Unsuspecting zombies milled about the exercise yard. They might as well be livestock, although this bunch was in bad shape.

Thomas leaned on the fence and watched them.

A quiet, inner part of him felt guilty. He always instructed his zombified victims to take care of their own basic survival necessities, but that kept them usable for only a week. After that? They were likely to drop dead from pure exhaustion. Constant alertness for commands took a toll. Zombies could not sleep and did not dream or even hallucinate.

So after a week or so, they could not survive without intensive care, and nobody was willing to donate a lot of care to brain-damaged enemies who had no chance of recovery or redemption.

One zombie ambled close.

Thomas sent overriding mental instructions to that one, silently ordering it to spread the instructions to the other penned-in zombies. He wanted them to emulate a fight-or-flight response to danger.

In other words, he wanted them to temporarily act like people.

Once Thomas was sure that his mental instructions had made their way to most of the zombies, he sealed his mouth around two fingers in order to make a loud, piercing whistle.

Azhdarchidae came roaring out of the clouds.

The sky croc was much larger than when Thomas had first rescued him. His wingspan was the width of an ultralight aircraft. As he plummeted towards the zombies, he opened his huge crocodilian maw.

The zombies scattered. They were as empty-headed as scarecrows, but they ran as if they had free will.

If this was a real combat situation, Thomas would target the enemy commander. He hurled a fireball at a fast-moving male zombie. His fiery flare lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough.

Azhdarchidae ignored all the other targets, whether they were running or crawling or standing still. He rammed into Thomas’s target at missile speed. Jaws meant for snatching alien fish out of the ocean broke the zombie’s spine with a thick crunch.

Impressive.

But instead of swallowing the zombie, or dropping it from a high elevation, Azhdarchidae decided that a pen full of zombies was a good place to land. He alighted on a hill, spat the still living zombie to the ground, and eyed Thomas with reptilian orange eyes. Apparently he was accustomed to tastier meat.

If that barely-chewed victim was a functional Torth, he would still be able to send mental commands to other Torth. Not ideal.

“Kill.” Thomas said it in a warm, approving tone.

His commands to Azhdarchidae were always in English. Very few people in Freedomland used that language, so the animal was unlikely to respond to someone’s casual conversation by accident.

Azhdarchidae eviscerated the zombie.

Thomas watched the carnage with a perverse sort of pride. He knew he shouldn’t derive satisfaction from watching a humanoid die in a violently gruesome way. But his sky croc needed combat training, and anyway, if Thomas did not use expired zombies for target practice, someone else would.

His sky croc knew better than to eat clothing and undigestible materials. He spat everything out into a glistening, bloody lump.

The Earth version of Thomas might have vomited upon witnessing such visceral brutality.

But the Earth version of Thomas was buried inside a Torth version.

And that was buried inside a Yeresunsa version.

And that was encapsulated inside an able-bodied version who stood in an exosuit.

Over all of that? A nearly endless patchwork of life experiences cloaked Thomas, serving as a constant reminder that he was an amalgamation.

Thomas used to be a child. But that might as well be ancient history. It no longer seemed relevant. Or real.

Azhdarchidae raised his head, sawtoothed grin dripping blood. How could Thomas ignore that look of innocent expectation? The sky croc had obediently tracked Thomas on command, and then he had obeyed Thomas’s ultra-loud whistle summon. He sure deserved a treat.

“All right, you big turkey.” Thomas used his powers to toast the edible innards of the corpse.

Azhdarchidae waited impatiently for the flames to die and the smoke to dissipate. Then he tore into the charred meat with savage delight.

Thomas hobbled to his hoverchair, and sat, eager to rest. He was glad that Azhdarchidae was enjoying his meal. He was such a good boy.

The remaining zombies cowered along the fence. Such was Thomas’s unattainable, worthless army.

He needed Rosy Ranks and Servants of All on his side. Not just as disposable mind-controlled bodies, but with their minds—and especially their powers—intact.

He needed real allies.

