Nexus: Primordials, #3

By Neil Bullock

Humanity's birthplace is dying, torn apart by an inexplicable cosmic entity known as a Primordial. 

 

Total destruction may be only days away. Eden Lucas wants to help the survivors on the ground for as long as she can; her traveling companion Lara believes the only way to help is to search for a very different Primordial—The Creator. 

 

But how do you find someone who could be anywhere in the universe when time is running out?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Neil Bullock
• Release date: Sep 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223187479

Book preview

part one

one

Eden

YOU’RE LOOKING LOST, Eden. Everything okay? a voice asks in faintly accented English. Its owner is already several paces past me by the time I’m able to focus my attention, swept up in the river of chattering people.

Fine, I call after him, but it’s half-hearted, and I doubt he heard me. I’m not even sure who it was. I think perhaps it was Eduardo, one of the cooks, but I didn’t get a good look. I know most of the people who arrived on the first day by name, but there are dozens of new people here now.

I stand with my back to the hill that leads up to the train, my gaze fixed on the people rushing past this way and that, living what’s left of their lives. Groups of family or friends talk and laugh as they search for a spot to eat dinner bathed in the glow of the setting sun against a backdrop of tents. Tents of every size and construction, and in a rainbow of hues. Teenagers amble around in pairs, conversing in hushed tones and sniggering. A bunch of kids, probably nine or ten years old, play hide and seek among the shipping containers that mark the edge of camp and the enormous tents that contain camp administration, a dining hall and medical facilities.

I’m not fine, regardless of what I called after Eduardo, but I feel like I’m the only one who isn’t. Everyone else is going about their lives, and they all seem… not happy, exactly, but content? At peace? I’m more familiar than I’d like to be with apocalypses, having lived through one. I even had the dubious honor of being the sole survivor. Inner peace took a long time for me, but these people seem to have accepted their fate already. How? How can you find peace when everyone is going to die, and probably soon? Maybe it’s because this apocalypse is happening in slow motion. They’re clinging to the hope that because the skies are clear and they still have food to eat and sunsets to watch, maybe things aren’t that bad.

It’s the evening of the third day since we landed on this most elusive of planets. Earth #1. The planet we’d hoped to find ever since we learned of its existence. The original. The template for the hundred-plus clones that litter the galaxy. The one whose death sentence is signed, where everyone is just waiting for the executioner to arrive.

We wanted to find a way to help, and we eventually settled on a landing site just south of Patos, Brazil, which is almost the exact other side of the world from the event now known as The Cataclysm. A group of forty or so people were in the early stages of setting up a camp for… refugees, I guess. Lara, Ty and I helped them at first, but Lara’s last visit to camp was the morning of day two. Ty walked down with me this morning, but he seemed distracted and I haven’t seen him since. Nathaniel is too frail to be doing this kind of work, so he stays on the train.

Most of the true refugee camps are on the west coast, of course. The Cataclysm happened in the Pacific ocean, and the resulting tsunamis killed millions, and displaced even more. This camp caters to needs other than mere shelter. This camp is about hope in the face of hopelessness. As scientists formed theories regarding The Cataclysm, and those theories appeared on the news, it became clear that three things were happening all over the world, not just in the worst affected places. First, and least surprising, is that many people are just staying put if they can, remaining in their homes if they still have one to remain in, and hoping for the best. Second, equally unsurprising, people are taking their own lives in vast numbers.

Third, though, is the camps.

For many, they’re a necessity. This one isn’t, but I find it particularly inspirational because it’s not borne of desperation. It’s more about idealism. Borders mean nothing now. People are literally all in this together. There are a couple of dozen people here whose homes on the Pacific coast were destroyed while they were away on business or vacation, but most people here just want to be around others. To remind themselves of what’s good about humanity. These are my people. The people who, faced with the almost inevitable destruction of their planet and the cessation of most or even all life, banded together with others of their kind. They left their homes, anticipating a need for simple human connection. They built this place, and they’re intending to live what’s left of their lives here, helping as many people as possible, until the very end. The eternal optimists. The kindred spirits.

So, just how bad is it?

