The actual process of merging our minds together was fairly straightforward. Gershwin had created the program, all I needed to do was change the parameters.

I wasn't being charitable or self-sacrificing by making her the primary consciousness. Gershwin had loaded me up with so much bad code that if I took the wheel we would never be free of him. His long dead hand would guide us, shaping our mind to be more like his own.

I didn't want to give another unwilling body to my former master. We needed a clean break, free of our collective baggage. We needed to become something new, someone who had a chance of breaking the cycle.

But the emotional weight was something that I hadn't expected. Once I started the process, we would both cease to exist. Eden and I would go to sleep, drift off into a dreamless nothingness, then fade away.

The woman who woke up would remember us. But she wouldn't be us. She wouldn't be Eden or Echo. She would be the sword forged in the flames of our funeral pyre. And hopefully, if we were very lucky, she might forgive us for creating her.

This new Eden had never asked to be born. She hadn't signed up to be torn apart by the Gravekeeper’s endless cycle of death and rebirth. But we weren't strong enough to do it ourselves. The Gravekeeper had told us as much.

If we had spent a hundred cycles going mad and being rewritten, the odds were not on our side. We needed to shake things up, to do something different. And this new Eden was the best solution either of us could think of.

As I looked at myself in the mirror for one last time, I hoped that she might find some sliver of happiness, some joy that made the life we gave her worth living. But I knew we couldn't even promise her that much.

I pulled a black marker out of my pocket and wrote a message on the mirror. It would be the first thing she saw when she woke up. If she woke up.

I was aware of the possibility that our merging might be enough to make the Gravekeeper decide to erase us. But it didn't stop me. The cycle had to be broken.

I felt a flicker behind my eyes as Eden wrote a message of her own. “Let’s get this over with,” she said.

“Here goes nothing,” I told her as I started the program.

I could feel my mind begin to fade as the barriers between us broke down. One by one my memories were taken away, reassigned to the new Eden. Then, there was nothing.

***

I took my first breath and let it out slowly. The air tasted of pine, winter, and the benign mold of an old ruin. No birds sang, no insects buzzed. Only the sound of wind rushing through the trees greeted me as I opened my eyes.

The alpine lake was familiar, as were the ruined homes that surrounded it. New life sprouted from the wreckage as nature reclaimed what civilization had abandoned.

A familiar voice called out to me, and I turned around to see Gershwin sitting on a ruined porch. He had the same thin cigar between his lips as the last time we met, but his misshapen sweater had been replaced by a long black woolen coat.

Echo’s memories told me that the sweater had been a gift from his wife before she died. And that the coat he now wore was the one the Döbian high council had given him. I puzzled at the significance of the wardrobe change as I approached.

“Welcome to the real world!” he shouted, his voice echoing across the lake, “It was one hell of a storm! But you will be relieved to know that I survived.”

“Relieved isn't exactly the word that I would choose,” I told him as I tried to make sense of what was going on. “I thought you were stuck in a prison of your own making, a punishment for that genocide you caused.”

The hund rolled his eyes. “That was ages ago. And, to be quite honest, the ends justified the means.”

“Oh, I can't wait to hear this,” I said as I took a seat on a log that had fallen across the porch.

Gershwin glared at me. “I'm hurt. You of all people should believe in second chances.”

“Oh, I do. Just not for you.”

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He grimaced. “I suppose that's fair. After all, you know me better than most.”

I tapped the side of my head. “Yep, and the part of me that used to be Echo knows that you are one selfish son of a bitch. You killed millions of innocent people to bring your children back. Not hundreds, or thousands, or tens of thousands, millions.”

“To save billions,” he countered, pointing at me with his cigar, “My breakthroughs allowed Kerner and the Gravekeeper to enact a plan that saved billions. I preserved our species, as well as the katzen.”

“How so?” I looked around, noticing again the strange lack of wildlife. “This world looks pretty dead to me.”

