“Well, this is … familiar,” Fatima said, looking out of the plane’s cabin at the endless dry plains in every direction. Nadia knew what she meant. It really did look a lot like Turkey. “Where is this?”

“The state’s name is Wyoming,” Keisha told them. “The Federal government owns more than half the land here. A lot of it in the form of national parks, but this chunk is all Numenate. They call it ‘Ghost Country.’”

“That sounds ominous,” Nadia said.

“Try to be optimistic about this,” Keisha said, shooing them and their luggage toward a car parked a few hundred feet from the airstrip. “You just got here.”

“Yeah, and there’s nobody here to meet us,” Fatima griped. “This is some horror-movie shit.” But she got into the car with the rest of them.

The car was unlocked and empty, its keys sitting on the dash in plain sight. Once they were settled in and Keisha had found her way with the GPS, Nadia asked the obvious question. “Do we want to know why it’s called ‘Ghost Country’?”

“It’s not supposed to be scary. Everybody in the service knows about it; way back when, the Feds needed a place where the general public wouldn’t get bothered by a halo going off, or see experimental VRIL forms flapping around blowing up. So they bought huge chunks of the two least densely populated states for general paraphysical use. They still use it some for experiments, but mostly this is where the weirdos live, so they don’t bother anyone else.”

“Weirdos,” Fatima echoed. “Like us.”

“Yes and no,” Keisha said. “A lot of attempts to make familiars don’t work out. You wind up with people who can’t really call up a useful emissant, but they can call up something—just this weak, half-formed, useless ghost that doesn’t make a halo and can’t do anything. They can’t always control when it comes out, or manage what happens when it does. Others can’t even do that, but wind up broken psychologically. Some of them can’t control what they say, and most of them know classified secrets.”

“And all those people live out here?” Nadia said. She didn’t know that she wanted to have that kind of neighbor.

“There are a lot of little communities. We spend a fair amount of money on support services, trying to help these people, and give them something like a normal life. I could have wound up as one of them myself. Just luck that I didn’t.”

“So that’s why we’re here,” concluded Fatima. “We’re another embarrassing secret for Uncle Sam.”

“The whole problem is that you’re not a secret,” Keisha corrected her. “This is a place where you don’t have to go to any special effort to hide. There won’t be many other kids here, and a lot of the neighbors will be disabled or eccentric. You might wake up on odd nights when a giant glowing amoeba floats through the front yard. Or through the house. But you can keep your real names, and tell most of your stories.”

“While living in a giant open-air nuthouse, you mean.”

“Just give it a chance,” Keisha chided. “You haven’t even seen the house.”

They saw the house five minutes later, after two turns onto unmarked dirt roads. It was a good-sized log cabin, two stories tall with two chimneys and a covered porch wrapping around three sides. There were six other houses like it, all in a circle around a fenced area full of—

“Horses?” Fatima blurted. “We own fuckin’ horses now?”

“I think they’re attached to the community,” Keisha said. Nadia could hear the smile in her voice. “They use them for therapy. But you’ll be able to ride them too, after some training.”

“Who needs training, fool? We had horses in Lashkargah.”

“That was half a decade ago,” Nadia reminded her. “Your legs wouldn’t have fit around a horse. You must have ridden a pony, if that.”

“Still more than you ever rode.”

“Horses,” Ruslan agreed happily.

“You were too little to ride too,” Fatima told him. “Maybe you had a donkey.”

“A donkey? Fatima, is this supposed to be a competition? Are the rest of us not allowed to have had childhoods as nice as yours?”

“That’s not even in question here. I was damn near a princess. You had some crappy apartment and he cooked rice in a tent.”

“The therapists here will also be able to help Ruslan with his recovery,” Keisha noted, cutting short the argument.

“Well, they’re good for something, then,” Fatima declared as she kicked her door open. “C’mon, Rus, let’s … who’s that?” There was an old man in a wheelchair on the porch, half-hidden in the shadows. Easy to overlook until he started waving, like he was doing now. “Hot damn, it’s the Hamster! What’s up, homes?”

Ruslan obediently followed as Fatima ran up the steps and gave the Colonel a delighted hug. Nadia remained behind. “Did you know he’d be here, Keisha?”

“Not sitting on the actual porch, no. But yes, I knew Colonel Hampton was doing his rehab here.”

“Oh. So, is he … like you said before? Like the others here?”

Keisha shook her head. “He’s not totally broken. They say he should recover most of his function with time. He’s here because we’re not totally sure he has full impulse control yet, and this is where all the cleared therapists live.”

“Oh. Well, it’s a nice surprise.”

