Varktezo exited the Dragon Tower with a spring in his step and happiness stretching his beak. What an enlightening discussion that had been! Who would ever guess that the Teacher could suffer from self-doubt?

Or that he would actually listen to—and accept!—advice from his lab assistant?

“Told you,” one of the door sentries grunted to her companion.

The second door sentry grumbled in concession. “Well, he was gone for a long time.”

Varktezo recalled this sentry saying that the rekveh would likely roast the ummin alive, then feed his crispy ummin corpse to the sky croc. She must have made it a wager. Nussians had such a weakness for gambling.

“Yup, I am fine, thank you for your concern.” Varktezo considered moving on. Did door sentries count as military personnel?

He supposed they did.

“The Teacher asked me to convey a message to you both.” Varktezo beckoned.

The nussians had to crouch down, then crane their heads forward as far down as they could go, in order to meet Varktezo at his height level. Or close enough.

Varktezo did not normally talk to nussians. Sure, there were a few immense candidates who wanted to work as lab technicians, but Varktezo simply did not want any chance of a big, clumsy oaf destroying delicate test tubes and other equipment. He refused all nussian applicants. The lab was no place for people who weighed a ton, and who had thorns and spikes on their armored skin.

The Teacher said that Varktezo ought to give nussians a chance. He claimed that pre-Torth nussians used to build their own scientific laboratories, where they had used data interfaces built for their voices and hands, and machinery as a proxy for delicate operations. Some of them supposedly had a knack for intuiting theoretical mathematics.

Whatever. That was ancient history. Nussians these days were oafs, as far as Varktezo was concerned.

“Be on high alert today and tomorrow,” Varktezo told the door sentries. “I am not saying we are in danger. But listen to your dispatch service a lot. If you hear the slightest hint that our city might be under attack … um, call a military reserve troop to the Dragon Tower immediately. Remember, your top duty is to protect our Teacher. Your job is important.”

The sentries exchanged a look.

“You two have a pleasant day!” Varktezo patted one of the sentries on her pebbly shin, trying to convey that he appreciated her competence. He began to trot away.

“Hold on there,” one of the sentries rumbled.

Varktezo tried not to tap his foot with impatience. “What?”

“Did the rekveh say anything specific?” one sentry asked.

“Can you tell us anything more?” the other asked.

Varktezo considered glossing over a few factoids, since he wanted to be on his way. He had a garrison to warn. He had experiments and research which he wanted to get back to. After the sudden rainstorm and the news from Nuss, the guards should be able to infer that Ariock was off-world, which was always a cause for extra vigilance at home.

But he supposed that if anyone had a right to be fully informed, it was the sentries who personally guarded Thomas.

“Freedomland is relatively unprotected right now,” Varktezo said, after a quick glance around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “Garrett Dovanack and the Lady of Sorrow are gone, along with the Bringer of Hope. The Teacher feels more concern than usual. He thinks there is a strong possibility that the Torth will attack us here.”

The guards looked alarmed.

“Nothing is certain,” Varktezo hastily said. “He cannot guess what the Torth are planning, if anything. But he asked me to convey that to you. I am sure it is nothing to worry about.”

The guards both snaked their necks in a nussian gesture of gratitude.

“Thank you,” said one.

“We appreciate your information,” the other said in a kind tone. “You have our respect.”

Varktezo bobbed his head. He walked away feeling remarkably lighter in body and in mind. He had half-expected the nussians to roar laughter at him, because he was just a cowardly scientist.

Maybe nussians weren’t so bad? He just didn’t know enough of them.

He bypassed the doorway to the wing where he usually worked and headed towards the outer lobby. The posh receptionist area was granite and brass, with mirrored surfaces of polished meteorite to keep out teleporters. More than a dozen people sat at stations behind the long, curved desk.

Varktezo considered greeting the cute ummin docent who catered to his wing of the research annex. He even had a legitimate reason to talk to her, this time. Her job entailed running errands. He might ask her to….

The cute ummin saw Varktezo coming, and the smile dropped off her beak. She pretended to busy herself with a holographic display of files.

Varktezo swerved without breaking stride. His innards turned into knots, which he strove to ignore.

So what if most people failed to understand why he spent so much time with a rekveh? So what if they failed to comprehend the things he was learning, or the things he was already capable of? He wasn’t interested in their mundane prattle, anyway. That docent was cute, but his awkward conversation with her the other day should have been enough to turn him off. She had an empty mind.

Like so many, many, many people.

Well, there were quadrillions of ummins in the galaxy. He would make suitable friends, and find a suitable mate, eventually.

Someday.

Clearly not any time soon, but statistically, long-term loneliness should not be a concern for a snazzy youngster such as himself. It was just a matter of numbers. He was a whiz with numbers, so why worry?