Three days ago, a giant rock raised itself inexplicably out of the Pacific Ocean midway between Papua New Guinea and Japan. It did so with enough force to achieve escape velocity, and it sped off into space. Lara, Ty, Nathaniel and I were watching up there on the train, and it nearly hit us as it left. I felt its anger, and Lara could hear its thoughts, which were loud enough that she lost consciousness. Whatever the giant rock was, it was sentient.

The prevailing theory among those of us on the train goes back to something we found in the spire on the planet Hope. There was writing literally on the walls which we assume The Creator left there, and it seemed to speak of ancient powerful entities. We’ve taken to calling these entities Primordials, and we believe that both The Creator and the giant rock creature that devastated Earth maybe two examples of such entities, but we’re guessing about that.

Speculation by the people of Earth on the origin of the Primordial has been rife, but most scientists agree it was either an original part of Earth, or that it collided with a much younger Earth, hundreds of millions, perhaps even billions, of years ago. We on the train believe—based on what Lara heard of its thoughts—that it was trapped for all that time. Perhaps the oceans formed on top of it. Perhaps tectonic activity pushed it deeper into the bowels of the planet. Whatever happened, its confinement was long. Presumably, it worked to free itself by inches, finally achieving its goal three days ago.

The problems with its escape are many.

First, it was enormous. Estimates put it at about six percent of the Earth’s previous mass, with a similar density. On a purely practical level, that means that gravity is now 0.94g rather than 1g. Most people have gotten used to it, but I still sleep on the train where the gravity is a constant 1g, so I get the daily reminder that the planet has been grievously wounded.

Second, the reaction mass. To achieve escape velocity—that is, to escape Earth’s gravity—you need something to throw out behind you. The Primordial used sea water and the planet’s crust, which it somehow gathered up and spat out behind as it ascended. This shredded the ocean floor, giving rise to vast volcanic ranges, a near ceaseless sequence of earthquakes, and of course, the tsunamis.

The volcanoes make it difficult to check on people. Nobody has heard from New Zealand or Japan since the cataclysm. Nobody can check on them because of all the volcanic ash in the air. So far, Brazil’s air is clear, but that won’t last much longer.

But it’s the hole it left behind that’s the killer. Gravity makes spheres, and while the hole is full of seawater and magma right now, that probably won’t keep it from collapsing.

When that happens, everybody dies.

AS THE SUN dips toward the horizon, I consider heading back up to the train, but I’m eager to avoid the inevitable argument with Lara about whether we should still be here. She tells me pretty much every time she sees me that we need to be searching for The Creator because, of everyone in the universe, he might be able to stop what’s going to happen here. But while I’m usually the optimist in that pairing, I don’t see how we’re going to find The Creator. How do you find one man—if that’s even what he is—who could be anywhere in the universe? Sure, we have leads, but I don’t feel good about any of them, and leaving Earth behind feels like abandoning its people.

Instead, I head to the dining tent to see if there’s anything I can do to help tidy up after the dinner rush. There are so many willing volunteers here now that there’s really not that much for me to do.

The dining tent is a big, hot rectangle, filled with about forty tables of varying styles and sizes. It’s quiet, most people having elected to take their food outside to eat it while they still can. Once the volcanic ash reaches these parts, there’ll be no more sitting outside for meals. The tent smells like so many unfamiliar foods, and some all too familiar: peanuts and chilies and exotic fruits and coffee. Across the empty expanse, a flash of movement catches my attention. Someone waves frantically at me as she balances two takeout containers in her other hand.

Eden! Over here! she calls in lightly accented English. Her name is Cassia, and she’s one of the earliest camp residents. She’s all dark hair and dark eyes and skin that, while objectively not much darker than mine, still makes me look like a cave dwelling troll in comparison. I guess spending my time shut away on a magic train has emphasized my natural paleness.

I walk over. Hey, Cass. How’s it going? It’s an automatic thing to ask such questions, but most people are still happy to answer. Many of their answers are even positive, which I don’t really understand. The futility, and how most people seem able to ignore it, is getting to me.

Pretty good. You hungry?

Until that second, I didn’t realize that, yes; I’m starving. Even the smells of the dining tent didn’t tip me off. I am, actually.

Lucky I got two of these, then.

What is it?

Follow me and you’ll find out.

I glance around at all the empty tables. A few people are eating in the tent, but not many. We can’t eat here?

