Propelled by fear, my legs carried me forwards through urgency and tunnel vision towards the closest help available until a hand descended on my collar and pulled me into a quieter street.

“It’s about time,” Flinpen said. She didn’t look like herself, or split in half, but her marker had been a strong indication. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve walked back and forth with the same stack of lenses –”

“I need help,” I interrupted, grabbing onto each lapel of her collar. “The versal magic they use here is called Function. It’s made of the same stuff as augments, but warped somehow and weaker. I just took an infusion and have to have another. One more drop and I’ll hit second-tier.” The words cascaded out. “I’m teetering on the edge right now. I can’t tell you how horrible this feels. You need to send someone from the Chapel. Preferably now.”

Flinpen blinked at me. I could see her trying to take it all in. “But augments are irreversible,” she said at last. “Your only way out is forwards.”

“You know I can’t advance here.”

I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t know if or how it would show, especially not with untried content in the mix that wasn’t even technically an augment.

“Then ditch the mission and run. We have redundancy. I’ll stay behind with you as my handler.”

“Except that I have a legitimate in. When will this chance happen again? Not to mention the other, bigger issue. I can’t function like this. I’m sick and half-delirious. If I can’t take the infusion, I need something. Maybe a third-tier would have an idea. Look, I can feign a different illness for maybe a day. Can you find me someone in that time?”

“Lamutri –”

“Tidu,” I injected. “In case you need it.”

“Got it.”

Footsteps sounded from the around the corner. “That’s my cue,” I hissed. “Send help.”

I staggered back out and around, running into Er Jid. “You were right. It didn’t help. I think I need medical attention.”

Flinpen’s marker blipped out halfway down the street. I leant on Er’s shoulder as she hurried me down a new route, doing my best to hold in the contents of my stomach. Far more unpleasant was the versal bloat, made infinitely worse by being stuck; neither able to be drained back out nor pushed over into the next tier. Augments were designed to avoid this problem, but the Garrison infusion had been too weak. No one was meant to find themselves in this position, but as usual I comprised the exception.

Function-related sensations danced around the edges of my awareness, too; new appendages ready to be tested. Not in a condition to deal with them, I pushed them away.

Er opened a door into a tiny room made of mostly bed and the most complicated set of lenses I’d seen yet. The latter she left untouched. “Wait here.”

I complied and crawled onto the stretcher. It lay folded out from the wall in a suspended stone platform. The mattress on it was thin and heavy. There was a metal pan next to it, one I’d possibly need. Lying down didn’t make me feel any less likely to explode, but at least it stopped the world from spinning.

Quads didn’t usually wear their physical effects too badly; there was a chance an advancement could go unnoticed. But why now, after all that effort to hold me back? I couldn’t tell what had changed: if it was some kind of catalyst making a difference, or that Near Miss had just finally decided to align with my interests. “I thought you didn’t want this,” I groaned, holding my head as proxy to the actual part that hurt. “I thought –”

The door opened, admitting Er and a man full of glass.

He was sheathed in lenses from head to toe, sewn into the fabric of his outfit in half-covered pockets so that they didn’t spill the light. His hair was blue like mine – my original colour – in soft, light tufts, and his skin a medium-brown. He could almost have been from my homeworld.

“This is him,” Er said. “Not responding to white.”

“Tidu, I hear. I’m the Brightman.” His voice was light and friendly.

“Like a doctor?” I asked.

“That, and other things.” He pulled a brass chain out from around his neck from which dangled a small metal tube. When twisted, the device produced a narrow beam of artificial light. “Hold out your hand.”

I dangled it over the side of the bed, finding myself subjected to several shots of unfiltered illumination. It was followed by a run-through of colour combinations that seemed to take aeons; lenses combined and repositioned in endless formations while I did my best not to throw up. None of it would help, but I had to maintain the charade.

More layers of colour were clipped to the end of the metal tube, but the doctor’s face remained steady. I didn’t know what he was watching for. Eventually, the tube went back around his neck.

“Would you mind leaving us, Er?” the Brightman asked, to which the recruiter gave a short, worried smile.

“If it’s serious, I want to know.” She slid the door open and stepped outside.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

I watched it close.

When I turned back, I found the doctor’s eyes on me. “You’re not human, are you?” he asked bluntly.

The question slightly took me aback. “Would it be a problem if I wasn’t?”

“It can be. Our treatments are calibrated for human biology. And while there can be decent crossover, the continuum is a big place. We can’t cover it all, or even most of it.” He paused. “You’re responding as expected, but there are inconsistencies.”

I gave him a short smile. “It depends where you draw the line.” Which varied wildly depending on where you were in the multiverse. I’d visited universes where having a different number and position of birthmarks was enough to be branded an inhuman mutant, and ones where nothing mattered at all. I hoped Er hadn't told the Brightman too much about the GIA and where it sat on that spectrum. I wasn't clear on it myself.

“Then where do you draw it?”

I was sitting on it right this moment. Painfully. This whole scenario was an exercise in diverting attention from Flinpen's efforts to find something that could actually help.

The doctor continued. “You see, these inconsistencies aren’t the type one sees from technological tampering, and magic can’t be carried across worlds.”

