“Maybe it’s a Defect,” I suggested once we were back in Flinpen’s office being ogled by jellyfish.

“My guess is she ran into an information virus,” my new handler stated. “If there was a rival House trying to stay hidden, or anyone else messing with Fate, I could see it being a tactic they’d want to employ."

"Another one?"

"What do you mean?"

"Aren't we already part of a hazard?" I asked. "With the quarantine and all."

"That's a point," Flinpen said, expression changing from lingering apprehension to thought. "Maybe not information, then, but Fate. You may be onto something. But I wouldn’t worry too much. We’re in the Chapel. Someone will fix her.”

“You changed tune quickly,” I remarked.

“I do that when godlike beings put the fear of death in me. Although we seem to be talking about House theory just fine. Hmm.”

I took up a seat among Flinpen’s pot plants on the floor, back to the windows where I didn’t have to look at my reflection. I needed to focus on the mission. Every movement I made felt like well-oiled effortlessness, and I tried to put it out of my mind. “What would the House even be? Would it be like us, doing the same thing? Or would it be in opposition, trying to destroy the multiverse?”

“Pfft,” said Flinpen. She joined me on the floor. “What does the average court ever seek? Power. If they want to destroy anything, it’s probably us. But they’ll be disappointed. We’ve got the market cornered on Fate.”

“Just as well you already got the briefing. How long will I have to be there?”

“As long as it takes. I can’t stop you from travelling on the job, but it’ll risk you being noticed. If you have pets or projects to take care of at home, let me know.”

“I don’t,” I admitted. “There’s an atrium, but it’s automated.”

“You’re sure? What do you do at home?”

“Sleep. Shower. Look at keepsakes. I don’t spend much time there.” If the question was a test, I suspected I wasn’t passing. The next words emerging from my mouth sounded more accusatory than intended. “What do you do?”

Flinpen gave a short bark of a laugh. “Plan, mostly. What I want to do and where I want to be. What I want to be.”

“Which is?”

She paused. “Great.”

“But aren’t you –”

She shook her head. “Being told you’re great and being it aren’t the same thing. Being great because of something you have no control over isn’t the same as earning it. I want to be out there saving universes. Why should it only be the Reins? What makes them so special?”

“You’re not going to like the answer,” I said.

“Because I know it’s bullshit,” she replied, lacing the fingers of both hands around a knee. “I grew up with a galaxy convinced I was its greatest treasure while I did nothing but eat and breathe.” Her fingers tightened. “Someone has to dispel it.”

I sat for a moment among the drip of the water features. “You know what you want,” I said with a shrug. “That’s more than me. I should just be glad to be here. We have a purpose, and a pass to every universe. But there’s too much to see. I could spend lifetimes wandering a single one. When I try to keep up, it all starts to feel empty.”

“Then you need to advance,” said Flinpen. She reached over and clasped my hand. “You’re right. We’re lucky. We’re the ones who escaped. But there’s so much more to be done.”

Until recently, I would have agreed wholeheartedly. It should have been straightforward, but I couldn’t help but feel troubled. Everything Near Miss had been angling me away from was weighing on my mind. “Do you ever wonder if we’re being lied to? Just… the way everyone disappears the moment they reach third-tier.”

“Alusept really got to you, huh. Lamutri, we’re not that interesting. You’ve met Nysept. There are others. And it’s a segregated system. Look how little interaction there is between first and second, current situation excepted.”

I took a deep breath, heart beating a little faster in my chest. “Near Miss is an Arch,” I fired off before I could change my mind.

“Sorry?”

“It’s not a Defect. It’s an Arch. All of this we’re caught up in is its doing.”

My handler searched my face for a moment, then dropped my fingers and lowered the knee. “You’re serious?”

“I know what it sounds like –”

“I believe you,” she interrupted, surprising me. “I’ve had suspicions since the quarantine. Before, if I’m honest. Your control might be absent, but in terms of reach, you’re at least an Exalt. It never added up.”

“Then the Chapel will also know,” I sighed.