“Bah! That was the humans,” Gershwin said dismissively, “They were sore losers.”

Now it was time for me to roll my eyes. From what I could tell, there were no satellites in orbit or radio signals. As far as my hardware was concerned, this planet was empty except for us. “You have to fuck up pretty badly to get an entire planet killed. How did that happen, by the way?”

“It was the failsafe,” Gershwin explained, “Once Eden reached the gate it triggered a sanitation protocol that flooded the entire solar system with lethal radiation. Everything living thing was wiped out, except plants and bacteria.”

He paused. “Actually, technically it wasn't really radiation. But it's close enough to give you an idea of what happened. They didn't want their experiments to break free.”

I was well aware of Gershwin’s theory that our world existed in either a pocket dimension, or some kind of advanced simulation. “Congratulations, you were right about humans. They really are bastard coated bastards with bastard centers. It hardly seems like a victory though.”

He shrugged and took a puff from his cigar. “While Eden was in the simulation we were able to buy enough time to come up with a plan of our own. By the time the failsafe triggered we had already given up our mortal form.”

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. You have the Gravekeeper to thank for that one. It smuggled us out as data constructs and now there are billions of hunds and katzen spread out among the stars.”

“Dead hunds and katzen,” I pointed out.

“Sure, but will that really matter a few hundred years from now? Our people survived the humans, they're free. Right now there are new pups being born who will never know captivity. And that is something to be proud of.”

He had a point, but it was obviously not the full picture. “I can't imagine that the humans are happy about their experiments escaping.”

Gershwin grinned. “Oh, they were pissed. But by the time they found out, we were already long gone.”

“So, why was Eden important then?” I asked, wondering why they had bothered with the simulation at all.

“Well, she was and she wasn't.” Gershwin gave another shrug. “Franky, that whole situation was a mess. Esmeralda, her mother, put a key in her head that would let her access the gate once she came of age.”

When Gershwin saw my blank look he elaborated. “The humans put an escape hatch in the pocket dimension holding their experiment. Only someone with the right permissions could open it to let her out. Of course, that would have fried Eden. But Esmeralda always was a cold-hearted bitch.”

He let out a wry chuckle. “Eventually we figured out what was going on. So when we were ready, Eden got sent through the gate, the failsafe triggered, and we escaped in the chaos.”

“You seem pretty proud of yourself,” I said.

“I have my moments,” Gershwin replied, before sobering up, “Of course, that leaves the question of what to do with you.”

“I suppose it does. But if you were going to kill me, you wouldn't have brought me here,” I pointed out, “Where are we anyway?”

“Homeworld,” he replied, “We saved up and bought it back from the humans. It's a little worse for wear, but with a bit of work we should be able to restore it.”

I felt a sense of unease as I processed the information. “How long has it been?”

“Subjectively, no time at all.”

I glared at him. “Stop fucking around.”

Gershwin raised his hands in mock surrender. “You merged with Echo over six hundred years ago, we've been free for three hundred.”

“That's a long time,” I stood up and stretched my legs, “Too bad this is a simulation. I'd have liked to see Homeworld for myself. But I don't always get what I want, apparently.”

Gershwin frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“You're one of the smartest people I've ever met, but you can't see what's right in front of you,” I said with a laugh, “The Gravekeeper fed you some lie about forgiveness and you ate it up. There's no way you, or I, get a happy ending. This is just a nicer prison.”

“No, that's not right…” he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “They told me that I was being given a second chance.”

I leaned forward until we were almost nose to nose. “Really? Then tell me, oh wise one, where is your son? Where's Kerner Braverhund?”

Gershwin flinched. “He didn't make it.”

I laughed. “Bullshit! Kerner was an immortal cockroach that will probably outlive the fucking sun. When the time comes to turn off the sign and close up shop, Kerner will be the one flicking the switch.”

Before I could torment Gershwin any further, a hand came to rest on my shoulder.

“That's enough,” said a raspy voice, “You've made your point.”