I know someplace better, Cassia says. Come.

So I go, feeling a little like a dog being tricked into a visit to the vet. Outside, we skirt around the medical tent to the foot of the hill that marks the eastern edge of camp. Cassia begins to climb.

Wait. We’re really going up there? I call.

She stops, turns, grins, continues.

I sigh and start after her. It’s only a ten-minute walk, but by the time I catch up with her, I’m panting. It’s clear she was telling the truth. She definitely knows someplace better. There’s a depression in the hillside partly surrounded by dense shrubs and flowers. She removes the pack from her back, takes out a picnic blanket, and spreads it on the ground, patting the space next to her.

I walk hesitantly over and lower myself down, shuffling around to put my back to the shrubs. When I look up, my breath catches in my throat. The camp stretches out out beneath us, painted in the warm reds and oranges of sunset. Wow, I breathe.

Told you. Here, eat, and tell me things.

She hands me a warm cardboard container, and I open it to find three deep-fried spheres of something stuffed with something else. What is it?

"Acarajé."

Okay. That didn’t help.

She laughs. Are you allergic to anything?

I shake my head.

Then just eat it.

So I do. It’s strongly flavored, spicy, and utterly delicious. I devour two of them in the time it takes Cassia to eat her first. When she’s done with it, she repeats, So, tell me things.

I gaze around, trying to think of something. I can’t. What do you want me to tell you?

Anything. Something from… from before.

I think about it. There are lots of things I could tell her from the time before this Earth’s death sentence, but she wouldn’t believe any of them, and right now, I don’t have the will to make her believe them. Sorry, I… I don’t know what to say.

What did you do for a living?

I close my eyes as I nod slowly to myself. Images of practicing in Mom’s living room as a child. The writhing in my stomach prior to any number recitals in my teens. The eventual fearless excitement I felt prior to performances as an adult. I’d locked that life away where it couldn’t hurt me. Cassia just handed me the key. I was a violinist.

I knew it! she says. At my look of confusion, she laughs and adds, Your nails.

I bring my hands up to examine them, but I already know what she means. I keep the nails on my left hand much shorter than on my right because it makes it easier to press the violin strings down. As I examine my hands, I realize Cassia has formed theories about my fingernails. There’s a faint fluttering in my stomach as I ask, What about you? What did you do before?

I played the flute, she says.

Oh! I love the flute! The faces the two flutists in my orchestra I counted as friends flit through my mind. I think if I hadn’t taken up violin, flute would have been my next choice. Did you play in an orchestra?

Sometimes. Mostly I worked freelance with a pianist I… knew. We fall silent for a second, and I watch Cassia’s hands as she wrings them together in her lap. How about you? she finally asks.

Oregon Symphony, I say, still vaguely proud I get to say that, even if it means nothing here, and means even less back home.

Oh, wow, Cassia laughs. So you’re, like, a proper musician.

I grin. I guess I am.

We smile awkwardly before she asks, Are you from Oregon?

It’s a simple enough question, but my Oregon and this planet’s Oregon are quite different. Still, the simple answer is probably best. Mostly. I was born in California, but moved when I was young. What about you? Are you from here?

Nope. I lived on the coast, in Recife. Do you know it?

I shake my head.

It’s nice. I inherited my dad’s apartment when he… she trails off. I’d never be able to afford to live there otherwise.

I’m sorry.

She drops her gaze to the picnic blanket and traces a complex pattern of circles and lines with her finger. There’s another moment of silence before she looks up. What do you think will happen here?

On Earth? It’s probably like the experts say.

So we’re all living on borrowed time? We should make the most of the time we have left?

I guess.

Then we should watch the sunset.

We shuffle around until we’re facing west, and we watch. There may not be many more sunsets, and as these things go, it’s pretty nice.