Whistling, Varktezo strolled into the idyllic courtyard between the research annex and a wing of lecture halls. He was determined not to waste any more time thinking about that docent.

Which military headquarter should he visit first? The teleportation flats? The war palace? The prison?

Varktezo sat on a decorative bench and tapped his wristwatch, summoning his rolodex of personal contacts. He would set up appointments. Then he would decide whether to deal with the midday traffic on a hoverbike, or pilot Thomas’s private transport and deal with the hassle of rooftop docking bays.

Students walked past him in pairs or threesomes.

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“…claimed that Torth attacked Ariock.”

The voice was hushed. It was one student speaking to another.

“She only said that to see if she could start a panic.” The other student sounded certain. “You can’t trust anything that comes out of a penitent’s mouth.”

Varktezo normally tuned out the blather of foot traffic. He didn’t care to overhear chitchat about recipes or clothing fashions or dating. It was all so boring. He would much rather discuss cognitive neuroscience or astronautical engineering. Who wouldn’t? What was wrong with people, that they didn’t find the underpinnings of creation to be fascinating?

“And yeah,” the student went on, “I don’t care that it’s supposedly one of the extra special obedient ones. They’re all secretly rooting for the Torth Empire to win.”

Varktezo stood. He stared at the two students, who both happened to be female ummins.

They gave him an unfriendly return stare. He was being rude, blocking their path.

“Excuse me,” Varktezo said. “But will you tell me what you heard? What are you talking about?”

One student looked him up and down, as if assessing trash.

The other looked slightly kinder. “Do you take classes here? I don’t think we’ve met.” She made a gesture of peace.

“Please.” Varktezo was often mistaken for being a student. “You said that a penitent…” He lowered his voice, not wanting anyone to overhear. “A penitent claims that Ariock got attacked?”

The less friendly student clicked her beak in disgust. “What is your problem?” She confronted Varktezo, hands on her hips. “Do you really feel a need to spread stupid rumors?”

“It’s just something I heard,” the other student said to Varktezo, her tone reassuring. “Someone I know is friends with someone who lives in one of those big households, you know, with a penitent chambermaid to serve their meals and stuff. And apparently, the penitent chambermaid rushed out of the house and told her that dark times are ahead, because, supposedly, the Torth Empire has defeated Ariock.”

“Defeated?” Varktezo hoped this was a joke. It wasn’t funny.

“Yes.” The student laughed, as if to prove that she was not gullible enough to fall for such an absurd tale. “That’s what the penitent said, according to my friend. It said something like, ‘Ariock got attacked, and dark times are ahead, because the Torth Empire defeated him.’”

“Woo.” The other student was clearly not taking it seriously. “How would a penitent even know? They’re not allowed to mentally link up with other Torth.” That law was common knowledge.

“Right.” Varktezo glanced up at the colorful sky.

Brightly colored butterflies flitted from tree to tree. It was a peaceful and lovely day in Freedomland.

Surely not a day for catastrophe?

He forced a smile at the pair of students and stepped aside. “Well, thank you for the silly rumor. I am sure you are right.” Rumors were easy to start, and easy to spread. “Have a pleasant day!”

They waved and walked onward.

Varktezo jabbed his wristwatch, now desperate to talk to the head of the Freedomland garrison, but even more desperate to convey the rumor to Thomas. The knotted feeling in his stomach returned tenfold. He didn’t believe that Ariock had gotten magically defeated. But if such a travesty did happen, who would protect Thomas?

Which meant: Who would protect everyone?

The call connected. Thomas’s face was a tiny image on the screen of his wristwatch.

Varktezo moved off the pathway and kept his voice low. “Teacher.”

As Varktezo breathlessly retold the rumor, Thomas’s expression hardened. He was definitely taking it seriously.

“I’m going to a bunker.” Judging by motion in the camera feed, Thomas was already on the move. “I want you to contact Zenzaldal—she’s in charge while Ariock and Jinishta are away—and tell her to prepare for an invasion. I’ll contact you later.”

Screams broke through Varktezo’s focus.

He lost track of the tinny voice in his earpiece, because a deluge of panicked students were stampeding towards him. Their eyes were wide with terror. They weren’t seeing the path, or anyone in their way, because they were clearly more afraid of what was driving them than what they might run into.

“Crap. I’ll call you back.” Varktezo wanted to get away from the stampede, but they were coming from all directions, pouring out of doorways and even spilling out of windows. It looked as if the city had vomited people into the Academy.

And the Academy was vomiting itself into the research annex.

One did not need a super-genius brain to infer the enemy’s basic intentions. Torth could not teleport directly into a room with mirrored surfaces. If enemy teleporters were invading the city, they would likely show up outdoors, then swiftly close in on their top military targets.

