The two men walked side by side down the empty corridor of barren rock. A slow walk; directed, but neither of them in any hurry to reach their destination. Ahead, perhaps their destination, light poured through a long window, brighter than any sun should be, illuminating the entire tunnel.

They shared an almost unnatural likeness. A resemblance far stronger than the purported father-and-son relationship their relative ages would suggest. It would seem more appropriate to call them twins, albeit twins separated by more than thirty years.

The wrinkled hands of the senior passed a grey beard to scratch a hooked nose. "Think he'll make it?"

"Hard to say, Remy," the other replied with an identical intonation, save for a minor inflexion here or there. "I thought the last one a cert. A black-belt. You can't be more prepared to fight off assassins than that. But he didn't last a day."

"Not your fault, Miah." Remy adjusted his direction to intersect the window. Both wore black like a uniform, but Remy's showed refinement while Miah's gave the impression of energy. "In fact, I almost feel it contains a lesson I have yet to grasp."

"Another key to your Secrets of the Jeres?" Miah said with mild interest.

Remy gave a slight shrug, unspoken words voicing one can never know.

Miah's eyes twinkled then faded, and his reflective tone turned bitter. "As may be, but for me another Jere copped it in the neck and a whole world bit the dust so those Redwin vultures could meet their mining quota."

For a moment only their indistinguishable footsteps resounded on the concrete floor. Then Remy broke the silence. "You need to work on that patience of yours."

Miah laughed, a happy sound despite all his intensity that made his overcoat swirl around black boots. "You're right. And to think I started life on a help desk, restraining the urge to strangle morons: no better schooling in patience than that. But I can't help thinking I could've done more."

"Nurture that." Remy brushed non-existent lint from his jacket. "I've long since thought it's what makes us … well, us."

"That sounded impressive," Miah said with a straight face. "In the beginning, at least."

"Thank you," Remy replied. "Try getting to my age and doing better."

Miah couldn't restrain himself. With a spontaneity suggested by the fluid cut of his overcoat, he gave a quick bark of a laugh. "I'm already better."

"Quite. This is—what?—your tenth or eleventh mission?"

Miah didn't answer. Instead he paused at the window, transfixed by the sight as always. Hundreds, if not thousands, of blue-green planets littered the sky; if a deep void in space can be called such. A firmament that rotated moment by moment. Or perhaps they did. "Figured out where we are yet? I always wonder which one is Earth."

"They're all Earth. No idea which one is yours. And as for where this dimensional anomaly exists—does it matter?" Remy's tone became formal. "Grant me the ability to learn that which is useful, to ignore that which is not—"

"And the wisdom to know the difference. Still, I can't help wondering." Miah tapped the glass, beating a quiet tattoo. "Thirteen. This is my thirteenth mission. As you are well aware."

"Well, good man, anyway," said Remy. "Mustn't let it go to your head though. Erem proved the need for that."

"No idea how I survived without him."

"But survive you did," Remy said. "One of the few. And look at you now."

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A slow shake took Miah's black curls. "I'm not always successful though."

"Nor can you expect to be." Remy gripped Miah's black-coated arm and pulled the other to face him. "I reviewed your last mission myself. Get it through that head of yours: there was nothing else you could do. There are millions of dimensions and millions of Jeres, but a mere handful of us. It's not possible to save everyone, and trying will only get you killed."

Miah looked into Remy's intense gaze and saw his own eyes; eyes that stared back from the mirror every morning. "I understand."

With a fraction of a nod, Remy let go.

Even the appellation of twins fails to capture these two. They left the window with the same gait, bar a certain stiffness in the senior and a certain vigour from the junior; as though nature made them alike but with purposeful differences—a mole on Miah's chin, a slight tint to Remy's skin. But then, you would expect such minor differences in the same man from two different dimensions. And, despite separate upbringing and vocations, the similarity went much further than the surface.

Miah hazarded a glance at Remy. "Not like you to be so uptight."

Remy exhaled. "I know. But I'm apprehensive about this mission. The last time I felt this way J-ry …"

"Sacrificed himself?" Remy nodded. Miah shrugged. "We've all got to go sometime."

"But I would prefer all of us to go in our sleep."

Miah snorted. "Remy, we hunt assassins and save entire worlds for a living. Passing away after Christmas at a ripe old age of ninety-two—you can't be serious!"

"Still," replied Remy.

"You're getting sentimental, old man."

"Enough of the old, thank you very much. I could still teach you a trick or two in a fight."

"Yeah?" Miah's tone held slight disbelief, mixed with warm admiration. "Like what?"

Remy seized his arm once more, and surprise at the sheer speed of the movement flitted across Miah's face.

"Learn when to lose!" Remy said. "Learn when to battle again another day."

But Miah's reply could have dented steel. "I've already learned that."

"No, you haven't! Any closer and you would have interfered, wouldn't you?" Miah didn't respond, but they both knew it to be the truth. "And then where would we be? I'd be mourning the loss of two Jeres and using you as an example of what not to do. I'm trusting you not to let that happen. Learn, damn you. Learn." Remy closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Ah, what's the use," he said as the fervour dropped from him. "You'll either come back or you won't. Just do your best."

"I always do," said Miah, and then with mischief in his eyes added, "old man."

Remy ignored the jab. "That … medical condition … of yours is under control?"

Miah gave a tight nod that brooked no further debate.

Remy paused, as if considering whether to do so anyway, but then moved on. "And you've still got that boar-skewer of yours?"

"You mean this?" Miah replied. Too fast to see, he produced a cylinder three times as long as his palm from his overcoat, as though to hit Remy in the head with a truncheon. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the cylinder telescoped into half a spear. "I prefer to call it a full-length orbital-rotating assassinator." A click, the spear flattened and a cross-piece appeared to shield his hand from another sword.

"FLORA?" Remy snorted. "You and your toys. Wasn't the varying length the whole point of the damn thing?"

"True." A light flush spread over Miah's neck. "But VLORA didn't have the same ring. And a rose by any other name wouldn't be as thorny—nor as sharp." With a swift stab, Miah impaled the sword into the rock wall, up to the hilt.

"Thank you for the demonstration, Sir Flower," Remy said. "It's not as if there aren't enough enemies around that you have to dissect my walls."

Miah chuckled and pulled the sword from the stone wall like a modern age king of Camelot, then swished the weapon into his overcoat. "Since when have these been your walls? You inherited them from The Other."

"As may be," Remy replied. "But whoever or whatever that individual is, they are not here. And until The Other returns or I pass away in my sleep at the ripe old age of ninety-two, I'll thank you to treat my property with more respect." Remy ignored Miah's snort.

They halted in front of a door reminiscent of a bank vault and Remy spoke in a tone full of business. "As usual, you'll insert seven days before the first Armageddon event. What you do from there is up to you, but I'll be expecting regular reports."

"Yes, sah." Miah gave a parody of a salute.

"You're making me want to sneeze, Mr Blossom. Now get out of here."

Miah about-faced and marched to the door, where he elbowed the button of an intercom. "This is Miah, Jere 23, requesting permission to commence mission. Objective: protect Jeremy Sunson and help him save his world. And be back in time for dinner. Code: Alpha Alpha Alpha Pumpkin Potato Soup."

Remy shook his head in despair at the complete lack of respect. A green light flashed, an alert sounded, and the bank vault opened to reveal a swirling vortex.

With a whoop, Miah raced through the portal to take a head-first leap into the maelstrom.

"Good luck, Jeremiah," Remy said in a quiet voice. The door shut with a sombre finality that recalled his earlier misgivings. "I hope you don't need it."