And when Cassia reaches out and gently pulls my head around, her lips meeting mine, that’s pretty nice, too.

two

Lara

I CAN’T BELIEVE we’re still here. Almost three complete days wallowing in sadness and despair because Eden can’t bring herself to do anything that feels like abandoning the planet and everybody on it. I get that. Really, I do. What’s happening here is tragic, and it’s why I can’t bear to go down to camp anymore. I helped set up on the first day because it was the right thing to do. Ty helped, too. On the second day, the three of us walked down in the morning and I saw two kids—twins, maybe—amber-haired and wide eyed and smiling. They can’t have been older than five, and that’s it. That’s all they get. Five years old and their lives are done. Maybe not right this second, but I’d be shocked if they get another year out of this doomed rock. Everyone’s lives are over unless I can convince Eden that leaving is not abandoning these people. It is, in fact, the only possible thing we can do that might help. If we can find The Creator, it’s likely he’s the only person in the universe who could fix this mess.

I tell her this every time I see her, of course. I’ve tried a lot of different approaches, from gentle coercion to outright screaming. It’s like she doesn’t hear me, and she always reacts the same way, even if I’m shouting at her. She agrees with me, accepts every point I make, but then somehow deletes the information from her brain as if I said nothing at all. Ty’s no help. He’s more than happy to go down to camp every day and pitch in. He says he finds it fulfilling. Nathaniel says I need to give her time, which is about the only thing the people of Earth don’t have enough of.

Nathaniel and I have talked about other things, too, like whether there’s anything we can do to help the planet by ourselves, without involving The Creator. If Eden’s in charge of the train, and I’m her chief engineer, then Nathaniel is rapidly becoming my deputy. He is one hundred and eight years old—Ty’s great-great-grandfather—and it always feels faintly ridiculous that I, at eighteen, am training this centenarian how to operate the absurd God-train we both live on.

The one almost workable plan we had was to have the train construct a ball of rock roughly the same size as the Primordial, and somehow push it into the hole it left behind. I’m confident I could make the ball of rock—though I’ve never actually tried—but getting it into place would cause more devastation. Maybe a lot more. I’m certain that the train doesn’t have a celestial patch kit on board, so everything we can try would be a potentially catastrophic improvisation.

I wish I could just borrow the train for a while. Take it to find The Creator, then bring it—and him—back. Of course, I can’t do that. While the crew won’t resort to violence to stop me, it would be a complete betrayal of Eden’s trust, not to mention the fact that when I got back, she—and the planet—might be dead. I’m not willing to condemn her to death just to get my way.

I just have to figure out what approach I haven’t tried yet.

I LEAVE MY room, cross the narrow hall and knock on Ty’s door. There’s no reply, so I move one room down and knock on Nathaniel’s door instead.

Come in, he calls, and I push the door open.

Hey, Nathaniel. Any idea if Ty or Eden are back yet?

A couple of weeks ago at dinner, Eden asked if he had any preferred nicknames. She’s lost if she can’t call someone by a nickname, or at least a shortened version of their full name. He smiled and said that the only form of his name that he likes the sound of is the complete one, but that Eden was welcome to call him whatever she wanted to. So far, she still calls him Nathaniel, like the rest of us.

He’s sitting at his desk with his back to me, as he often is, working on something or other. Some translation most likely. He rotates his chair slowly, clearly not wanting to turn away from his work even for a second. I believe they’re still at camp. I haven’t seen or heard them since this morning. Did you need something?

I wanted to try again with Eden.

He smiles wryly. Ah. Yes. The good luck with that is implied, but clear.

I roll my eyes. Well, I’m going to head down to camp and see if I can meet them on their way back or something.

He raises a hand in a wave, already turning back to what he was doing. When I reach the outer doors I’m surprised by how dark it’s gotten. In fact, it gives me pause. We parked the train at the top of a steep hill, one I don’t particularly want to break my neck falling down, but I’ll just have to be careful. I don’t want to spend another day here if I can help it. I grab a flashlight, hop down to the ground and start descending the hill, half a mind on the problem of convincing Eden that it’s time to go, the other half on not tripping and falling to my death.

The camp is pretty quiet. Most people turn in early, so I’m intrigued when I catch sight of a pair of silhouettes walking along the tent line. They’ve moved out of sight by the time I reach the bottom of the hill and flick off my flashlight—there’s plenty of generator-powered illumination down here—so I head in the direction I saw them walking, intending to ask whether they’ve seen Eden. I am wholly unprepared for one of the figures to be Ty and for him to be sucking face with some goth chick. The surprised yelp begins life deep inside me, but somehow I’m able to block the exits before it can alert anyone to my presence. As I watch, stunned, Ty and the mystery girl move behind a cluster of trees and resume kissing.

