home.

She had been drinking. He could smell it on her. A night full of friends and parties, her husband still pulling a long shift at work, doing some surgery or other. She was like this most nights, nowadays, stumbling through the front door, giggling to herself a bit as she pulled herself to her feet. Lazy eyes swung into the dark living room, where Joseph was sitting on the couch. The only light was from the TV, a late night anime blaring.

“Joseph,” she drawled, “Hi, Joseph.”

He glanced her way. Looked back.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Joseph, I'm very...” she stood up tall, thought of words to say. It took her a few moments to compose herself, “Very glad you’re home.”

“I know, Mom,” Joseph said.

“Did you do your homework?” her voice was melody-like.

“I did,” Joseph lied.

In truth, as soon as he got home, he had done his usual routine. Made dinner for himself, scrounging for whatever was still left in the fridge. His mother was always out, going to parties or hanging out with friends. Her husband was busy with work. They hadn't gone grocery shopping in a little while, so all that was left was a cup of noodles, some leftover rice. Enough to get by, at least.

After that, he sat down, and watched TV. Better to do this, then anything else.

Anything else reminded him that he was alone in the house.

“Are you hungry?” his mom asked.

“No,” he said.

“Okay, good,” his mom said, “What are you watching?”

“TV.”

“Oh! TV. That's nice.”

She drew forward, sitting down on the couch, her eyes glazed over as she dully watched Naruto with him. Her face scrunched a bit at the sight of Rock Lee facing off against Gaara.

“So violent, Joseph,” she said, lazy disapproval in her voice, “Your brothers never watched stuff like this.”

Joseph glanced over at her. But he knew that's all she would say. A simple, quiet admonishment. A comparison between him and his brothers. But she was too drunk to really say much else. He was glad for that.

She began to nod off, began to fall asleep. Sson, She was snoring softly. It irked Joseph. It kept distracting him as he tried to watch his show.

He tried not to think about anything except for what was in front of him. Tried not to think about the birthday party he had been to last week, at his friend Barry's house. How his mom was all smiles and cheer, bringing out a giant birthday cake. His mom threw him birthdays, he knew. But there was a tired edge to them. Like she was going through the motions. She forgot to send out invitations last year. There hadn’t been a cake the year before.

Not like Barry's mom, whose laughter was real and whose love could be felt like a warm hug.

The love in Barry's mom's voice. It hurt him, and he hardly knew why.

So he continued to watch TV. Wished he were so desperately there.

And despite the fact that there were two people on the couch, Joseph was alone.

…

…

It had been the first time she had spoken to him, truly spoken to him, in a week.

He was ten years old.

***

They found a ship a few hours later, scheduled to cast off later in the evening. Rosemary did most of the talking, jabbering quickly with the ship's pilot, a strange, humanoid pterosaur with a long beak filled with brush-like teeth. Phineas said that one was a Dauschian, from the planet Imbelon III. The Dauschian couldn't speak Basic, but an orb in its hand lit up whenever it spoke, translating their words so Rosemary could understand. Joseph watched the exchange happen, putting on an air of annoyance. But in truth, he could not but watch as the alien scanned one of their credsticks, nodded, then swayed back to their ship.

Nothing like that, back home.

He tried to push that thought down. Tried to ignore his excitement at the thought of talking to the Dauschian, of what sights awaited him on the journey.

He was going to go home. Back to Earth. Back to what he had before.

And that would be that.

“Alright,” Rosemary said, “Their ship's docked in the skyharbor. We'll be leaving after dinner. The alien said not to be late, she's leaving as soon as the clock hits six.”

“Right,” Joseph said, “And where are we going?”

“Apparently,” Rosemary said, “She's heading towards Gallita Secunda to deliver some local goods from here.”

“We're not stowing away or anything, right?”

“She's got a couple of bedrolls, but we'll have to sleep in the storage room onboard,” Rosemary said, shrugging, “She doesn't have guest rooms.”

“Alright,” Joseph said, “I guess that's fine.”

***

They ate dinner at the bar, the cheapest they could get, which meant food from the farms, a sort of blue porridge mashed up from the corn-like vegetables that the colonists grew. After that, they went off, heading towards the Dauschian's ship. It was an old vessel, vaguely triangular, pockmarked with plasma scarring and with a large dent near its base. Her name was written in a language Joseph didn't understand. He looked at Phineas.

“Its name is Sieve-Like and Traveling,” the Deep One said, “Weird name. I like it.”

