Sabotaged vehicles smoldered, their smoke columns tinged red from the coastal sunset.

Kessa stood on a thick veranda and surveyed a panoramic view of urban sprawl. Evenings usually entailed a lot of traffic in Freedomland. Shopkeepers liked to offer last-minute bargains, and people sought entertainment after work. But right now?

A few furtive pedestrians hurried through otherwise empty streets. They must be checking on loved ones or treasured belongings.

The immediate threat was over. The invaders were slaughtered. Yet Kessa guessed that many residents still hunkered in bomb shelters. People were miserable with uncertainty. Torth had bombed the delicate satellites around Nuss and Umdalkdul, ending all friendly communication from those planets.

According to Garrett, the Torth Empire had not managed to re-take any cities. But wasn’t that just a matter of time?

The Bringer of Hope was missing.

No one, not even Thomas, knew where Ariock or Evenjos were.

Kessa’s pink-cheeked assistant, an albino shani named Yanyashta, emerged from the doorway. “Um…” Yanyashta always hesitated before saying anything remotely controversial. “Um, Kessa, is it not dangerous to stand out in the open like this?”

She looked ready to guide Kessa back inside the cavernous war palace.

“Perhaps.” Kessa admired the banded planet that shone through parted clouds above. She could imagine Torth ghosting through the air in front of her, invisible, intangible, and targeting her with silent malevolence. The ghosters could then send teleporters directly to Kessa. They could have her murdered within seconds.

If the Majority of Torth considered an elderly ummin to be an important enough target.

If the Majority collectively decided to send yet another wave of invaders.

“Ariock can ghost for up to seven minutes at a time,” Kessa said. “He can do it again and again. But most Servants and Rosies can only manage once. If they try it again, they are in a depletion coma.”

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Yanyashta looked slightly mollified. As an Alashani, she had grown up with concrete knowledge about the abilities and limitations of Yeresunsa, but her albino variety could not ghost or teleport. Their species had completely lost that power during one of their population bottlenecks; probably during the Age of Starvation.

“So…” Yanyashta moved closer, her tone full of suppressed hope. “You think the Torth are taking a break?”

Kessa recalled a holographic recording which Thomas had sent her an hour ago. He clearly didn’t trust the bad times to be over. He had taken up residence in a secret bomb shelter, and he’d urged her to do the same.

“Stay hidden,” he’d said. “Take care of yourself.”

But that wasn’t a conversation. Thomas had not invited Kessa to report her own opinions and observations.

She had not shared with him, for instance, the fact that dozens of penitents had forewarned her about the invasion.

It was hard to believe. Kessa would not have believed it herself, but all of her lieutenants had clamored to talk to her. Thanks to their warnings, most of the city population had gone underground before hordes of penitents wreaked havoc.

Kessa pulled a tiny, colorful marble out of her pocket.

“I used to oversee the manufacturing of blaster gloves,” one sad-looking male penitent had told Kessa during one of her routine inspections. “This data marble contains primitive engineering tips. I downloaded the data before your people collared me, figuring I might gain access to materials to create a makeshift bomb. Maybe I could make the Torth Majority proud.”

The penitent had offered the marble to Kessa.

“I no longer trust the Torth Majority to fight for justice,” he had said. “I’m not one of them anymore. I have no status or name. But I recognize you as the mother I never had.”

Kessa folded her hand over the marble.

She had never had the opportunity to incubate eggs or to raise hatchlings. City slaves were not permitted such wondrous things as families. To be considered a mother … to have someone see her that way … it touched a yearning part of her soul. It reminded her of youth.

Kessa carried the marble in acknowledgement of her quasi-motherhood.

She wondered how many reformed penitents wished for parents. And how many liberated city slaves wished for children?

There was a possible bridge across the chasm that separated non-telepaths from telepaths.

“The Torth are wayward children, lost and alone,” Kessa told her assistant. “Slaves are now finding their way out of eons of confusion and loneliness. I think we are maturing in ways the Torth cannot comprehend.”

Kessa still yearned to know everything, to see everything that mind readers could see.

The data marble fit inside her small hand. Her impossible dream was likewise within her grasp. She would make use of telepathy gas. She would learn to be a mind reader.

“I am not afraid,” Kessa said.