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The bower became a hospital emergency room again.

Jason hopped over to the fireplace, found some coals banked up beneath a log, and in a few seconds, had a warming blaze kindled, filling the room with renewed heat. He threw a few sprigs of spruce into the water pot, which added some refreshment to the aromas.

Blake exclaimed, “Aw, Lars, buddy, what the hell happened!” and he stood, stunned, unable to move.

Umezawa knelt quickly and put his hand upon Lars’s forehead, then, in a moment of intuition, moved his hand over his chest.

Sano found what was remaining of Lars’s clothing, which were in strips throughout the bower. Finding a few scraps that might serve as undergarments, she covered his weaker parts in a gesture of modesty.

“His neck doesn’t seem broken or anything,” said James Thurgerson. He had already stripped his outer layers from himself and was beginning to put them beneath Lars’s body while Sano was covering him.

As for Abe, he stood with Blake, staring. Should you shout at the bower, Stoic? The antennas and radio began to move toward Abe, floating, as it were, in thin air, but he saw that it was actually the branches of a spruce tree, difficult to see in the dim light. The branches presented the items to Abe, and he took them. The branches then slowly withdrew. Something very bad happened in here, something the bower did not will to happen.

Abe opened his mouth and spoke: “Something bad happened in here. The bower did not do this.”

At that, Lars opened his eyes. “Abe?” he said, hoarsely. “Abe? Is that you?” Abe knelt quickly to the ground, and put his eyes in plane with Lars’s. “Abe, it wasn’t the bower. It was the birch…” He inhaled. “Oh, I feel better already. I was so cold. I thought I was dead. Oh, Abe, the dreams I had.” He held up his hand. Abe grasped it with his. “The dreams I had! How long were you gone? I had a dream that beat yours.” With that, Lars fell asleep, breathing deeply, saying, “Okay…I’m okay…”

Sano saw the blood from her hands on the garment strips she’d gathered. “If you think he’s okay, Ume…”

“Yeah, he’s fine.”

“Blake, you and I should go back and finish processing the elk cow. Blake? Blake!”

Blake snapped to. “I’m just—what?”

Sano smiled sweetly: “You and I should go back to the elk cow.”

“Yes, yes we should.” He moved to go outside.

Sano gave last instructions: “Jason, I’m going to need bathwater for myself. Make as much water as you can. Bathe Lars with rags, then cover him.” Jason blinked, then nodded assent. Blake and Sano exited.

When they were gone, a quiet calm enveloped the party. Jason was rummaging through Lars’s and Blake’s packs (which were public domain), looking for more fire-resistant containers. He held up what looked like a World War II-era canteen set, that distinctive Allied soldier’s kidney-shaped, olive-drab, aluminum bowl and cup. “There’s a liter or so of water,” he said, breaking the silence. Having filled them with snow and then placing them by the fire, he disappeared into the workroom, as they called the extra space the bower had created, looking for larger bits of aluminum which might be formed to hold even more water.

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James Thurgerson was looking over the antennas, checking their integrity, making a few adjustments here and there, and generally pondering their craft.

Abe removed himself to the couch, losing himself in deep thought. The nature of super powers is a strange thing. “Command Plant Life” has an exception: “Except Angry Birches.” Or something. How is it, then, a “super” power? Because it is a power above and beyond generally accepted human powers? This is the problem with the American Superman: they had to contrive weaknesses and limitations in order to tell stories that were, if not believable, then captivating.

After a while of tortuous logical contrivances along those lines, Abe stood up and approached James Thurgerson. “Hey,” he said. “How goes it?”

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“Huh?” said James Thurgerson.

“I woke you up, didn’t I?”

“Ha, yeah, a little. This is crazy. I was just thinking about how great it is that Ume can heal at will like that, but how there seemed to be a moment of doubt when we found Lars. The technology, man. The technology…”

“Technology?”

“If I had a microscope, I’d bet you that you inhaled nano particles in that gas fume.”

Abe blinked. “You mean, like, midichlorians?”

James Thurgerson guffawed. “Talk about ruining a great fantasy, am I right?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Abe. “It was the first one I saw. When I was ten years old, my mom and dad insisted I watch them in their canonical order.”

“Oh, brother, that probably ruined the originals.”