The Dauschian greeted them as they went to the ship's entrance. Her speech came out vaguely whistling and quiet, from what sounded like from the base of her throat. The orb in her hand did the translating.

“Greetings, outlanders,” she said.

“Hi again,” Rosemary said, “Joseph, Phineas, this is Donaidora. Donaidora, this is Joseph and Phineas.”

“'Sup,” Joseph said.

“Hello,” Phineas rasped.

Donaidora's head dipped down in a nod, a graceful, slow motion, as though her beak were weighing her down.

“I presume you have your guild IDs?” she asked.

They nodded.

“Good,” Donaidora said, “I wouldn't want to get caught by the soldiers stationed above. They are... overzealous, at times.”

“Overzealous how?” Joseph asked.

“They don't like rogue elements coming into the Silver Eye,” Donaidora said, “Metahumans, unregistered travelers, the like.”

Joseph tried not to react to that.

“None of that here,” Rosemary lied, “We're just heading to the Silver Eye on a job, that's all.”

“Of course,” Donaidora said, “Let us get inside. Time is wasting.”

They went into the Sieve-Like and Traveling. It smelled vaguely of the sea, the cockpit arranged in a way so that the consoles were on Donaidora's either side. There was a table set in the corner, along with one lonely chair.

“Everything's already loaded up downstairs,” Donaidora said, “Make yourselves at home. Journey should only be a few days.”

She sat down in the cockpit, flipping a few switches. The Sieve-Like and Traveling shuddered to life. They were casting off a moment later, climbing higher and higher into the sky. Donaidora clicked a few more buttons, her hand closing over a throttle to ease the ship upwards. Joseph sat down at the table and watched the Dauschian work, Phineas plopping down by his feet and Rosemary leaning against a wall.

Through the viewscreen, Joseph watched as two ships flanked the Sieve-Like's sides. Federation vessels, raptor-like and deadly looking. Donaidora exchanged a few communications with them, before turning.

“Your IDs, outlanders,” she said.

Rosemary walked forward, presenting them to Donaidora, who snatched them from the elf's hand and scanned them into a computer. A few moments passed.

The Federation ships broke off.

“We're good to go,” the Dauschian said, “Silver Eye, ho.”

And then they were rushing through the Traveling Point. The world outside smeared mosaic. The ship rumbled. For a moment, Joseph was afraid that the Dragon would come back to him. But he wasn't asleep this go-around. There was nothing but potential outside, and then even that was gone as they broke through to the Silver Eye, to a planet that reminded him of Mars, red canyons and a pitch-black, star-covered sky. There was a shipyard outside, a bubble encasing it in an atmosphere, but Donaidora ignored that as they went higher and higher into the night, outside of the planet's gravity well. She pulled a small lever, and the ship broke into the Warp.

Joseph watched the world become a miasma of grays and whites, then turned away.

***

They kept to themselves for the most part. True to her word, Donaidora had set up a few bed spreads downstairs, downy and comfortable enough. Joseph sat down here, the ship's engine below rolling like thunder. The cargo hold was filled near to the brim with barrels of wine, local make, a mixture the Kapi had invented and that Donaidora bought at a bargain price.

“She takes odd jobs, from what she told me,” Rosemary said as she lay down on a mat, wrapping herself in her cloak like a cocoon, “Mostly sticks to Traveling Points in the Post-Colonial, gets some local stuff, trades it.”

“A merchant, neat,” Joseph said.

“It's a steady gig,” Rosemary said, “Not as exciting as guildwork, but you see some sights.”

“Sure,” Joseph drawled, “‘Exciting.’”

Rosemary fixed him with an odd look, then sighed. She rolled around to look at the barrels. Joseph felt a bit guilty at his flippant tone.

“...Yo,” he said.

She was quiet.

“I've got a question.”

“Answer away, Joseph,” she said.

“How do you do it?” Joseph asked.

“Do what?”

“All of this,” Joseph said, “Whenever I see you, you're in a good mood. It's like you're nothing but smiles and cheer. Or at least, you try to be.”

“I try to be,” Rosemary said.

“Mind if I'm real?” Joseph asked.

“Sure, Joe.”

“I don't know if you're faking it because it makes things easier, or if because you think that forcing yourself to be happy makes you happy.”

Rosemary was quiet for a moment. She was breathing deep, he realized. Collecting her thoughts. He shouldn't have called her out like this.

“It's a bit of both, I think,” she whispered, “Am I... Am I that obvious?”

