“No, not like that. Something else. I’ve heard of babies showing up with strange deformations from time to time. A pointed tooth, a deformed hand—but nothing like this. This is a rather portent omen indeed. I don’t quite know what to make of this, son. If I were you I wouldn’t get any more body parts lopped off if you can avoid it.”

“Sir, if I might interject, I have some readings on your new growth,” Saladin said, utilizing the small but efficient loudspeakers built into his pommel. “Tissue sample reports from nanobots indicate rapid genetic recombination and alteration at the regeneration site.”

“Can you put that in terms that mortals can understand?” Deacon asked.

“Sure, associate Deacon Shipke, though I must indicate that, in a sense, I too am mortal. My betavoltaic cells have a life of roughly one thousand years. I—”

“Saladin, we’re in a bit of a time crunch. Can you get to the point?” Letho said.

“Sorry, sir. In short, anabolic tissue regeneration, or in simpler terms, the regrowth of your forearm, seems to have been initiated by the genetic agents that are responsible for your strength and ability to heal. The process of regeneration seems to have manifested changes in the very structure of your body.”

“Whoa, that’s heavy,” Deacon said. “Your sword is really cool.”

“So it is some sort of mutation,” Zedock said.

“Precisely,” Saladin answered.

“Yeah, but into what?” Saul said.

“Guys, I’m right here,” Letho said, for they spoke as if he weren’t even there.

“All right, well, I’m going to need some time to ponder this,” said Zedock. “What say we have Bayorn take a look at it before you all leave?”

“Us all? Who exactly are we speaking about here?” Letho said.

“Well, I’m in,” Saul said. “Figured that was a given.”

“And you can bet your ass I’m going,” Deacon said. “I missed out on the whole landing—er, crashing—and there was something about a school? Don’t remember anything about that.”

“Trust me, you didn’t miss much,” Letho said, flexing his new hand.

****

“There is no mention of this in our lore, at least none that I am aware of,” Bayorn said, holding Letho’s forearm gently in his hands. He looked closer, like a man examining a ring through a jeweler’s loupe, then let go, holding his own arm next to Letho’s and comparing them. He placed his hand, palm open, against Letho’s. Bayorn’s hand and arm were significantly larger and thicker, not to mention covered in a much denser layer of fur. But the resemblance was remarkable.

“So I have a Tarsi arm. Great. What’s next?” Letho asked.

“A Tarsi head would be an improvement over your current one, pink-skin,” Maka said.

“Very funny, Maka,” Letho said. They were standing in the small hangar that was home to Saul’s razorback and a few troop transport trucks like the one Letho had ridden in when he first came to Haven. The room had that pungent smell of petrol and metal, with just a hint of sawdust. It reminded Letho of the smell of the Fulcrum underneath, save for the absence of Tarsi scent. How he longed for that time, when his greatest worry had been whether or not Maka was going to allow him to live through the day’s work.

Letho heard the sunny baritone of Deacon’s voice as he engaged Saul in a conversation about something mechanical. The two seemed to genuinely like one another. Letho mused on how he had despised Saul for his grandstanding and rough handling of his subordinates. At the very least they were brothers in arms, united in their opposition to Abraxas and Alastor. And at best, they were actual brothers, bonded by their love for the same father.

The expedition would be just Letho, Deacon, Saul, and Bayorn. Maka had pleaded Bayorn to let him go as well, but Bayorn, betraying shades of the great leader he was becoming, had convinced Maka to remain behind and watch over their new Kinsha.

“Well, we ain’t getting any younger,” Saul said. “She’s all ready to go. What say we hit the road?”

“I’m ready if you guys are,” Letho said.

“Well, y’all be careful. We’ll hold down the fort for ya. Don’t go and do somethin’ foolish like get yourself killed,” Zedock said, playing his swaggering, gunslinging sheriff routine to pitch perfection. He patted both Letho and Saul on the back, then pulled them in for an awkward but welcome embrace.

“You will watch over him,” Maka asked, watching the three Eursans fumble to disentangle themselves from one another’s embrace.

“As though he were my own,” Bayorn said.

“Are you sure you do not need me? If anything were to happen to you or Letho, I don’t know what—”

“You’d take your place as the new Elder, and lead the Tarsi into battle to avenge us,” Bayorn interrupted, placing his hand on Maka’s chest. “You are strong here,” he added, his hand resting over Maka’s heart. “But I must be the one to go and see. So that I can come back and tell. For that is my gift.”

Letho watched the exchange, and it triggered a memory of a similar scene long ago, when the two Tarsi had stood in a very similar pose, discussing the fate of a frightened young man who had come to them under harrowing circumstances. They had stood on the precipice of a great change, a fulcrum shift that was about to swing loose and alter the courses of their shared destinies. Letho felt those same tectonic plates trembling under his feet now, and wondered what else fate had in store for him. What more could it take from him?

The answer was in front of him. It was in the way Deacon smiled at him, a lopsided smile that was at once disarming and full of infinite loyalty. It was in the way Maka struggled with the fact that for the first time since he and Letho had met, he would not be there to protect him.

But to do nothing would not stay the course of destiny, for like a river, it was unstoppable. Letho and his friends were just stones scraping across the bottom, unable to resist that unassailable flow. If enough stones were to gather, perhaps the path of the water might be altered, maybe even stopped, but only for a time. In the end it would always flow forward, taking the stones where it might, changing them along the way. Smoothing off the rough edges of some while burying others.

The only way Letho could protect those he loved was to wade forward into the river, and in doing so, place himself and those he cared for at great risk. It was a tragic irony, and there were no guarantees. But there were also no alternatives. Even if they decided to stay, to remain hidden from Abraxas, to live out their lives in Haven, Letho knew they would ultimately be discovered. And then, the last bastion of resistance to Abraxas would fall. That was not a life that he could live, Letho decided, and he took comfort in the notion that his friends probably felt the same.

He went to Maka, who was trying not to cry, but was doing a rather terrible, slobbery job of it. The Tarsi wrapped his arms around Letho, smothering him as he always did, and Letho took a deep breath, absorbing the scent of his friend, hoping that it would not be the last time he would do so, but memorizing the moment just in case.

“Hey, buddy, don’t cry,” Letho said, wiping a tear from Maka’s cheek. “We’re just going to do a little sightseeing. We’ll be back before you know it.”

“I know,” Maka sobbed. “Be careful, and return safely.”

“I will. Promise.” It was a promise often made, and not kept often enough. But Letho intended to keep it.

****

The sun had just fallen below the horizon as they made their way out of the tunnel network. Letho felt his stomach churn as they sped past the bloated corpses of dispatched mutants. No scavengers, save for the microbial ones that even now liquefied the remains, had disturbed them. He wondered if his own body would soon be rotting somewhere too.

As they traversed the ruined landscape, Letho saw a planet dying of thirst. The earth was a parched, baked-clay red, shot through with fissures, some as small as a finger-width, others large enough to drive the razorback into and fall for a very long time.