“I’m glad,” Keisha said. There was an awkward pause. “The other bit of ‘Ghost Country’ is in Alaska. Gorgeous, but cold, and they were worried that the weird day-night cycle would screw up your emotions. So we decided on here.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Nadia said diplomatically. “I hope we can find other children our age, though.”

“We can probably get you out to 4-H meetings or something. I think they have those here.”

Nadia had no idea what a 4-H was, but didn’t ask. “Church?”

“Hmm. There are plenty of chaplains, and a chapel anyone can use, but the nearest actual church communities are something like a hundred miles away. Do you want to go to church again?”

“I’m really not sure.” She studied the porch, where Fatima appeared to be telling the Colonel a long story, illustrated with vigorous hand motions. Ruslan had come up behind her and slung an arm around her shoulder, unnoticed. Old habits. “You know, I’m glad those two are friends now. Real friends. Not like before. She seems to actually like him.”

“Ruslan is recovering quickly. They might wind up as more than friends, in the end.”

“They might,” she agreed. “We will see. As to church … what day is it?”

“Monday, the sixth of May.”

“Oh. We missed Easter.”

Keisha blinked. “That was more than a month ago.”

“I mean Pascha! Orthodox Easter. It was yesterday.” She sighed. “I wanted to go, and I didn’t, you know? Chansonne makes it twice as difficult, because I’m never sure what I want isn’t really what she wants, and I don’t want to be her slave any more than Ézarine’s. And she would want me to go to church. But then I think, is it really good sense to not want it just because she does want it? Kind of childish, isn’t it? Trying to spite someone who isn’t even a person. If I just do the opposite, I’m still letting her control me, only in a backwards way.”

“Every emissor has to live with that kind of problem. It’s not childish at all. I still struggle with it myself.”

“But you’re not at all like Adesina. Most of the time.”

“I’ve hardly used her, till recently. But every one of us has a different relationship to her emissant. A lot of us, when it finally comes out, after all that training, we’re surprised to see what we got. I was a little embarrassed when I met Adesina. I felt childish too, to know, and have other people know, that what I really wanted was just somebody telling me it was all going to work out.”

“That’s what everybody wants.”

“But it’s not all everybody wants. Some people’s emissants have grand beliefs and ideological projects, and mine gives you a big hug and a warm blanket, tells you not to worry about all that. It felt pretty stupid, at the time.”

“I’d rather deal with your grandmother than Chansonne. People like her probably do more good in the world than people with ‘grand ideological projects.’”

Keisha laughed. “Why, thank you so much. You do know I’m supposed to be the one cheering you up, right?”

“We can cheer each other up.” She looked out of the window at the clear blue sky. “But we can get out of this car first.”

Colonel Hampton was still tied up with Fatima and Ruslan, so she went over to look at the horses. There were six inside the big enclosure, and all six came trotting her way as soon as she got to the fence. They sniffed her over, and nuzzled at her hands. “What? What do you want?”

“I don’t really know horses,” Keisha said from behind her, “but if they’re anything like dogs or cats, I’d guess they’re hoping you have food.”

“Well, I don’t,” Nadia told them, holding up her empty hands. “See? But since you’re here … “ She reached up and scratched one of them on the white stripe down his face. “Aren’t you a handsome fellow?”

“Lady,” Keisha corrected, with a glance at the horse’s back end.

“Pretty lady. My apologies. Not that you understand me in the first place.” She gave them a few more scratches, but when she didn’t produce any food the whole crew got bored and wandered back to the center of the paddock. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Fatima drag Ruslan inside the house. She would follow them shortly, and say hello to Colonel Hampton. But not yet. She’d spent too much time indoors lately, or on city streets. If she too was here to be healed, the healing could start now, with the wind in her hair.

Keisha leaned against the fence next to her, watching the horses search their dusty enclosure for a single live blade of grass. They didn’t look underfed to Nadia, but she didn’t know horses either. Maybe they were just bored. Keisha cleared her throat. “You know, they don’t tell you, when you sign up to get a familiar, how embarrassing the whole thing can be, if it even works. To have everything you want most out there in the open where people can see it, and know who you are.”

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

“I don’t think it’s really all that you are, though. At least, Dr. Gus didn’t make it sound that way.”

“No, not all. Still. You’re vulnerable, that way. I’m sure it’s different for you, since you adopted yours.”

Nadia shook her head. “Not that different. There was a lot of Ézarine in me even before I had Ézarine, and Chansonne is even closer. Even if Claude’s story wasn’t mine at first, I made it mine anyway.”

“I was, oh, maybe thirty when Adesina was born.” Keisha put an arm around her and drew her closer. Nadia didn’t resist. “I’m sure every thirty-year-old is different too, but I had this feeling, after years in the Corps, that I’d reached the end of my twenties, and I’d racked up all this experience in all these places, and I definitely wasn’t a kid anymore.”