Flinpen raised a thoughtful hand to her chin. “Maybe. It doesn't spend time with you, and Near Miss does present like a Defect. Why?”

The last part was an abrupt change in tone and directed in incisive interrogation.

I floundered under the sudden pressure. “Near Miss and I have different goals.”

“Do you?” She cracked her knuckles. “If you were capable of seeing far enough to witness how distant events connected and which triggers would make them happen, your sphere of information would be very different to what it is now. All that knowledge would be bound to have some effect on your opinion. Our cores are just a reflection of us, after all.”

“They’d be some pretty major changes,” I pointed out. “Like not wanting to advance.”

“Then that’s coming from you,” she responded, pointing towards my chest. “You need to sort that out.”

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Unconvinced, I laughed a little nervously. “Easier said than done.”

“It’s not a criticism. That part’s expected. Funnily enough, becoming a Quad would probably help. It’s an integration issue. That’s all ranks and tiers really are. They don’t give us extra powers, they just thin the existing barrier. It sounds like yours simply started off wider.”

I gave her a thin smile. “You probably shouldn’t be spilling second-tier secrets.”

“Pfft. What’ll they do, kill me? What a waste of an investment.”

“That’s one of the things I’m afraid of.”

Flinpen laughed. “Well, for now let’s focus on the mission. Nysept could be out of commission for while, so we’ll get directions from the Machine.”

“Now? Don’t I need more of a briefing?”

“That would be difficult, since finding out information is the goal. Make up whatever gets you a foot in the door. Fate is behind you; we’re bound to succeed.”

“I wish I shared your confidence.” I stood up, trying to pin down any of the myriad thoughts rushing through my head. All that made an impression was the bioluminescent jellyfish parade.

My reflection overlaid it. Now I did let myself look. It was a strange feeling, not recognising myself. My new body was better than the last, stronger and faster despite being similarly proportioned. I blinked at it with eyes that were now blue, and found it still there.

“You look good,” Flinpen told me, watching over my shoulder. “But let’s go. Plenty of time to admire yourself later.”

We headed to the Machine room, where Inyusol was once again on duty in his red tie. Funny how his shifts always seemed to coincide with mine. Fate had probably had a hand. That, or he was another piece in our quarantine. The Sol was clearly struggling to hold his head up from sheer boredom, but made an effort at mustering attention.

“We don’t have a name or location for you today,” Flinpen announced, sidestepping into the narrow available space. “We’re looking for an exception.”

Inyusol delivered his usual bow with only a slight surplus of attention to the gap in the second-tier’s features. “Of course, fortunate ones.” He hesitated and eyed us from under his lashes. “I will require instruction.”

“It’s still pressing random switches,” I explained. “But differently, if that makes any sense.”

"Differently how?"

"However you think it should be done."

Inyusol sighed. Only a little, but it was there. He turned and began operating a complicated assortment of levers and buttons, causing lights to turn on and off rapidly.

“This really is the worst job,” Flinpen whispered to me, not very quietly, and I grinned as Inyusol’s shoulders relaxed.

The last few controls sat in a bright row of dots next to one of Inyusol’s feet. When they were deactivated, one of the chutes made a soft rattling noise and deposited not one but two pill-shaped deliveries into the Sol’s hand.

They weren’t the standard tracers. These were larger and less fragile-looking, a type I’d never seen before with no indication of decay. Something had clearly worked.

“Perfect,” said Flinpen. She picked one of the pills and swallowed it immediately. I followed suit, feeling the targets take root in my head. There were two instead of the usual one. In addition to the target locations and time limits, there was also a third marker there this time, right beside me. It didn’t have the same feel as a target; notably more friendly. Until now, I hadn’t realised that was an axis of measurement that could provide a distinction.

“Do you feel that?” I asked.

She nodded. “So we can find each other. Two targets is unexpected, though.”

I agreed, especially since my previous experience with that quirk had been Jadal Cai. The mission timers felt stable, at least. “Let’s test it,” I suggested. “If you go and stand in your office, what happens?”

Flinpen shrugged. She squeezed back past the levers and walked out.