“No,” Joseph said, “At least, you're not...”

He looked away. To the barrels. Now it was his turn to think of what to say.

“Usually I think people who force a cheery attitude are annoying,” he said, “But it's different with you. I don't know.”

“Do you... Do you remember when we first met?” Rosemary said, “Onboard the airship. There was that point where Ichabod saw the Steamer and his men in a room, and we had you wait outside while we took them out.”

“Yeah, I do,” Joseph said. He remembered the gunshots. The sneering look on Ichabod's face, the way Broon took a deep breath before rushing in.

“I had you look up so you wouldn't see the blood,” Rosemary said, “There was... a lot of it.”

“I mean, Broon uses a sword,” Joseph said, “Of course it's going to get gross.”

“You say that now,” Rosemary said, “But I had you look up. I wanted to look up, too. To ignore what was at my feet. The bodies. The death. To ignore it, for something better.”

“A ceiling?”

“Even a ceiling's better than what was there,” Rosemary said, “I don't like seeing dead people, Joseph, and I know you don't, either.”

Joseph was quiet at that.

“So that's... I fake that I'm alright with it,” Rosemary said, “I fake a lot of things, you know? Sometimes I feel like I'm just nothing but a fake.”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“You're... You're not,” Joseph said.

She rolled over to look at him.

“I say that you're positive,” he said, “That you force it. But you also don't. It's a mix, I guess..”

She smiled at that, a sad one.

“Then I'm pretty good at it, aren't I?”

“Yeah,” Joseph said, “But... it's good that you're good at it. It makes things easier.”

The sad smile became a bit lighter, more real. She turned back around, and was quiet.

***

True to their agreement, they kept a low profile, only talking to Donaidora every so often, mostly during meal times and to exchange any information. The Dauchian seemed to prefer this, as she kept to herself as well as they careened across the expanse of the Post-Colonial. Joseph took a chance to see a map of the Silver Eye galaxy to see where exactly they were. It was a bird's eye view, the Silver Eye a disc, and the Post-Colonial was located to the galactic west of the Iris, which banded around the galactic core.

According to Donaidora, they were going across the entire expanse of the Post-Colonial to get to Gallita Secunda.

“Better for business,” she said, “Far away from the Traveling Point, and all.”

The days were a quiet blur.

They dropped out of warp on the third day, Gallita Secunda looming below. It was a gas giant, though unlike Everlasting Truth, it was a rich blue color, as though someone had taken a piece of the sky and sculpted it into a ball. The Sieve-Like began rumbling into the planet's atmosphere, and dodging past a few other ships that were heading towards the same spaceport, a needle-like silver tower that extended far into the cloud layers below.

“Goes all the way down, you know,” Donaidora said, “Collects rare gasses below and sends them up to the top, which are then extracted for use elsewhere.”

“That's all it does?”

“Well, it is also a spaceport,” Donaidora said, “Your Traveling Point, outlander, is located near the needle's middle.”

“Is it breathable?” Joseph asked.

“Depending on the species,” Donaidora said, and she glanced over, “You are...?”

“Human,” he said.

“It theoretically is,” she said, “But it matters little. You will freeze if you are exposed to the air. All business is conducted on the station.”

“Oh,” Joseph said.

They arrived in the spaceport, landing amidst a sea of strange starcraft, ships of a dozen makes and from across the breadth of the Silver Eye's history. There was nothing new among the stars, and the ships here reflected that – all of them looked disheveled, run down, scarred with plasma burns and hardly looking like they could fly at all. The Sieve-Like settled down, an attendant striding past the line of ships towards them.

“Wait inside,” Donaidora said, “I'll talk to them.”

She stepped out to speak with him. Joseph stretched, Rosemary yawned. Phineas closed up the book he had been reading. All of them felt relieved to be here. It took all of Rosemary's willpower not to just bolt out of the ship.

A few moments later, the Dauschian came back.

“Our agreement is finished,” she said.

“It was a pleasure,” Rosemary said, “Thanks again.”

“Safe travelings, outlanders.”

And they stepped off of the Sieve-Like, leaving the hangar and its forest of ships. They went down a hall, taking a right, moving past a rather large, slug-like alien as it slimed its way down the hall. Joseph's nose rankled as he stepped in its leftover trail by accident.

Past the halls that led into the hangar was the spaceport proper, a large, circular room, big enough to fit a warbird inside. A veritable city of stalls had been set up, hawkers calling out to the world about their wares, from around the galaxy and beyond. Food stalls dominated the mark, the smell of cooking food making Joseph's stomach grumble.