Every night, he ascended into the Megacosm and begged Torth to join him. The latest laws of the Majority did make exile difficult, but anyone determined enough could still escape. Surely they could?

A renegade Torth might whisper the tale of Kessa the Wise to their slaves in order to create a distraction. They might even fake a slave’s death in order to onboard a new slave, thereby recruiting extra help in secret. And then? They could sever themselves from the Megacosm and flee into wilderness.

Thomas had done it. Why couldn’t others?

A renegade Torth didn’t even necessarily need to steal a spaceship. They could self-isolate in a forest or a canyon or a cave, and then ascend just for a few seconds, long enough to send a message that they wanted to join the Conqueror. Ariock would need to teleport and pick up the renegade before the Torth Empire could get to them.

It should be doable. Dangerous, but doable.

So where were the renegades?

Where was the boy Twin? Where were the other high ranks who had gone rogue and exiled themselves from the Megacosm?

Ariock had publicly praised Thomas after his defense of the Academy. “Quick thinking” and “decisive actions in combat.” That was how Ariock had characterized his zombification of a few dozen Torth. Ariock didn’t like zombification, but even so, he’d loudly proclaimed that Thomas had saved a lot of lives. He had even said that Thomas would make a fine warrior.

Thomas had forced a laugh at that, trying to dismiss the praise as a joke. He belonged in scientific laboratories, not on battlefields.

Yet in the secret depths of his mind, Thomas had felt a warm glow at Ariock’s esteem.

That was why he was here, training Azhdarchidae for combat.

He had even begun to wonder if, perhaps, he ought to make time in his schedule for martial arts practice? Once he could walk without an exosuit, he might seek a sparring partner—someone comparable to his own modest size and strength, not a Dovanack—so he could instill enough muscle memory to match a Servant of All. With his absorbed knowledge database, he should be able to ramp up at an inhumanly rapid pace.

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As if any of that could make up for his strategic failure.

So much for the millions of renegades he had counted on.

Azhdarchidae stalk-walked over to him. The sky croc was far too big for cuddles, yet he still derived pleasure from being stroked. He nuzzled his long neck over Thomas’s lap, and Thomas stroked the massive animal’s reptilian plate-armor skin.

He inhaled the familiar scents of carnage and charred meat. Along with that inhalation, he absorbed all the simple bestial pleasures which Azhdarchidae enjoyed. Gorging. Flying. Being petted.

Those simple pleasures were a welcome escape from Thomas’s daily routines. Zombification. Dead end military research. Failing to gain Torth allies. Dealing with people who despised rekvehs.

Thomas might lose the galactic war, but at least he had a sky croc who adored him. Azhdarchidae was on his side no matter what.

?!

Alarm spiked through the beast’s mind. Azhdarchidae cocked his head, eying the overcast sky.

Thomas saw, through animal perceptions, that a large and unnatural-looking sky croc was soaring just beneath the thick clouds.

Most people would have fled upon seeing a wild predator within swooping distance. Azhdarchidae was certainly alarmed. He roared a warning and took off in a great whoosh of flapping.

But Thomas wasn’t fooled.

Azhdarchidae roared again as the larger sky croc dove towards Thomas.

Thomas merely folded his arms and tightened his mouth in disapproval. He didn’t flinch when the seemingly wild beast landed directly in front of him, close enough to swallow him in one bite.

“You got the wing claws wrong,” Thomas said. “And the wing proportions are unrealistic.”

The false sky croc uttered a throaty laugh. “I didn’t spend enough time studying your beast.”

She shrank, becoming recognizable as the winged Lady in a reptilian headdress and a dress of black scales. Her wings matched, shiny and metallic black.

Thomas was disinclined to be friendly to the former goddess-empress. “Do you mind not imitating people and creatures I care about?”

She pouted. “I was just having fun.”

Fun.

How nice that she could afford play time.

Was she purposely trying to sabotage his reputation? At least one third of the city already believed that Thomas was something like the devil. If they saw a wild predator acting unnaturally sapient, they would assume that he was puppeteering a hell-beast.