“Of course not! You’re an adult at eighteen. At least, that’s how it was in Kazakhstan. Is it different in America?” She hated to think of being babied at twenty-six.

“No, no, it’s eighteen here too. But I had this expectation—and it’s a very common expectation—that turning eighteen by itself would make me smart and capable, just like all the grown-ups seemed to be. I should have known better.”

“Yes, you should.”

“In my defense, the adults in my life were usually more reliable than yours. Some of them, anyway. Not so much my mother, but she was a crazy person. I haven’t talked to her in years.”

“But your grandmother wasn’t crazy?”

“Not at all. Grandmama was very sane, and very strong. The strongest woman I ever knew. She was my father’s mother, not my mother’s.”

“Ah. So it’s your father’s fault, for not choosing a better wife.”

Keisha spluttered, and the arm flew off her shoulder. “God damn but you are blunt, child!”

“Are you just learning this? I am Russian. We are supposed to be direct. And picking a wife is serious business. Or a husband. I know I will think it over very carefully.” She frowned. “If I ever get to marry. How does a woman tell her husband that she is an emissor?”

“Some of them don’t, is what I hear. They just know their wives, or husbands, are in the Numenate, and sometimes have to be deployed in a hurry.”

“Oh! What a horrible way to live! Will you tell your husband, when you find him?”

“You’re assuming I want one.”

“Of course you want one. You are … you know? Biologically?” She didn’t want to be rude. “I mean, you do like men, right?”

Keisha turned around and started walking away. “Oh no. Nuh-uh. No no no, we are not and I mean not talking about that.”

Nadia hurried after her. “Keisha, it’s okay. I mean, I know you don’t like me that way, and whatever kind of person you like, I’m sure it isn’t good to be alone all the time. There are—I think there are ‘dating apps’ and things like that—” But Keisha was picking up her pace, nearly running on her longer legs, and Nadia decided to give up the chase.

She turned, and saw Colonel Hampton watching her intently from the porch. “Never you mind,” she told him, feeling her face turn hot.

“Didn’t say anything,” he replied. “Good to see you made it through all this.”

“Likewise. I’m sorry that it was so hard on you.”

“Not as sorry as I am. You going to just stand there, have a shouted conversation in the cold?”

“It’s not that cold,” she told him, but clambered up the steps anyway. His face was more worn than she remembered, his hair a bit whiter. “Are you like Ruslan? Will you walk again?”

“Right to the point, huh?”

“I’m sorry—“

“Don’t be. They don’t know yet, but we’ve got hope. I can wiggle ‘em,” he added, bobbing his feet against their rests. “Either way, I’m out of the game, after this. Colonel David Hampton, U.S. Numenate, retired. I stayed in too long.”

“Oh. You’re doing better than I expected, talking like this.”

“It was like this the first time too. Okay, not quite as bad, but my brain was just fine, after a bit. They don’t know why she hit my, my peripheral system harder, and I guess we’ll never know now. Thanks for that, by the by.”

She shrugged. “Keisha did most of the real work. I was just the bait.”

The Colonel raised a trembling hand. “Same story here. That’s how I know you had the harder job. Take some pride.”

“Pride is a sin,” she informed him. “And I don’t need it.”

“Pssht. You’ve got plenty of pride. Just in the wrong things.”

Nadia put her hands on her hips. “Is this how you will spend your retirement? Sitting on the front porch, giving the young people unwanted advice on how to live their lives?”

He clapped a hand to his chest, and laughed. “Ouch! Take it easy, I’m injured.”

“So was I. I got over it. You can too.”

“I know. Everybody here’s injured. They were injured before they even got here. Injured, sick, or broken. Healthy, sane people don’t get into this business, they stay happy and ignorant as, as dentists and insurance salesmen. I’ve always said so—never appreciated that it applied to me too. I know I’m better now, because I’m finally sure I really want out.”

“While I am just getting in.”

“You’re a teenager, you’re not supposed to have any sense.” He smiled, but it was weak. “I don’t mean that. You should be proud of yourself. I shouldn’t. I picked a hell of a job to end my career on.”

“You didn’t, though. Somebody else did. You were—“

“Just following orders, yeah. Look up the Nuremberg trials sometime, would you?” His eyes were wet now; he waved awkwardly at the door behind him. “Just go in, your family’s waiting for you.”

“But you—“

“I’ll be fine!” he snapped, and she hurried in before he could give himself a heart attack.

She found Fatima inside, rummaging through the fridge on her eternal quest for food she didn’t despise. Ruslan sat in an extremely cushy chair by the fireplace, just watching her. Yes, he was definitely recovering. But that was Fatima’s problem, and his. They could work it out for themselves. Nadia shouldered her sister aside, found a spiral-cut ham and some mustard, and got to work.