They were heading towards Thomas.

And they were probably killing and maiming everyone who got in their way.

Varktezo activated the campus map on his wristwatch. The map app would automatically share his location with his chosen grouping of contacts, including the Teacher. Perhaps Varktezo could be of use? Newscasters might not take life-threatening risks, whereas Varktezo… well, he was from Duin.

The Teacher, and even the great Bringer of Hope, had once relied on the slaves of Duin for protection. Varktezo had not forgotten.

He called Zenzaldal as he rushed back towards the research annex. The shani who answered the call looked harried.

“Torth are attacking the Academy,” Varktezo reported. “I think they’re going for Thomas.”

“I’ll send warriors.” Zenzaldal ended the call.

Varktezo wished he had a blaster glove stowed in his vest pocket, but he rarely carried weapons. All he could do was scan for a hiding place. The annex had lots of doors, as well as oblique tunnels that led to restrooms or utility rooms. Varktezo threw himself into one of those.

He flattened himself on the floor of a restroom. Here, he could peek around the privacy wall and spy on the hallway. It was a risk, but knowledge was worth risks. Wasn’t that what everyone said?

The Teacher was the embodiment of knowledge.

If they lost Thomas, they lost the war.

Varktezo set his wristwatch camera to “livestream and capture” mode. The Torth Empire were collectively uncreative, but they might have learned from their last mistake. They had wasted forty teleporters on their first invasion of the Freedomland Academy. Their surprising gaseous inhibitor had not been enough to overcome the Teacher’s brilliance and his power to zombify.

So what new tactic or weapon had they brought this time?

Varktezo intended to livestream footage directly to Thomas. His daring communication might make the difference between freedom or death for everyone in this city. He was ready.

The stampede died down.

There was a lull as panicky people cleared out of the hallway. Anyone with sense wanted to find a hiding place.

Varktezo prepared to withdraw further inside the restroom, in case any Torth showed up and made a threatening move towards him. Surely he was too insignificant to be a military target? He was just an adolescent ummin. And if any Torth dared to probe his mind, well, he would have a severe panic attack. That usually put them off.

Shadows stirred in the hallway.

Varktezo was so keyed up, he started the livestream. He would scramble to retreat if any armored Torth approached his hiding place.

But the creeping, shambling figures were not Torth.

They were ummins.

And govki. And other types of people. Why did they look so lost and confused? Former slaves stumbled through the hallway with their hands held out in front of them, as if they were blind. Their gazes tracked things that were not there.

Lost-looking people walked or stumbled past Varktezo.

He gawked. They couldn’t be zombified. Could they?

One of the staggering ummins turned towards him. She must have been a city slave in the past, judging by the ring of scar tissue on her neck. When she stumbled around the corner, she seemed unsurprised to find the restroom occupied. She squatted next to Varktezo.

“What happened?” he whispered.

She looked at him. She did not speak.

Varktezo truly envied the Torth power to read minds. As he debated ways to convey the importance of getting answers, though, he began to have the strangest sensation.

It was worse than double vision.

He saw through his own eyes, yet he also saw himself as if he was peering through the eyes of this stranger who squatted next to him. Somehow, he also felt her limbs. It was almost as if he wore her body in addition to his own.

And he felt her fear.

He was himself—Varktezo—but he was also this middle-aged ummin who had been teaching a class on industrial hydraulics. How did he know that? The knowledge seeped into his mind as if they were merging. She had been exhibiting different ways to diagnose a bad solenoid, showing her students practical examples in different types of engines, when a mass panic swept through her class. Torth were invading the Academy!

And now? She suspected the Torth must have released a neurotoxin into the hallways, because she felt extremely disoriented and confused.

Varktezo stared at her.

She stared back at him.

Their mutual fear and confusion seemed to build towards a silent crescendo, like they were caught in a feedback loop. Varktezo struggled to hold onto his own sense of reality, but the nearby ummin’s disorientation and fears kept seeping in. She stood, and Varktezo felt like he was standing and edging away, except he was not.

When he checked his wristwatch, the other ummin glanced at her naked wrist.

Their movements were synced up. They were hardly individuals.

Other people meandered in the hallway, and jagged bits of their perceptions showed up inside Varktezo’s head, like crazy reflections thrown by shards of glass. Feet moved that were not his own. Stray thoughts distracted his own efforts to diagnose the problem.

The walls were not trustworthy.

Angles kept shifting.

Nothing was what it seemed.

Varktezo pushed his fists against his head. He needed to remember which body was his and which head was his.

Unspoken voices begged for an explanation. Varktezo alone thought that he might be able to guess what was happening.

Except it was nonsensical.

It should be utterly impossible.

He needed to tell the Teacher.