“The fourth one seemed pretty clunky, yeah,” said Abe. They stood near each other, leaning on the leafy bower-counter together, looking over it at the sleeping figure of Lars.

“No, but yeah,” James Thurgerson said, resuming the thought. “Midichlorians wrecked the fantasy with utility. This isn’t a fantasy. The powers you have are technological advances created in a laboratory below Minneapolis, Denver, and San Francisco. Laboratories, I guess, but one company logo, as far as I ever saw.”

“How do you figure nano technology to be able to make me command plants, say, and not rocks, and not that angry birch?”

“I don’t figure it. I’m guessing, just as much as I guess at what they were doing with me. I have some extraordinary strength and agility, but I think I’m just a data mine, a beta version of other things already employed. Hm…other…uh…people already employed, I should say. Nothing else explains the extent of my bionic nature, how much metal they’ve wired into me. I would imagine if they can’t recover me to enslave me again, they’re going to trigger a self-destruct sequence. Splat! I’ve got too much of their research in me to risk my falling into competitors’ hands.”

“That’s horrible!” Abe said.

“Yes, it is, but I’ve come to peace with it.”

They watched Lars for a while. Jason came over to them with a bit of chaga tea for both. He called for Umezawa. “Here are some rags soaked in hot, clean water. You should wash Lars’s body now.”

James Thurgerson cocked his head and furrowed his brow. “You like to give orders, don’t you, Jason?”

“Yes, I do,” said Jason, and he returned to the fireplace to tend it and the water.

“So, you think nano technology?” said Abe.

“I said I’m guessing. Maybe it really is magic, but I think the machines have opened up a neural net pathway in your brain that allows you to communicate along the same frequency as the tree communications network.”

“That’s a mouthful.” Abe pondered. Who knew trees had a communications network? But of course they do. Who actually thinks about it? Someone under an American city: that’s who. “Anyway,” he said, gesturing to Lars, “this is just like that strange Season Nine arc in The Morose Alpaca, when Nami’s chief suitor was betrayed by the Nez-warriors into Kazuo’s power. Kazuo took Nami to his citadel when no one was looking—Abigail was caught up in a side quest—and tried to kill her because she wouldn’t profess love for him. Anyway, along comes a Nez-sorcerer friendly to Abigail and Nami, and—”

“Hey, Abe?” James Thurgerson said.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t care. I hate anime, and I hate hearing crazy anime plot lines rehearsed out loud.”

Abe pouted. “Well, Lars did.”

“Tell it to Lars, then.”

Abe grew silent. James Thurgerson fingered the connections on the antennas, making minute adjustments. Umezawa dabbed warm wet rags on particularly raw sections of Lars’s flesh, and he swabbed the places between welts. The party noticed that the visible inflammation was already greatly diminished.

They heard Sano and Blake come to the storage area outside the bower, then depart again.

Midichlorians didn’t ruin the fantasy, Stoic. Old people just hated it, that’s all. It’s a good movie. The kid Darth Vader is a good character. Jar-Jar Binks is a truly great character. The poster of the kid Darth Vader you had hanging in your room really made your room special. Darth Maul was an amazing and well-crafted villain. You loved it, Stoic. The desert race sequence was the greatest cinematic thrill ever, and don’t let the old people take that from you.

After another long while of quiet, individual contemplation, Sano and Blake finally returned to end the peace.

“It’s late,” said Sano, “but I need a bath. I wish we had some soap.”

“We will soon,” said Blake, “but not tonight.”

“Jason? Do you have my water ready? Abe, did you tell the bower to make me a bathtub?”

“Huh?” the two of them said, looking at Sano in confused wonder.

“Yes,” said Jason, recovering himself, “but I didn’t know you’d literally be taking a bath. There isn’t nearly enough water for a bath.” He swallowed involuntarily and added, “Sano.”

“Huh?” Abe repeated. Brilliant, Stoic! Just brilliant repartee!

“I don’t remember anything about a bathtub,” said Blake. James Thurgerson smirked.

Sano grunted prettily. “Boys!” she hissed, and she stormed to her room. Abe, Jason, and Umezawa looked down at the ground.

Blake shook his head. “Women…”

The party looked up and gasped in shocked surprise at Blake’s word.

“Oh, shut up, every one of you. And, Jason: boil some ashes.”

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