He rested his head on her shoulder. “Thank you. For everything. For understanding.”

“You were right. Their lives were futile, worthless. They were blessed beyond our wildest aspirations, yet they never thought to look outward. Their bodies flew, but their souls were moribund. That’s so sad. We can’t let such a fate befall our followers. They will be lost, and the galaxy will fall.” She took his hands in her own. “Lead us away from that, Dreamer. Don’t allow the Void to destroy our spirit.”

“My love.” Inigo gave her a tender kiss.

It was so intimate, Ozzie was almost embarrassed to be a witness. Almost. The two lovers were staring longingly at each other, smiling with happiness and relief. No one else existed.

“Dude?”

Inigo’s smile widened. Corrie-Lyn laughed.

“Yes, Ozzie?”

“Just a suggestion: Give your followers the Last Dream.”

“What?”

“Corrie-Lyn’s right; you’ve got to start fighting back. So do it; show them how their dream of the Void is going to go horribly wrong, that they’re going to condemn their children to emptiness and extinction. What is it your guy was always saying? Sometimes you have to do the wrong thing to do the right? It’ll devastate all your loyal followers; they may understand, they may not. Who gives a shit, man? You were never going to get them all back on your side, anyway. At the very least you’ll give Ethan and Ilanthe a seriously bad day. And if you’re lucky, you might even spark a mutiny amid the fleet.”

“Yes,” Corrie-Lyn said, suddenly animated. “They deserve to know. They have waited so long to know you again. Give them their true hope back. It is what Edeard would have wanted.”

“Yes.” Inigo rose to his feet. His gaiamotes opened, and the Dreamer gifted his thoughts once more. All of them.

If Tyzak had been human, he and the Delivery Man would have been best friends by the time they reached the abandoned city at the end of the valley. Two days hiking together through the countryside was a superb bonding opportunity. The well-tended fields and pastures clustered around the village had given way to wild meadowland after the first three hours. With few animals grazing, the coiling grass-equivalent grew thick and tall, curling blades tangling to produce a difficult carpet to traverse. Tough plants as tall as a human knee were common, their spiky leaves containing a mild toxin that made Tyzak steer well clear. That made their path less straight than the Delivery Man wanted. He stuck with it, telling Tyzak about his life, his family.

“It sounds as if your kind are diverging as our ancestors once did,” the old Anomine said.

“Our story has similarities with yours, certainly. From what we know of your story, you were a lot less antagonistic. That is admirable. I wish we would strive for that.”

“There are stories that tell of conflict among our ancestors. Some believe they have lost their power as they are told with a grudging voice. It would be strange indeed if our past was completely without strife.”

“That may also be common ground. So many of us like to talk about the good old days from a thousand years ago. Those I’ve met who actually lived through such times say the years between always distort reality.”

“Who would wish disdain upon their ancestors? They did deliver us to the present day.”

As well as the stinging plants, the streams caused an irritating degree of diversion. Tyzak weighed a great deal more than a human. He had to be careful of the mud; many an incautious traveler had been trapped in some treacherous patch of marshland, he explained as they tramped along a gurgling rivulet, searching for a stony stretch to cross.

In return for his selectively edited life story, the Delivery Man was finally told the tale of Gazuk on the collapsing bridge, and Razul and Dozul and Fazku, and a dozen other terrifically boring incidents all too characteristic of a pastoral society. Finally the story of Fozif was forthcoming, which was a great deal more lyrical than the others. The Delivery Man was amused that the first rocket flight to another world remained so revered, whereas all the Anomine had accomplished afterward as a starfaring race was delivered in a few short sentences. But it did allow him to respond appropriately with the story of the Cold War space program and Neil Armstrong, which kept Tyzak quiet for a good forty minutes.

That first night they made camp on the edge of a small forest of tall trees with broad weeping branches. The Delivery Man took a hand-size cylindrical condenser unit from his belt, which whirred quietly as it propelled air along its short length. Its water sac slowly expanded out from one end like a sallow tumor as it extracted moisture from the air. When it was full, he pumped the clean water into flat packets of food concentrate. It didn’t taste too bad, though he would have preferred something hot. Tyzak just gulped down a couple more potfuls of the cold gloop he’d carried in a backpack.

As the dark fell, night animals began their calls. The Delivery Man expanded his tent up and out from a square of plastic. Tyzak thanked him for the offer of sharing the tough little shelter but refused, saying he preferred to rest outdoors. The Anomine didn’t sleep as deeply as humans; instead, they spent the night in a mild doze. They certainly didn’t dream.

Secondary routines woke the Delivery Man a little after midnight local time. His biononic field scan had detected three largish animals approaching. Outside, the city at the end of the valley glimmered with a vivid iridescence, as if the buildings were now made from stained glass wrapped around a fissure of daylight. It was a stark contrast to the black cliff of the forest beside him, animated with rustling wind and sharp warbles. He faced the trees and reconfigured his biononics to produce a complex low-level energy pulse. The approaching animals chittered frantically when he fired it at them, thrashing about in the darkness before rushing off, snapping low branches and tearing up the grass in their hurry to flee. He had no idea what Tyzak felt about killing local creatures, so the shot would have been the equivalent of giving them a damn good smack on the nose, with a modest electric shock thrown in to emphasize the point.

“I thank you,” Tyzak said, rising from the grass where he’d lain. “Three ›no direct translation: night beasts‹ would have presented even me with a problem defending us.”

“You see, machines can be useful occasionally.”

“I have my ›no direct translation: cudgel ax‹ to aid me,” the Anomine said, holding up a length of wood with a couple of spiral carvings along its length and a wicked curved spike on the top. “It has never failed me yet.”

The Delivery Man turned back to the radiant city and opened a link to Gore. “Have you figured it out yet?”

“Partly. The damn thing is stabilizing a zero-width wormhole, but it’s currently not extended. The Last Throw’s sensors are starting to examine its quantum composition, but that’s not easy in a collapsed state. I should have an idea where the wormhole used to lead in a few hours or so.”

“So it’s not the elevation mechanism, then?”

“Not unless it leads directly to Anomine heaven, no.”

“If it is zero-width, then nothing physical travels along it.”

“I know. But it’s early days. I’m probably overlooking something. How are you doing?”

“Oh, great. I’m in the middle of a boy’s own wilderness adventure. Should be with you in another day.” With that he bid Tyzak good night and went back to the wonderfully soft mattress in the tent.

They started off again soon after first light. Thin tendrils of mist slithered along the floor of the valley, mirroring the river course in the early light until the sun cleared the hills and burned it off. A constant wind blew in over the city, which now gleamed in the morning light.