“Let's get lunch,” he said.

“Sounds like a plan,” Rosemary said, “We can talk shop while we eat.”

The crowd thickened as they went down, and they found themselves jostling through the crowd, pushing past figures enraptured in cloaks and sashes, centaur-like aliens with six legs and heads resembling anvils, and a contingent of what appeared to be some sort of warrior cult, each of the members wearing masks carved from wood and covered head to toe in armor, blades strapped to their sides.

Rosemary bought the food, some sort of cooked, prawn-like creature on a stick. It tasted smokey and the insides were far too chewy for Joseph's tastes, like bubblegum. But it was food, so he ate without complaint.

They tucked themselves away at a small booth, watching the spaceport go by around them.

“Right,” Rosemary said, “So Gallita Secunda's Traveling Point.”

“Any idea where it leads?” Joseph asked.

“Phineas,” Rosemary said, “You have a map?”

The Deep One nodded, pulling out his tome and slamming it on the table. He rifled through a few pages, before finding his bookmark. He whispered a few words in a tongue that made Joseph's mind roil, before looking at his guildmates.

“Do not look at it,” he said, “The geometries are hard to comprehend with stone minds like yours.”

“Stone minds?” Joseph said, but he followed Phineas's instruction, looking away and to the spaceport.

“We are in a handy spot,” Phineas said, “The Traveling Point for the last five years has led to Moirod, but it just changed a few months ago to Shazuad.”

“Shazuad?” Rosemary asked.

“Indeed,” Phineas said, “The former World of Flow. Not much of it left, but there's a small route that takes us to St. Malendia’s.”

“St. Malendia’s,” Rosemary said, and she racked her brains for a few moments before grinning, “That's perfect, actually.”

“St. Malendia's,” Phineas said, “You know of this plane?”

“I traveled around there for a little while,” Rosemary said, “It's a big cathedral. Like, huge. World-sized. If we follow the right paths, we can get pretty much anywhere.”

“Where does it lead?” Phineas asked.

Rosemary smirked.

“Right to Melmaen,” she said, “We'd be right back on schedule.”

“That is agreeable,” Phineas said, “What do you think, Joseph-”

The Deep One and the elf turned to him, only to realize that Joseph was hardly paying attention. Instead, he was looking at an ad that was playing high above, blaring down upon the entire spaceport. It depicted a silhouetted figure, fire burning in their eyes as they stepped out of a Traveling Point.

In Basic, the ad read: IF YOU SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING. PREVENT METAHUMAN TERRORISM, REPORT SUSPICIOUS INDIVIDUALS TO THE NEAREST FEDERATION OFFICIAL. PROTECT YOUR FAMILY. PROTECT OUR WORLDS.

He was all but glaring at it.

“Those are in most Traveling Points now, from what I hear,” Phineas said, “Meleko was telling me about them. A lot of heat coming from the government, I think.”

“We should head out,” Joseph said, “Let's just get out of here.”

***

Heading down out of the spaceport markets revealed a completely new world. Past the glamor of above revealed an underworld below. The poor, the disenfranchised, the unfortunate, they were the primary inhabitants that looked up as the three of them walked down dimly-lit halls. Many of them looked worse for wear, hands reaching up to them as they passed by.

Rosemary gave them a couple of coins as they went, but Joseph gritted his teeth and kept his eyes set and forward. At least here, too, had something like Earth. He was used to the looks the beggars gave him as they walked further down the needle. It was the same looks the homeless gave him back in San Francisco.

They thinned out as they got to the Traveling Point, which was located in a large, empty room in the needle's center. There had been market stalls here, though they had been abandoned with the Traveling Point's change in forecast.

Shazuad was an unpopular plane.

And this was reflected in the way that the soldiers guarding the Traveling Point looked at the trio as they approached.

“State your purpose, outlanders,” one of the soldiers said. His helmet was oblong, obviously to hide a long snout of some sort.

“Guild business,” Rosemary said, “We're from the Amber Foundation.”

The guard sneered at that.

“Right,” he said, “Guild IDs.”

She handed them over. The guard looked it over, giving Rosemary a side glance.

“What's in Sazuad?” he asked.

“Nothing major,” Rosemary said.

“What's the hurry in getting there?” the soldier asked, “You seem to have come down pretty quick.”

She shrugged.

“Who said we were in a hurry?”