A few seconds later, it signalled at me from another universe. I glanced at Inyusol waiting politely with something like guilt on his face.

“We’ve met, by the way," I told him. "Lamutri. I just look different.”

In response, the Sol only bowed. He didn't seem surprised.

Flinpen’s signal reappeared close by as she opened the door. “All working here.”

“Agreed. But I have reservations about the double targets.” I glanced sidelong towards Inyusol standing only metres away. "You don't think it could be –"

“We killed Jadal Cai."

"I'm just saying, the affected missions contained irregularities. And there's another of those here. If's he's still somehow following me, or vice-versa –"

A small cough sounded as Inyusol cleared his throat, fingers laced together nervously. “You only had one target the first time,” he said.

My stomach dropped.

“The first time?” Flinpen asked in a dangerous tone.

Inyusol's already pale face managed to blanch further. “I changed the output with Think Again,” he confessed.

"A timeline refresh. Why? Did the mission fail so quickly? Did Lamutri die? Did we mention anything about Jadal Cai?"

The Sol shook his head, managing to look even guiltier than before. "Nothing. No. It's my fault. You hadn't even left yet on the mission."

I'd just been thinking about him being a common factor. "Inyusol," I said in the same tone as Flinpen, "tell me you didn't also alter any of my previous missions."

He shook his head hurriedly, holding both palms up to face me. "I didn't. This was the only time, fortunate one. I promise." He took a deep breath. “I’ve jeopardised your mission. Please forgive me.”

"Why now?" Flinpen queried.

"Because the first time, it triggered some kind of warning," the Sol put forward. He bowed again and kept his head down. "An alert sounded. The lights flooded red. I thought I'd made a mistake. I thought... I could fix it."

I glanced at my handler and found my concern mirrored in her eyes. "Has this ever happened before?"

She shook her head slowly. "Not to my knowledge. I didn't even know the Machine had an alarm built in. But I do know it shouldn't be able to be overridden."

Inyusol finally straightened out of the bow, eyes downcast. "One of the two targets you see could be the original mission carrying over. Which indicates the other is misinformation.”

"Or an alternative," said Flinpen. "And we don’t know which is the original."

“Urgh,” I groaned, massaging my temples. “Why? Why would you do this?”

“I panicked,” the Sol responded, twisting his fingers together.

“Not you,” I responded, waving it off, much to his obvious confusion. “My core is making life hard for me.”

Despite my words, I knew exactly why. Mainly because I’d just been considering it. Not the use of Think Again precisely, but a means to give Near Miss another deliberate opportunity to interfere in this mission. Actually going through with it, I was aware, would be tantamount to active sabotage.

I'd only considered it. Hadn't acted. Of all the things to tamper with, the Machine was not a good one. Arguably it was the heart of the Chapel.

I tried my best to think of the positives. We'd learnt a few unconfirmed but critical implications: First, that mission information could overrule the impact of Think Again, at least in part. Second, Think Again could in turn partly overrule the Machine. Third, the Machine knew pre-existing, probably negative information on where we were meant to be going. And last, that no one except for the three of us knew the alarm had ever been triggered.

Near Miss wanted me to have this information. And didn't want it to go to the Chapel. What I was supposed to do with it was anyone’s guess.

All that talk about choosing sides. It didn’t feel like I was choosing wisely.

Inyusol hung his head in the ensuing intimidating silence. "I shall take responsibility for my actions and be held accountable," he said.

"You're damn right –" Flinpen began.

I took another shaky breath. “Don't. It was a mistake. We won’t tell."

The second-tier shot me a glance in surprise.

"This is my fault, not yours," I continued. "Fate. You don't remember the original input sequence, do you?”

“Not enough to trust it," the trainee assassin stammered. "And I shouldn't redo this again. If you end up with a third target, surely it will only make things worse.”

Inyusol seemed like he was about to confess to destroying the universe, so I pulled Flinpen out of the room to spare him. We reconvened in the loading bay a second later, blissfully empty. Fate apparently had ideas about the speed of our departure.

I held up a quick hand before Flinpen had a chance to open her mouth. “Let me explain."