Several thousand miles from Auxvasse, inside an Old Zone, Jason Nero executed a command prompt on his IBM 3270.

On the dais inside the simulated observation tower a mile and a half above the lunar surface, a mere five paces from the Resolute desk, an Asiatic woman in a white Mender’s robe appeared.

“Chief Mendress,” Nero said. “How are you this evening?”

Chela glanced around, looking uncomfortable to the point of horrified. “How would one know it's evening in this place?”

Nero shrugged. “A clock, I suppose.”

“Where am I?”

“The moon. Above Earth.”

Chela turned over her shoulder and glanced at the orb in the distance. It wasn’t the real Earth, obviously. The real one was a badly scarred, horrific sight. The simulated one was a reconstruction of old images.

“Is this your home world, then?” she asked.

“A recreation of it. Before it was destroyed.”

She frowned at it. “I don't like it here, Jason. It's a dark, unsettling place.”

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I have some questions though. Won’t take long.”

The dignified old healer straightened and took in air through her nostrils. “I shall try to answer.”

“There was a Player named Walker in your Surgery today. I’d like to know what ailment landed him there.”

Chela’s brow furrowed. “A Resident Mendress brought him in on the Cart of Quandaries. He and his wife were half-frozen to death.”

Nero raised a brow. “Wife?”

“Well, he denied she was his wife. But our Seers sensed a newly-placed Mark of the Bonding on them.”

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Nero paused a beat. Pondering the implications. “They were newly-weds?”

“It seems so. But the boy denied it.”

“I see. And they were frozen, you said?”

“Yes,” she said. “He was rewarmed en route to the Surgery. But then one of our trainees inexplicably administered a lethal dose of Ramistigmine Elixir. This necessitated heroic measures to save his life. Truthfully I thought he was dead. He had no heartbeat when he arrived, but his corpse failed to disappear. So we put him in an observation bed and waited. And he woke-up.”

“Huh.” Nero reached into the drawer and pulled out a box of cigars. He opened it and clipped off the edge of one of them.

“Those are not good for you, Jason,” she scolded.

He flicked the lighter and ignited the end, puffing out smoke as he did. Truth was, such a statement had no meaning in this grand simulation. But telling the construct that would only give her existential anxiety. “Thank you for your concern. But back to Walker… what became of this wife of his?”

Her face grew sad. “Yes. Her remains vanished shortly after they arrived at the scene.”

Nero sat back in his chair, frowning, the cigar between his fingers wafting fragrant smoke into the air. “Did he mention anything about this recent marriage?”

“Only that he didn't remember marrying her.” The old healer scratched her nose. “If I had a Robban for every man in my Surgery misremembering his nuptials, I would be a rich woman.”

“Perhaps the Mark was placed to help your Seers locate them,” he muttered.

“Perhaps.”

“Which Ceremony Mage placed the Mark? Did he say?”

Chela paused a beat. “As a matter of fact, he did. A fellow traveling with the gnomes who robbed him.” Her eyes went up to the ceiling as though trying to remember. “The name eludes me, however.”

Nero sat up in his chair. A Ceremony Mage traveling with a group of bandit gnomes. There was only one man fitting that description. “Branimir Romchil?”

The old Mendress squinted at him. “That sounds like the one.”

Nero stared at her for several long seconds. So, Romchil found Walker. Or did Walker manage to find Romchil? Whatever the case, Walker shouldn’t have survived an encounter with the Superuser. But not only did he survive, it seems the old fool saved his life. Strange, that. Damn strange. Did Romchil not know who Walker is? Unless…

“Is something the matter, Jason?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You look ill,” Chela said. “Are you in need of a remedy?”

Nero scratched an itch above his right eye. “I’m alright. Thank you.”

She raised a brow. “Certainly. May I leave? This realm is disquieting to my spirit.”

“You may leave.”

Relief washed over the woman's face. “Thank you. Goodbye, Jason.”

“Goodbye.”

The NPC vanished.

And just like that, Nero was alone on the lunar station, the image of a living Earth hovering in the periphery.

He turned back to the ancient computer and the blinking phosphor command line. He placed his fingers on the home row of the rickety old keyboard. The way he was taught in primary school. And began typing.