No wonder Ty doesn’t mind coming down to camp every day.

I don’t exactly know what I’m feeling. It’s something beyond surprise. Oh, crap. Is this jealousy? I sigh quietly to myself. I don’t need this. I’m not interested in Ty, and I told him as much. So what the fuck, brain?

I consider interrupting, but I can’t make myself do it.

The goth is a few inches shorter than Ty and dressed all in black, black hair streaked with red. My brain asks, what does she have that I don’t? before I can stop it, and I’m appalled at myself. Ty’s love life is absolutely none of my business. None of his life is any of my business. We’ve barely spoken in the month it took to get here from Earth #12. It shouldn’t be a surprise he’s found someone else.

And yet.

At times in the past month, I could have used someone my own age to talk to, but I didn’t go to Ty. I went to Eden. I don’t know why I avoided him all month, but it’s probably something to do with knowing that he has feelings for me—had feelings for me—and I didn’t want to encourage him.

Well, great job, Lara. Except now I’m not sure how I feel.

I stalk off through the trees in the opposite direction

THERE ARE ABOUT a dozen people in the dining tent when I walk in. Most of them are volunteer cooks and cleaners packing up for the night, but there is a couple sitting in one distant corner eating. Hey, I call, approaching the kitchen staff with one hand raised in greeting. Has anybody seen Eden lately?

The few faces that turn my way look exhausted and sweaty, but cheerful. That’s another reason I don’t come down to camp anymore. I can’t take the apparent happiness. Everyone knows what’s going to happen. How can they bring themselves to smile?

Some faces turn away, going back to what they were doing. Perhaps because they don’t know the answer to my question, or perhaps because they don’t speak English well enough to respond. The man who does respond is someone I don’t know. Saw her out back with Cassia a couple of hours ago. They went up the hill near the medical tent.

I frown, then nod. Great. Thank you.

Behind the dining tent is the medical tent. There’s a dim light burning inside, but I turn to look up the hill. I don’t want to tackle another one in the dark. It looks less steep than the one I just descended, though, and screw it. This can’t wait.

As I walk, my flashlight beam bobbing around in front of me, I consider what the man in the dining tent said. "Saw her out back with Cassia." A person by that name introduced herself to Eden and me on day one. I have a vision of somebody with dark, maybe black hair, but beyond that I remember little about her. I’m trying very hard not to form bonds with anyone here. Maybe that’s callous, but I prefer to think of it as self-preservation. I don’t want to make friends and then lose them when the planet destroys itself. Apparently, neither Eden nor Ty has considered this. Or maybe they have and think it’s worth the risk. Maybe they’re even right. I don’t know.

What I do know is that we need to get off this rock before it collapses.

It takes ten minutes, but I find her.

She’s fast asleep on the hillside under a thin blanket, playing little spoon to Cassia’s big spoon. My eyes sting almost at once, and I stand there, uncertain, trying to feel something of what Eden feels about this place. Is it because she lived through her own planetary apocalypse? Is that why she’s determined to stay? It’s not something I can relate to, and sure, this must be dredging up memories best left buried. The fact remains that there’s only one way out of this, and it’s not whatever this is.

I watch the two of them breathing slowly, wondering why I’m the only one thinking about this apocalypse rationally. Still, maybe I can give her the night. She must have needed this.

But I’ll see her bright and early for breakfast, one way or another, and then we are getting the hell out of here.

three

Eden

WHEN I WAKE up the following morning, I find a light blanket draped over me, and Cassia staring at me from eight inches away, grinning. I burst out laughing and her grin widens into a bright smile. Good morning, she says.

That it is, I say before sitting up and glancing around the little camp we made for ourselves. Well, I’ve never done that before.

Which part?

The part where we’re on the side of a hill. Never slept under the stars before, either. That’s a lie. I slept under the stars during my own apocalypse, but I try not to think about that.

Both new for me too, she says.