“I don’t want you to mimic Azhdarchidae,” he told her.

Evenjos danced back, well out of telepathy range, apparently unnerved. “I’m sorry. I meant no offense.”

“Why are you bothering me?” Thomas let himself sound as dead as he felt inside.

Her cheeks pinkened. “Can’t this just be a friendly visit?”

As if her pranks were just innocent fun.

Thomas was grateful for the regeneration healing which she had given him, opening up his future with endless possibilities. He owed her for that. And sure, he was aware of the vast differential between them in raw power. Evenjos could literally eat him. But if she thought he would meekly tolerate bullying…

Well. He could imagine a thousand different ways to reeducate her.

“I did not intend…” Evenjos hesitated, then seemed to force herself to go on. “I never meant to hurt your family.” She folded her wings tight. “I am sorry.”

Thomas considered asking her to get within range, so he could know whether or not her apology was sincere.

Evenjos cleared her throat. “Truthfully, I miss the way we were able to connect. I wanted to visit with you. Just to talk.”

Thomas relaxed very slightly. He did feel affinity for Evenjos. He felt that for anyone who was unusually exceptional, or exceptionally unusual.

“There’s much I could learn from your memories,” he said.

Evenjos clasped her hands over her scaly black dress. “I suppose I could share some more of myself with you. Uh, it was never my intention to make you and Ariock hate me.”

Thomas believed her. Nevertheless, he did not show her any forgiveness.

Evenjos seemed less and less certain of herself. “Uh,” she said, “I am here partially on behalf of Garrett. He wants to open some inquiries with you.”

“Why would he send you?” Thomas searched Evenjos’s face for hints. Did she owe Garrett a favor? Why would the former goddess-empress agree to act as a mere messenger?

Secretive warmth flashed across her face in a micro-expression.

That was enough of a clue. “Oh,” Thomas said.

Evenjos seemed defensive. “I’ll have you know, he is a very generous love-maker,” she said in response to Thomas’s knowing look. “He fulfills me. And—”

“All right,” Thomas ruthlessly cut her off. “I don’t need details.”

Evenjos and Garrett. Woohoo. Lucky them.

Everyone in Thomas’s social circles seemed capable of stumbling into romance. Why was it so impossible for him? Thomas wondered if he would ever get to experience the fun kind of intimacy.

“One thing Garrett wants to know,” Evenjos said, “is whether you have learned how to brainwash gently.”

“I’ve given it some thought,” Thomas said noncommittally. Gentle brainwashing might be more useful than zombification—except that it had many troubling ethical implications. In some ways, it seemed even more invasive and evil than zombification.

“Hmm.” Evenjos glanced towards Azhdarchidae, distracted. The sky croc had landed nearby, having gotten over his startled alarm.

“Are you training your animal to devour Torth?” Evenjos asked.

“It’s prudent,” Thomas said. “Since you’re no longer in the Torth-eating habit.”

Evenjos fiddled with her scaly dress. She looked genuinely ashamed. “I would be brave, if not for the gaseous inhibitor.”

“I know,” Thomas said. His side of the war was on the verge of losing ground to the Torth Empire, but as much as he wanted someone to blame, he knew that Evenjos was not the reason for their losses. She was just one factor.

“Garrett and I could both really use immunity,” Evenjos said. “That’s another thing he wants to ask you about. Are you making any progress whatsoever?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. Garrett asked about immunity every day. His near-death due to pink inhibitor gas had humiliated him.

“It’s dead ends, so far.” Thomas wondered how he was supposed to make progress on anything scientific while zombifying thousands of Torth per day.

Evenjos seemed to wilt. “Without immunity, I am utterly useless in battle.” She sounded disgusted with herself. “With it? I could make a real difference.”

“Our research is stymied in a few ways,” Thomas explained. “Not least of which is a lack of test subjects. We would make faster progress if our warriors would subject themselves to brain scans and other non-invasive experiments.”

Jinishta had tried to persuade her people. No one was willing.