Halfway through lunch, she got up, and peeked out the screen door. Keisha stood over the Colonel, one hand on his shoulder, talking to him quietly. Good. She snuck back to the table, and pretended she hadn’t seen anything. An hour later, the two of them came in with the news that Iskander Abdullah Erbal had been born on the first of May, in a Kurdish prison. Mother, father and baby had been released on the fourth, on humanitarian grounds, and were doing well.

“We could get them here, easy.” the Colonel said. “Them and their grandpa. He’s earned it.”

“Who’s ‘we,’ Hamster? Thought you were retired.” The old man just smiled.

“Kemal wouldn’t leave Turkey anyway,” Nadia said. “He might let his family go, but I haven’t met them. I don’t know what they’d want. Could we arrange to talk with him, sometime? I’d like to … I have things to say. I’m not sure what.”

“I’m sure we can work something out,” Keisha told her. “In the meantime, did you forget you left all your luggage in the car? Get it in, we have work to do.”

Ruslan didn’t need to be asked twice; he loved using his muscles, after so long in chairs and beds. Fatima bounded after him. Nadia stayed where she was. “Work, already?” Keisha held up a familiar-looking manila envelope, fat with paper. “Another report? How’d they redirect it here so fast?”

“Not all of this country’s government is lazy and incompetent,” Keisha told her.

“Only about eighty percent,” added the Colonel.

“You’re retired now,” Nadia snapped at him. “Get out of here while we work.”

“Emeritus,” he said, whatever that meant, and stayed in place.

Nothing very new had happened with Roman and Elizaveta, at least not that their anonymous handler had noticed. The actual papers occupied hardly any of the envelope. Most of its bulk took the form of a leather-bound book, which Keisha handed to Nadia.

“What is this?”

“The handler wants you to have it,” Keisha said, looking at the cover-sheet. “Doesn’t say why, he just does.”

“’Complete Works of Anna Akhmatova,’” she translated from the cover, then opened it up. “Poems? Why is this strange man sending me poems? It’s creepy.”

“Creepier than us reading reports about his kids’ needing braces and shit?” asked Fatima.

“No, that’s worse. But poems are still bad.” She set the book aside. “Let’s just get started.” If she could keep these children from having a body count as high as hers—let alone Yuri’s—then maybe it would be worth it. Maybe. Anyway, she didn’t want to simply do nothing. That was a choice, too, and she would be responsible either way. Thank you, Mila.

Eventually, Nadia was sure, they would get around to spending some part of their day on age-appropriate education. But they spent most of that first afternoon going over every inane detail of the children’s day, learning what they had said and done, and trying to recommend ways to keep them happy and their families safe. It still wasn’t much to go on, and Nadia wasn’t sure they would ever really know either child. Not from dry facts and paper anecdotes.

When they all agreed to be done for the day, Fatima took Ruslan out to learn how to ride a horse. Nadia elected to stay behind, and pore over her new book before dinner. She was startled to find that she actually rather liked most of the poems. Did that mean the handler knew her? Why did he get to know about her, but not the other way around? And why did he send the book? She wondered if he was trying to tell her his identity, without anyone knowing.

Night fell, and found her in her new bed after dinner, rereading “Requiem” for the fourth or fifth time. It got better with every reading. She was annoyed when a knock came at her door, and let Keisha in only reluctantly. When she did, the hardened Numenate veteran hung back in the doorway for a long moment, holding a thick book in her hand, looking almost shy. “Yes? What is it?”

“I was thinking … maybe I could read to you.” She held up the book; it was a Bible.

For what, a bedtime story? What was this about? Keisha’s face was anxious, but gave no other clues. One way to find out. She’d read Akhmatova plenty, and the book would be there in the morning. “If you like,” Nadia told her, and shifted over in bed to give Keisha room to sit down.

Keisha obliged, and swallowed hard, and started to read the story of Ruth in a husky voice. It was nothing new to Nadia, but she listened anyway, because it was obviously important to her new … what? Her new mother? Foster-mother? To Keisha. Just Keisha. She listened as Ruth and her mother-in-law were widowed, and Ruth made the decision to travel to a strange land for a new life. If this was supposed to be some sort of lesson—if Keisha was Naomi, and Nadia was Ruth—it was awfully heavy-handed. But something about Keisha’s attitude, as she read, suggested she was embarrassed by the whole thing, as if somebody else were making her do it.

Around the time they got to the meeting with Boaz, Nadia gave up trying to understand it, and simply listened. Whatever the deeper meaning was, she didn’t care; the story was still good.