“Just let 'em go, Invochin,” the other soldier said, “Look, are their IDs legit?”

“They are,” Invochin said, an air of disappointment in his voice, “Right. Just need the job details from you, for record's sake.”

Rosemary quirked an eyebrow.

“That's not necessary,” she said, “We're just planeshifting, is all.”

“It's necessary when you're traveling to Sazuad,” the soldier said, “Metahumans, they've been coming through here lately, causing a stir. Old Manticore plane, you know?”

“It's just simple business,” Joseph lied, “We're going to meet a client on the other side.”

“So you don't even know the contract?” the soldier asked.

“Client's insistence,” Rosemary said, picking up on Joseph's tale, “They want to be anonymous.”

“And I assume,” Invochin said, “Their identity will be made on the report?”

“Hey,” Joseph said, “If that's what gets us through the damn Traveling Point, sure.”

“I don't like your tone, young man,” the soldier said.

“Yeah, well-”

“He's had a rough few days,” Rosemary said, “Ignore him. He's an idiot.”

“...Right,” the soldier said, “Keep a leash on your dog, miss. He's got the stink of a Mutt on him.”

“...Sorry?” Joseph said, “Run that by me again?”

But Rosemary was elbowing him in the ribs.

“Can we just go through?” she asked.

“Come on, Invochin. They're just outlanders.”

“I don't know,” Invochin said, and though both of the soldiers were helmeted, Joseph could tell that Invochin was looking right at him, “I can smell metahumanity on them.”

“Of course you can,” the other said, “They're outlanders. Mutts keep to the multiverse. They reek of it.”

“Been sleeping with many of them?” Invochin asked Joseph, “You look like the kind of guy who would.”

He was starting to see red. The air was starting to smell of ozone.

“No,” Joseph said, “I haven't.”

“Huh. Must be the multiverse, then,” Invochin said, “Alright, you can go through. Enjoy, I guess.”

He moved out of the way, and the three of them briskly walked past and into the Traveling Point.

Joseph stepped out, and whirled.

“Fucking bullshit!” he roared, “Do I smell like a Mutt? What the fuck was that?”

Rosemary, too, was glaring back at the Traveling Point. The guards on the other side were fixing them with odd looks. One of them began to approach.

“I will deal with them,” Phineas said to Rosemary, “Go help Joseph.”

“Right,” Rosemary said.

She and Joseph walked off, while Phineas waddled over to the soldiers.

Joseph was stomping off of the road, Rosemary followed a bit behind. She placed a hand on his shoulder as he took a deep breath to steady himself.

They stayed in silence for a long time as Joseph regained his composure. He looked over at Rosemary, then just gave a quiet nod.

“What did that Feddie call you?” she asked.

“Mutt,” Joseph said, “...Becenti told me about it. It’s…”

He shrugged.

“It’s a word they use.”

“Gods,” Rosemary said, “I'm sorry.”

“It's... alright, I guess,” Joseph said, “I'm... used to it, I guess. Even on Earth. Just didn't realize I would react like that. But the way the guy sneered. I couldn't even see his face, and I just knew...”

He shook his head.

“Whatever. We're out of it now. Fuck the Silver Eye.”

He took a look around, just now taking stock of his surroundings.

Shazuad had been glassed. Joseph had heard of such a thing before, of the Federation's rage against the multiverse. They did it rarely to their own worlds, but against other planes, it was a first response.

The entire world was one of glass. Dirty glass, shimmering in the hot sun. Cities had been wasted away. Forests had been cleared by neon flame. Mountains had been melted, liquified by the sheer force of the Federation's might, mounds of lava that had spilled out, then cooled into vague piles of dark stone. Stone and glass, that was all that was left of Shazuad. Shapeless. Formless.

Dead.

Phineas waddled over to them, looking around.

“We are good to keep going,” he said, “The soldiers, their minds are weak. They will not say what that Invochin said.”

He looked over to where Joseph was looking, at a particularly large mound of ashen glass.

“What are you looking at?” he asked.

“What happened here?” Joseph asked.

“A glassing,” Phineas said, “Let us go. The path is not a long one.”

And he began moving off. Rosemary tugged Joseph's sleeve.

“You gonna be okay?” she asked.

He looked at the mound for a while longer, wondering at who had lived here. What they had done to earn the Federation's wrath. But he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, “Let's go.”