“The Torth have plenty of Rosy Ranks who would rather hang out in labs, undergoing tests, than face Ariock in battle,” Thomas said. “That’s why the Torth scientists are pulling ahead of us.”

“They are?”

Thomas spread his hands. Wasn’t it obvious? “They invented that inhibitor gas. I couldn’t have done that. I don’t have the faintest clue how they did it. All the reverse-engineering I’ve done isn’t enough.”

“Oh.” Evenjos gave him a shy look. “Is there anything I can do? To help your research?”

Thomas eyed her. This was unexpected.

“Can I volunteer as a test subject?” Evenjos clarified.

Thomas sized her up, wondering if this yet another prank. Garrett had volunteered a few times, and Ariock had also allowed the lab technicians to scan his brain, but Thomas had yet to find any clues about the biogenesis of powers.

If only Unyat’s scientific notes could have outlasted the eons. That long-dead scientist must have known all the secrets.

Thomas cleared his throat, making himself sound businesslike and not inviting in any way. “Would you be willing to lend me some of your dust? For experimentation purposes?”

He expected a refusal.

Evenjos held up one slender hand. Her flesh evaporated in the breeze, becoming dust particles. “Would it be useful to you? My body is unlike that of any other Yeresunsa.”

Her dust might lead Thomas and his team towards new lines of thought. After all, the new version of the inhibitor, a phase-shifting substance invented by Torth super-geniuses, seemed just as mysterious as Evenjos’s dust. In fact…

What if its purpose was specifically to target Evenjos?

Thomas shifted in his seat. All of his research was based on an underlying assumption that Yeresunsa powers were rooted in brain chemistry, and that that was what the inhibitor targeted. After all, powers were tied to moods. His team kept analyzing neurotransmitters and brain waves.

What if he was wrong?

Maybe the biogenesis of powers was rooted in a phase-shift in the realm of histones and nucleosomes; a basic alteration of substance, rather than the mechanics of neurochemistry. Evenjos’s dust might hold the key to figuring out.

“I’ll need an uncontaminated sample.” Thomas’s thoughts leaped ahead to experimental possibilities. He would need to upgrade his excimer laser.

Evenjos reconstituted her hand except for her pinky finger. She blew it towards Thomas as a ribbon of dust. “How much do you need?”

“I’ll tell Varktezo.” Thomas couldn’t mask his excitement. “Will you please visit my lab? Varktezo will have glass vials and vacuum chambers ready, and he’ll walk you through how to donate your sample.”

Evenjos reformed her pinky finger. She gave him a saucy look. “Let me know if you ever want a sample you can contaminate.”

Thomas ignored her innuendo. He understood Evenjos well enough to know that she was insecure. She wanted attention. She wanted men fighting over her, and she was trying to see if she could provoke that sort of competition between Garrett and Thomas.

Yikes.

He definitely wasn’t going to insert himself into that sort of drama.

But her sauciness, and her suppressed hope, reminded Thomas of why he liked her, despite her flaws. How could he not? They had both suffered in a pit of despair.

They both understood hopelessness. He had saved her, and she had saved him.

Azhdarchidae walked closer, seeing Thomas’s ease with Evenjos. The sky croc towered over both of them. He tentatively nuzzled Evenjos with his gigantic head, which was larger than she was.

Evenjos petted him. That was a kind, fearless reaction.

“Please don’t mimic him again,” Thomas said.

“I won’t,” Evenjos said.

“And don’t pretend to be anyone else,” Thomas said. “I want you to stop fooling people. Stop messing with my friends.”

His own sternness made him inwardly annoyed with himself. He was being too hard on Evenjos. He actually felt glad that she had stopped by. It was nice that someone on his side cared enough to check in with him, just to see how he was doing.

“I will respect your boundaries, Thomas,” Evenjos said. “And I will visit Varktezo, as you have asked.” She spread her wings. “Thank you.”

Thomas struggled to think of how he might reopen a friendship with her.

He just could not think of anything that would convey his sympathy and respect. Every sentence that ran through his mind seemed inadequate.

Before he could speak, Evenjos launched herself skyward. She was gone.