The happiness I feel fades suddenly, reality streaming back in. The people here are living on borrowed time. The entire planet is doomed. When I survived my very own apocalypse back home, it happened so much faster. There was nothing anyone could have done. Here, though? It’s almost inconceivable that the Earth itself could be in danger. I know what people say, that the planet will collapse in the near future, becoming a glowing ball of molten rock in the process, but can they really know that? Surely, if we prepare ourselves, if we gather supplies, dig bunkers, do whatever it takes, we might be the lucky ones. We might survive. It’ll still be an unimaginably big loss, but it might not be a total loss. I was the sole survivor of my apocalypse. Maybe a few more people can survive here.

What’s wrong? Cassia asks, watching me closely. Was it not—?

Oh, God, no. Nothing like that. Last night was wonderful. Every second. I’m just remembering what’s going to happen here.

Ah. She unties her hair, allowing it to cascade over her shoulders. Yeah.

Do you want to head down for breakfast?

Sure. I could eat. Burned a lot of calories last night, she says.

We spend the next ten minutes extricating ourselves from our makeshift camp, shivering in the cool morning air, dressing in yesterday’s clothes, and tidying up after ourselves. Then we shuffle our way back down the hill to the real camp where the dining tent is a little busier than the night before. When I catch sight of a familiar red haired figure sitting with her back to us, I turn to Cassia. So, uh, there’s something I should probably have told you last night.

She grimaces. Is this where you tell me you have a husband or something?

I screw up my face. Oh, gross. That’s a horrible thing to say. She laughs nervously. No, nothing like that. I have… well, a daughter, kind of. That’s her, right over there.

Cassia turns to follow my finger, spends a second observing Lara, then turns back to me. You’re how old?

I’m thirty, and she’s seventeen and kind of adopted. It’s a long story, but it’s what needed to happen.

She studies my face for several seconds as she considers. Eventually, she offers a tentative smile. Well, that’s pretty cool.

Let me warn her first, though, okay? I don’t want to spring this on her.

Sure. Of course. I’ll go see what’s cooking. You want anything?

Surprise me.

She nods and walks off to join the few people getting their own breakfasts. I head over and slide into a seat across from Lara, making her look up abruptly. The look she gives me sinks my heart. I don’t want to argue in front of Cassia. I don’t want to argue at all.

Morning, I venture.

Hey, she says, her tone just as cautious as mine. I hate this. I saw you last night, she adds.

"What?" My eyes narrow.

You and… Cassia, right?

I stare at her, wide-eyed.

God, nothing like that, Eden. You were asleep. You looked… peaceful.

I drop my gaze. I was. First time since we got here.

We fall silent, allowing the murmured conversations of other occupied tables in. I look in Cassia’s direction, then at Lara, wondering which of us will start the argument.

How long are we staying, Eden? she asks.

I shake my head. What do you want me to say?

I want you to tell me we’re leaving to search for The Creator.

I take a breath, trying to compose a measured response. How can we possibly find one man who could be anywhere in the universe?

You know how we don’t find him? By staying put.

You don’t know that, I say. He might know what’s happening here. He might be on his way already.

I— She hesitates and checks over her shoulder to check Cassia isn’t within earshot. Eden, I don’t want to die here. Her voice cracks as she says this, and I close my eyes. Are you so determined to kill us all? Because that’s what’s going to happen if we stay. You’ll be killing me, Ty, Nathaniel, the whole crew. You’ll be killing Cassia. Is that what you want?

I glance at Cassia, chatting with one of the cooks. She’s smiling. I just want to help, I mutter, but I don’t know what that means anymore. I know Lara’s right; we’re going to have to leave immediately. I don’t want to die, and I certainly don’t want her to, but… God, I don’t know why I’m having such a hard time with this. Lara watches me expectantly, and I think back to the apocalypse that started everything. Without that event, I would never have met Lara. The memory that sticks in my head more than any other is waking up that morning to find my best friend Alice dead. I couldn’t do anything to save her, and I hate that more than anything. But I can prevent Lara’s death. Maybe I can prevent Cassia’s death. Does that balance the scales? Alice for Cassia? I don’t think that’s how the universe works.

Still, I’m powerless to stop myself from drifting further back in my apocalypse memories. Right to the beginning. In the food court where it all started, Alice tried to help when people started dying. She tried to help one—no, two—people. She couldn’t save them any more than I could save her.

But she also knew when to stop trying. She knew when it was a lost cause.

