He sat up abruptly. The sheet slid down. He yanked it back up. “What did he do?” he blurted, and then froze.

Roxalana serenely pushed back her hair and, propping herself on an elbow, stared down into his face. “He was very persuasive.” Mark gaped at her.

His bathrobe and pajamas were a knotted mess on the floor. He snatched them up and tried to dress beneath the sheets. It didn’t work too well. It really didn’t work when she slid her hands under his ass and yanked the pajama bottoms back down to his ankles.

“Need some help?” He stuttered out a few noises. “Don’t lose your voice again.” She fished out the robe and tossed it back on the floor. “Flash is mentally… fatiguing. I like the whole of Mark Meadows much better than the individual parts. Now, take off those pajamas and tell me how remarkable I am.”

Despite her exhortation, Mark told her with hands and lips rather than words. The cosmic cheering section had all bellied up to observe – and comment – and there was still this aching void where Starshine used to live, but it was bearable pain now.

Much, much later, as Mark gathered his clothes and began to dress, Roxalana sat up and shook back her hair.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Thank you.”

She shrugged off his gratitude. “Mark, now that you have a tongue again, do please get control of my wayward brother. I’m afraid she’s going to get himself killed.”

Insomnia had become a constant companion, and even copious amounts of alcohol no longer cured it. Mon’aella had suggested pills. Kelly had sweetly inquired if she was going to repay him for saving her life by enticing him into a drug overdose. His wife’s lips had curved in a small, secretive smile that sent Kelly back to the company of Jay Ackroyd.

“If Blaise doesn’t kill me, she will.”

“Why should she?” the ace asked logically.

“You’re right, there’s not enough in it for her… yet.”

“And Blaise still likes pulling the wings off you.”

“Problem is, I’m developing a stinger. I’m getting too powerful.”

And that was the truth. It had terrified him, but on that hideous day, as children screamed and women died, Kelly had placed himself between Blaise and Mon’aella.

Blaise in a rage lost all connection to humanity. His face became a twisted mask, the eyes unfocused and staring. They had struck like rutting stags, though neither one of them moved a foot toward the other. Instead their powers had clashed, steel on steel. But Kelly was no longer the terrified teenager of a year ago. Since the night of the Crossing Festival, and Tachyon’s short course in mentatics, Kelly had been studying.

It took only one setback to discourage Blaise. He wanted blood, and the gore that caked his hands and forearms wasn’t enough. Denied Mon’aella, he went in search of easier prey. As he left, he threw back a garbled curse at his “grandfather.” And Kelly realized some of the virtu that had cloaked Tachyon and held Blaise in check had been bestowed on the frightened interloper in Granddaddy’s body.

“My hero.” That was what Mon’aella called him as she laid her hands on his shoulders.

Sickened by her hypocrisy, Kelly had replied that he should have let Blaise kill her. That would have wrecked her perfect plan. Mon’aella had only laughed, and Kelly realized that a little matter like death didn’t deter Takisians. She had succeeded in her goal – Blaise’s wives, and the children they were carrying, were dead. Blaise had unleashed a murderous vengeance and alienated many of his Vayawand supporters. And Mon’aella was just that much closer to controlling House Vayawand.

“You don’t like me, but you need me,” had been his bride’s parting shot.

The night was a nice one. Tiana, the smaller moon, was scraping its belly across the tops of the mountains. Soon it would set, and Kelly would be alone with his voices, his memories, his fears, and his friend. Reminded, Kelly took another pull off the bottle.

The situation was becoming really desperate. Jay was having nightmares virtually every night. Half the time he fell out of bed. That wasn’t so bad. The other half of the time he wet the bed. That was pretty bad. His hands were looking really gross. There were red streaks in the palms, and Blaise wouldn’t allow a doctor to examine him. Kelly had seen enough on the farm to recognize infection. He and Hastet made the ace soak his mutilated hands in hot, hot water, but the red kept creeping inexorably toward the wrist. Jay had been traumatized enough losing his fingers. How would he react to losing his hands? And who was going to do this amputation?

Kelly shivered and took another drink. No, he had to think of something. Had to find some means of escape for all of them. Otherwise they were going to die. It’s very difficult to censor news when there is a planet-wide uplink. Blaise had tried, but it was still leaking through – rumors of massive defeats and enormous casualties. And with each setback the mad light burned brighter and brighter in those dark eyes.

Baby was the only ace Kelly even remotely possessed. The ship had survived the Ilkazam assault on Vayawand Ship Home because her new master had been off trying yet again to rebreak her, bend her to his will. Occasionally Kelly could read flashes of Baby’s thoughts, even over the thousands of miles to orbit, but the ship was so far too terrified to act.

“Doctor,” Kelly said aloud to the darkness. “You better come quick because I don’t know how much longer I can keep us together and alive.”

Tisianne had barely gotten the words out before Mark was shaking his head and saying, “Don’t look to me, man.”

“And who else am I supposed to look to, pray?” It sounded angry. Probably because she was. Not the way to achieve what she wanted. “Without you, we fail.” No response. “What about Jay?” she coaxed. “Illyana?”

“I won’t be part of any more killing.”

“This will be a raid, not a battle.”

“People are still going to die.”

“Some… yes, but if we stop Blaise now, ultimately a lot fewer people will die.”

“This isn’t the way to handle it, man. The violence just feeds on itself. We had to stop the Network, and all that accomplished was to kill Starshine.”

“It also stopped the Network, and I seem to recall you volunteering,” Tis said softly. “So don’t keep blaming me.”

“A part of me died!”

“How very fortunate you are. Only a part? I’ve lost everything!”

Mark stood and walked away from Tis, her anger, and her arguments. “Violence never solves a damn thing.”

“What a brainless, spineless, stupid thing to say! It sure as hell broke Sprout out of the juvie home. And stopped the Swarm. And freed me from the Rox. And, as you mentioned, stopped the Network. You could at least have the guts to say what’s really on your mind.”

Mark whirled on her. “All right, I’m scared! I’ve already lost one friend. You think I’m going to risk another one?”

“All I need is Traveler, and he’s such a coward he won’t let anything happen to him.”

“You can’t conceive of what’s happened to me.”

“You’re right, I can’t. Any more than you can conceive of what’s happened to me.”

Mark paced, stopped by the dresser, and fiddled with the brushes, pins, combs, pots, and boxes. Stooped and stared at his hangdog features in the mirror, ran his hands down his cheeks as if trying to strip the sadness away.

“I can’t understand poetry anymore. It’s just a collection of words. I’ll certainly never write it again.”

Her mouth had a mind of its own. Before she was aware, the words were out. “That’s not such a tragedy. Did you ever read any of Starshine’s poetry?” Their eyes met in the mirror. His wide with shock, hers contrite. “Oh, Ideal, I’m sorry, that was -”

Mark was laughing. Dry, rusty sounds exploding out of his throat, his whole body jerking with the force. Tisianne stared at him in consternation.