Light shone through the tunnel and the omnibus slowed its mad westward hurtle. Like a timid grub, the vehicle stuck its nose out of a hole in the side of the city. Sunlight shone upon it as it picked its way down a net that attached, not to any another building, but to the ground, itself. There were a few more buildings, stunted and freestanding, mysterious machines of infrastructure and public utility. Then trees.

The nature preserve on the western edge of the Zogreion had begun as a demilitarized zone, and traces of its history remained in the form of sloped ramparts and turret-guns. Koen didn't notice them, nor did he notice when a city guard ate his translator bug and issued him a new one. Mr. Grumbles was worried and it took all of Koen's self-control not to worry, as well.

He felt as if he were doing something wrong. Straying. Soon a hand would fall onto Koen's shoulder, and this adventure would end.

But no. Nobody noticed the three mammals.

The Quotidians' timeline had diverged from that of Koen's before the colonization of the land by plants. Whereas Koen's Earth hosted giant terrestrial stoneworts,1 these fresh-water algae had lost out here to stem-scyphozoans.

Imagine a jellyfish upended and stuffed bell-first into a glass ice-cream-cone. Now imagine it isn't a cone, but a many-branched tree. Each living twig of each branch is home to a thin polyp, leaf-shaped in order to shed rainwater, and green with symbiotic algae.

Their bark was prickly and crystalline, like frost, netted with ivy-like slime-mold in vivid oranges, whites, and blues. The undergrowth rustled with the passage of small animals and with the muscular contractions of plant-jellyfish still primitive enough to move.

Mr. Grumbles whined and pressed closer to Koen.

Light played across the trunks and forest floor. Shadows rippled as if cast by the surface of water. The air smelled like almonds and the ground after rain. Tiny creatures buzzed or flitted or sprang between trees, not rotifers, but not insects either. Koen's and Grumble's eyes followed them, but only Koen wished he could identify their clade.2

Koen walked until he was out of sight of the nearest sophonts3 and let go of Mr. Grumbles's shoulder. The erectus blinked at the human, and let go of the dog, who cocked her eyebrows at the erectus.

What are we supposed to do? they seemed to ask. Aren't you supposed to be taking care of us?

Again, Koen pushed away his unease. There was nobody here to take charge of him, and nothing to do but enjoy the scenery until the bus brought Laura.

Groaning, he slipped off his backpack and rummaged in it for more food. The animals drew closer to him.

Laura found them later with glassy eyes and greasy mouths. She shrugged out of her own backpack, which held some of Mark's clothes. A human and a Homo erectus look much the same, especially if they're both wrapped in fabric.

"Alright," she said. "Time to get dressed."

Mr. Grumbles submitted meekly enough to the pants, but but for some reason took fright at the T-shirt. He refused to even look at Mark's shoes.

Laura glanced in the direction of the campers. "We can use just the button-up shirt. Look, Mr. Grumbles. Buttons."

Mr. Grumbles sniffed one, put it in his mouth, and spat it out. He allowed the shirt to be buttoned around him, while Koen looked at the steed's own shoes and fretted. The foot-coverings invented by the Pick were more like sandals—wooden soles with straps.

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"These things look distinctive," Koen said. "They'll show up on video."

"If anyone looks that closely, they'll notice the other problems," said Laura.

"Will they look that closely?"

"I don't know!" She'd just spent an exhausting and confusing hour watching General Graa heckle Mark. Laura wanted to be the one worrying and Koen to be reassuring her. "Those sandals are better than nothing."

"We should force him into Mark's shoes."

Mr. Grumbles responded to Koen's tone with a short, distressed huff.

Laura felt like giving Koen a good shake. "If he throws a temper tantrum on the bus, how will that look in videos?"

"Videos? Severo said not to worry about them." Koen massaged his temples. "Is this safe? This doesn't feel safe."

But Laura was done putting up with Koen's whining. "We're freeing him," she said. "Maybe it feels right."

Koen and Mr. Grumbles both flinched at her tone of voice. The dog barked.

"Quiet!" snapped Laura. She was trying to get Mr. Grumbles into a raincoat, and all this flinching and cringing wasn't making the job easier. And now the dog was making a racket. What if someone noticed? How would she explain? How could Laura excuse herself? What possible justification did any of her actions have? "Shut up!"

"It's okay," said Koen. Then, "Het is goed, schat. Oh, het is oke."

He wasn't talking to her. Koen knelt, offering his hands to Baroness Smoke Detector. The dog ducked her head and sidled closer.

"Oh," said Laura, "good. You needed to silence her."

"I love dogs." Koen's hands were buried to the knuckles in beer-colored fur. "It's funny, it's been so long since I've had one."

Laura watched the crystal-barked trees, fear building again.

"I was just never in a place where I thought I could take care of an animal. My neighbors back in Rotterdam had a little Pomeranian and it was so bored and lonely. They were doctors, and during the Pandemic they were never at home. I remember the day I left, after my dad's heart attack."

Laura looked back around."A heart attack?" He'd never told her. "I thought your father died of Covid."

Koen's pang of fear converted itself into anger so quickly he wasn't aware of it.

"No, he didn't!"

Baroness Smoke Detector's head came up, ears swiveling to listen for danger. Mr. Grumbles cowered.

Laura stepped back, eyes wide, waiting for his reaction to make sense. Why would someone be angry in this situation?

"Don't worry," she said. "It's just a virus. I've had it, and so have you. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Koen had no idea why they were suddenly talking about this. His chest knotted with the urge to run away. Or was that an incipient twinge in his ventricle?

"No," he said. "I don't care about that. I don't want to talk about it."

"Alright." Laura was the angry one now. She felt it was her right. "So, don't talk. Go."

Koen looked at her like a toddler left for the first time at daycare. And Laura felt like the wicked stepmother in a fairy tale.

"Go take the dog into the forest."

She turned away from the man and the dog and held her hand out to Mr. Grumbles.

"Come here," Laura ordered, and the erectus obeyed.

1 Also known as brittleworts and skunkweed, stoneworts belong, with land plants, to the clade Streptophyta.

2 Stem-chelicerates

3 A multi-hive group of Quotidian campers