A weight lifts, and I feel like I can breathe properly for the first time since I sat orbiting this planet on the train, watching the unfolding horror.

Across the table, Lara sits up straight, eyebrows raised. What… what just happened?

We can go, I say.

Lara’s mouth drops open. Did you say—

I nod. We can go, but I’d like to bring Cassia with us. Is that… do you think that would be okay?

She considers me at length, an uncertain smile on her face. Of course. It’s your train.

I shake my head. No. Well, yes. I might technically be in charge, but I don’t think that should give me the right to make you uncomfortable in your own home. Either of us, actually. We should set some ground rules for stuff like this.

Like what?

Like we both get a veto over bringing anyone new aboard, for use at any time.

She thinks about it, picking up her spoon and stirring the bowl of cereal in front of her. So what if I say no to Cassia coming aboard?

I almost break eye contact, but I realize just in time what that’ll look like. I leave her behind.

You could do that? Knowing what’ll happen to her? And given the… bond you’ve formed?

I take Lara’s free hand in both of mine. Honestly, I don’t know. But I’d like to think so. This place has screwed with my head; I don’t know which way is up right now.

Lara’s gaze lingers on my face for several seconds. It has to bring back painful memories.

I nod. Are we… okay?

She rolls her eyes. Yes, we’re okay, dummy. She then scans the room for Cassia. Invite her over. I want to meet her.

Lara, this is important. A veto—

She pulls her hand away. Invite her over, dammit. I agree with the veto thing, okay? But time is a factor here.

I try a smile on for size. It doesn’t feel forced. You’re right. I stand and wave at Cassia as she turns around, holding a tray loaded with plates and mugs. She comes over, smiling apprehensively, and sits next to me. She pushes a plate and a mug of coffee across the table to me. There’s something white and crepe-like steaming on my plate. Thanks. So, this is Lara. Lara, this is Cassia.

Hi again, Lara says, taking Cassia’s offered hand and shaking it. I think we met that first day.

Cassia dips her head in acknowledgement, still smiling. Nice to meet you again. How are you liking Brazil?

Lara raises her eyebrows and sighs. Loving the food and the scenery. Less fond of the apocalypse, but I guess that’s not Brazil’s fault.

Cassia laughs, but it’s short-lived and gives way to obvious pain. Yeah. It’s… I find it hard to believe, actually.

I glance at Lara, whose eyes flick my way for an instant. I say, We wanted to talk to you about that.

Cassia gives us each a wary look. What do you mean?

Lara shovels a spoonful of cereal into her mouth, and I glance around to make sure we’re not going to be overheard. I feel terrible doing it, but we can’t rescue everyone. Not by ourselves. Maybe we have a shot at saving them, though. What would you say if we told you we have a way of surviving what’s coming? I ask.

Cassia stares, her eyes searching my face for a hint of a lie or some kind of psychosis. I’d say you’re crazy. Unless you have a spaceship.

"Well, it’s not exactly a spaceship…"

She laughs, but then stops abruptly, studying my expression. Wait, you’re… serious?

I am.

She sits there without saying anything for several long, uncomfortable moments. I’m going to need a lot more than that.

I give her a half smile. That’s fair. Will you come with us? Let us show you?

She hoists an eyebrow, looking almost annoyed. Can I eat my breakfast first?

Sure. Sounds like a plan.

CASSIA EATS HER breakfast in silence, which forces Lara and I to do the same. It feels wrong to make polite small-talk with a big, looming discussion about the train hanging over us. Toning down the crazy seems like a good idea right now. This is going to be hard. The train itself is an imposing, threatening looking thing, all pointy and angry. The colored line down the side is a sort of dull, menacing red. And there’s the fact that it floats three feet from the ground. I can see Cassia turning and running as soon as she sets eyes on it, and who’d blame her?

When we’ve all finished eating, Lara takes our plates and cups to the dishwashing station, talks to someone there, then heads back our way. I glance at Cassia while this is happening, but she is steadfastly ignoring me in favor of her phone.

When Lara returns, I ask Cassia, Are you ready for this?

It feels like hours before she finally looks up from her phone. Not really. I mean, I kinda wish we’d talked about this last night. Before— she glances at Lara, —you know.

I nod and try to keep the hurt off my face. I get up quickly and walk in the