***

There was a beaten path that had been made across the wasteland expanse, carved out by footprints and wagon wheels over the years since the plane's glassing. They met only a few travelers on the road, outlanders all. A pair of guildfolk from Los Elementales, a merchant prince from Krenstone, a bounty hunter from the Silver Eye, wrapped up in combat armor and wearing a futuristic, bullet-shaped helmet, a plasma rifle slung over their shoulder.

There was no one native here. The only people they saw were outlanders.

“There's no birds in the sky,” Joseph noted.

“No insects on the ground, either,” Rosemary murmured, “There's just... this.”

They kept going in an awkward, near-reverent silence. As though they were walking through a graveyard. Occasionally the path would slant upwards, and they would climb up one of the lava-cooled hilltops. It would give them a view of the land around them at the hill's zenith, showcasing more ash-glass miasma.

At these times, Joseph would sometimes, when he knew they were alone, and no one else was around the road, bring out his soul. Just the eagle's eyes, to survey the landscape. He told his guildmates that it was to watch out for danger, but it was more for his benefit, his own sickening curiosity, to look upon the death here and pick at it like an errant scab.

Buildings occasionally poked out of the muck. Steel towers that just barely grazed past the glass. He looked at them for a long time, before Rosemary or Phineas would pull him away, and down the road.

The sun was blood red. It began to dip below the horizon, burnishing the sky orange. Shadows lengthened.

“We should bed down, I think,” Phineas said, “Eat some food.”

“Yeah,” Rosemary said, “We've done enough traveling, I think.”

“How far away are we from the next Traveling Point?” Joseph asked.

“Another day's walk,” Phineas replied.

Joseph grimaced, but nodded.

“It's this place, isn't it?” Rosemary said, “It's getting to me, too.”

But they were tired after the long day of travel, so they went off the road and set up camp, laying out bed mats beneath the stars. Phineas cast a spell that lit a purple flame as a campfire. They ate dried meats and nuts for dinner, keeping warm as the sun disappeared completely below the horizon. The moon, high above, was a fragmented thing, blown apart from some catastrophe or other in the past, and its shards glittered in the night above in place of stars.

“There a lot of planes like this?” Joseph asked.

“Not many that are still used to travel,” Rosemary said, “But yeah, there are a lot of 'em.”

“You read the stories, yes, Joseph?” Phineas said, “The histories. You know the Federation does this often. Why are you confused?”

“Just...” Joseph shrugged, “Seeing is believing, you know?”

“Hmm,” Phineas said, “You are still in disbelief of this place.”

He nodded.

“Hearing about what the Federation's done, and seeing it in person, it's different,” he said.

“It is,” Phineas said, “I have only been to a few other planes like this. Glassed, by the Federation. One was a memory given to me by my mother. A metahuman kingdom. The other two were from contamination.”

“Contamination?” Joseph asked.

“The sharing of advanced technologies with less developed planes,” Phineas said, “The crime of a single black market deal is inflicted on the entire world.”

“And the guy who traded it probably just runs back to the Silver Eye,” Joseph said, darkly.

“Indeed,” Phineas said, “The goal is to enforce through fear. Through fear, control. The thought process is, if the entire plane bears the judgment, then the entire plane will look out for contamination on their own.”

“That's an ugly word you keep using,” Joseph said, “'Contamination.'”

“It is a word that the Federation uses,” Phineas said.

“That doesn't mean it's correct,” Joseph said, “The tech that's smuggled in, does that include medicines? Machines to cure diseases?”

“Yes,” Phineas said, “Those are illegal.”

“Even if it could save lives,” Joseph said.

“Smuggling weapons is illegal, too,” Phineas said, “It is a blanket. That which can save, that which can destroy, both are held in the hands of the Federation.”

Joseph was quiet at that, biting off a piece of dried meat. Rosemary had her hands hovering over the purple flame. If he was being honest, the fire disturbed Joseph. It whispered in the night, and although it was warm, it cast the world in a sick violet. There were no sounds around them. No animals. No wind, even. Just the sounds of fire and of their collective talking.

But then...

“Movement,” Rosemary said, perking up. She picked up her sceptre, and it began to glow, “Footsteps.”

Joseph and Phineas looked at each other. The Deep One pulled free his tome, fluttering it open.

“Boots,” Rosemary said, “Heavy ones.”

Joseph could make out a figure silhouetted in the darkness, a looming, imposing figure. They walked slowly, simply, with all the grace of a continent. His heart hammered as he realized...

He recognized this newcomer.

“Fuck,” he said, “It's Mordenaro.”