“Er mentioned I’d come into contact with raw Function.” I repeated the recruiter's words. “Something about a node.”

It meant something to him; the Brightman slowly exhaled. Picking the top lens off the bundle on the metal tube, he slipped it back in its associated pocket and reached for the next. When he spoke, it was low. “I’ll be blunt. You’re swimming in energy you’re not supposed to have: so much so that it’s dangerous for you.”

“I know. That’s why I’m sick.”

“Dangerous,” he continued calmly, “because our leadership would kill you if they knew. Your recruiter won’t protect you. No node can do what’s been done to you, nor can our suns. It’s only a matter of time before someone figures out what has happened. You should never have been brought here.”

I winced, discomfort with bloat subsuming much of the better rational fear. “Then I’ll leave.”

“Good luck doing so. You’re in our system; that means we can track you. Leave, and you’ll only expedite the punishment. Do you even know how?” He shook his head. “You’re extremely lucky I caught this.”

“Then why are you helping me?”

His voice remained barely above a whisper. “Because I don’t believe in the slaughter of young recruits with no idea of our customs or purpose. And because of the timing. You’ve arrived at a time of tremendous change; there will be unavoidable ripple effects. But most of the Garrison won’t see it like that. You’ve dropped into a nest of enemies who will only care about what you are and see it as an abomination. If you hope to survive, you can’t let it find out.”

My hand was still resting over the edge of the bed's platform. I drew it back onto my chest. “And how do I do that?”

“By doing exactly what I say.” The last of the lenses returned to his pockets, and he made a series of swipes at the air as his voice returned to a normal volume. “I’m logging you for acute solar overexposure, for which you’ll need privacy and rest. Er Jid must give you your final infusion. You’ll need it. Do not leave this room for any reason in the meantime. I’ll be back to check on you shortly.”

“But what about my malady?” I queried in a whisper.

Grimly, the Brightman swapped back to the low voice. “Death is the cure for your affliction,” he replied. “I’m sorry, but I can do nothing for you there.” Standing, he pulled at the door and stepped out, greeting the silhouette of Er Jid with muttered conversation.

Then he didn’t know the full picture. He didn’t know about tiers. From what I’d seen and felt, Function was so weak compared to Chapel augments – only a fraction of the power – it was possible the Garrison had never managed to reach them.

With a shared word, the recruiter returned to the room and passed me the remaining vial. “Rest up. And you’re to drink this. The Brightman thinks it might strengthen your stamina.”

Oh, it would, alright. “Thank you,” I said, holding both arms to my stomach and behaving like an invalid. “I’ll take it on my own time.”

Er looked like she wanted to protest, but the Brightman’s touch cut it short. “He can rest.”

After they left, I tucked it away under the metal pan. My symptoms were bad enough without temptation staring me in the face. Instead of resting, I stared at the walls and miserably counted the minutes.

Twenty-two and a half of them had gone past when Flinpen ducked in.

“The Chapel won’t budge on the quarantine,” she said, joining me at a seat on the bed. “At least not for now. Because of that, it's difficult to find people to ask. And I won't lie, I don't think there'd be any answers if I did. Nysept is still unresponsive and creepy. But I did find this.” She opened her fingers around a small, curled-up scroll. “It’s from Alusept.”

“Really?” I stared sickly at the paper, then forced myself to take it.

Writing covered both sides in tiny, condensed lettering, but I recognised the handwriting.

[I’m not allowed to say much,] it read. [Trust me, they vet everything. But I’m alive and still in quarantine. I’m working towards a meeting, even just for someone to talk to.]

I looked at Flinpen. “He’s not doing well.”

She shook her head in agreement. “Keep reading.”

[I heard about the new mission. Wish I could join you. I'm working on something else. Something big. It might find its way down to you. And thank you for earlier. It did what it was meant to do.]

“Something big,” Flinpen repeated excitedly. “A mission’s pay on it being Jadal Cai.”

“He’s still working,” I noted. My brain might not have been in gear, but it noticed that.

“Yes?” Her eyes widened a moment later. “Oh.”

“Could be due to the quarantine,” I threw out halfheartedly.

“It does seem… strange,” Flinpen murmured. She turned the paper again, as if searching for hidden messages. “I didn’t know him that well, but… is that the sort of choice he would make?”

Unless things had changed, I was fairly sure Alusept had made concrete plans to chase after his parents. That, or settle down in some underdeveloped universe and take it under his wing. Before I'd been left behind, we’d talked about building such projects together. But explaining that took words, and right now it felt like there were too many.

I settled for shaking my head. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” I said, “but let’s discuss this later. Did you find anything that can help me? What about Long Game? I’ll happily owe you.”

Her expression sobered. “I’m sorry, but no. As for Long Game, I only used it a few days ago. If it had any effect now, it would be so minor as to barely make a difference.”

“Then I don’t have much of a choice.” I pulled out the last vial of Function, stopping short of uncorking the top. “I don’t know what this will do to me, but I’d be grateful if you’d stay.”

“Always. If Near Miss hasn't intervened, it can’t be that bad, right?”

I mustered a wry grin as I unscrewed the lid. “Maybe, but its routes are circuitous. Wish me luck.”